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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>The Butterfly and the Bee.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Butterfly and the Bee," by William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850), is recommended by some school-girls. It carries a lesson in favour of the worker. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Methought I heard a butterfly Say to a labouring bee: "Thou hast no colours of the sky On painted wings like me." </div> <div class="stanza"> "Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colours bright and rare," With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care. </div> <div class="stanza"> "Content I toil from morn to eve, And scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress." </div> </td></tr></table> William Lisle Bowles. <h3>An Incident of the French Camp.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"An Incident of the French Camp," by Robert Browning (1812-89), is included in this volume out of regard to a boy of eight years who did not care for many poems, but this one stirred his heart to its depths. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms lock'd behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind. </div> <div class="stanza"> Just as perhaps he mus'd "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall,"— Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reach'd the mound. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect— (So tight he kept his lips compress'd, Scarce any blood came through) You look'd twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. </div> <div class="stanza"> "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. </div> <div class="stanza"> The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes; "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead. </div> </td></tr></table> Robert Browning. <h3>Robert of Lincoln.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"Robert of Lincoln," by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878), is one of the finest bird poems ever written. It finds a place here because I have seen it used effectively as a memory gem in the Cook County Normal School (Colonel Parker's school), year after year, and because my own pupils invariably like to commit it to memory. With the child of six to the student of twenty years it stands a source of delight. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Snug and safe is this nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice, new coat is mine; Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care, Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nobody knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. </div> <div class="stanza"> Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a hum-drum drone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. </div> </td></tr></table> William Cullen Bryant. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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