John Greenleaf Whittier ; his life, genius, and writings . the every pauseOf thy wise and learned saws,Through the cracked and crazy wallCame the cradle-rock and squall,And the goodmans voice, at strifeWith his shrill and tipsy wife, —Luring us by stories a comic unction told,More than by the eloquenceOf terse birchen arguments(Doubtful gain, I fear), to lookWith complacence on a book! — I,— the man of middle years,In whose sable locks appearsMany a warning fleck of gray,—Looking back to that far day,And thy primal lessons, feelGrateful smiles my lips unseal, etc. In School Days he gi
John Greenleaf Whittier ; his life, genius, and writings . the every pauseOf thy wise and learned saws,Through the cracked and crazy wallCame the cradle-rock and squall,And the goodmans voice, at strifeWith his shrill and tipsy wife, —Luring us by stories a comic unction told,More than by the eloquenceOf terse birchen arguments(Doubtful gain, I fear), to lookWith complacence on a book! — I,— the man of middle years,In whose sable locks appearsMany a warning fleck of gray,—Looking back to that far day,And thy primal lessons, feelGrateful smiles my lips unseal, etc. In School Days he gives us anotherand a pleasanter picture:— Still sits the school-house by the road,*A ragged beggar sunning;Around it still the sumachs grow,And blackberry-vines are running. Within, the masters desk is seen, Deep scarred by raps ofTficial;The warping floor, the battered seats. The jack-knifes carv^ed initial; *The old brown school-house is now no more, havingbeen removed to make room for a reservoir. H sp c c (r- n KoorI X cc (/. > . BOYHOOD. 59 The charcoal frescos on its wall; Its doors worn sill, betrayingThe feet that, creeping slow to school, Went storming out to playing! Long years ago a winter sun Shone over it at setting;Lit up its western window-panes, And low eaves icy fretting. It touched the tangled golden curls, And brown eyes full of grieving,Of one who still her steps delayed When all the school were leaving. For near her stood the little boy Her childish favor singled :His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snowTo right and left, he lingered; — As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he feltThe soft hands light caressing, And heard the tremble of her voice,As if a fault confessing. * I m sorry that I spelt the word : I hate to go above , — the brown eyes lower fell, Because, you see, I love you! > >) 6o JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTI
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1883
