TO MINNIE

HE red room with the giant bed

ΤΗ

Where none but elders laid their head;

The little room where you and I

Did for awhile together lie
And, simple suitor, I your hand
In decent marriage did demand;
The great day nursery, best of all,
With pictures pasted on the wall
And leaves upon the blind
A pleasant room wherein to wake
And hear the leafy garden shake
And rustle in the wind

And pleasant there to lie in bed
And see the pictures overhead —
The wars about Sebastopol,

The grinning guns along the wall,
The daring escalade,

The plunging ships, the bleating sheep,

The happy children ankle-deep

And laughing as they wade:

All these are vanished clean away,
And the old manse is changed to-day;

It wears an altered face
And shields a stranger race.
The river, on from mill to mill,
Flows past our childhood's garden still;
But ah! we children never more
Shall watch it from the water-door!

Below the yew it still is there
Our phantom voices haunt the air
As we were still at play,

And I can hear them call and say:
"How far is it to Babylon?"

Ah, far enough, my dear,
Far, far enough from here -
Yet you have farther gone!
"Can I get there by candlelight?"
So goes the old refrain.

I do not know - perchance you might
But only, children, hear it right,
Ah, never to return again!

The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt,

Shall break on hill and plain,

And put all stars and candles out

Ere we be young again.

To you in distant India, these

I send across the seas,
Nor count it far across.

For which of us forgets
The Indian cabinets,

The bones of antelope, the wings of alba

tross,

The pied and painted birds and beans,
The junks and bangles, beads and screens,
The gods and sacred bells,

And the loud-humming, twisted shells!
The level of the parlour floor

Was honest, homely, Scottish shore;
But when we climbed upon a chair,
Behold the gorgeous East was there!
Be this a fable; and behold
Me in the parlour as of old,
And Minnie just above me set
In the quaint Indian cabinet!
Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf
Too high for me to reach myself.

Reach down a hand, my dear, and take
These rhymes for old acquaintance' sake!

TO MY NAME-CHILD

OME day soon this rhyming volume, if

SOME

you learn with proper speed,

Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read.

Then shall you discover, that your name was printed down

By the English printers, long before, in London town.

In the great and busy city where the East and West are met,

All the little letters did the English printer

set;

While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play,

Foreign people thought of you in places far

away.

Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English lands

Other little children took the volume in their hands;

Other children questioned, in their homes

across the seas:

Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please?

Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play,

Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey,

Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze,

Tiny sandy-pipers, and the huge Pacific seas.

And remember in your playing, as the seafog rolls to you,

Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do;

And that while you thought of no one. nearly half the world away

Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!