Poem of the Day

I’ve just finished reading Under the Lilacs by Louisa May Alcott, and in it she mentioned Mary Howitt’s poetry several times, so I thought I’d look up some of her poetry, though I previously posted The Spider and the Fly.

The Fossil Elephant
By Mary Howitt

The earth is old! Six thousand years
Are gone since I had birth
In the forests of the olden time,
And the solitudes of earth.

We were a race of mighty things
The world was all our own.
I dwelt with the Mammoth large and strong,
And the giant Mastodon.

No ship went over the waters then,
No ship with oar or sail
But the wastes of the sea were habited
By the Dragon and the Whale

And the Hydra down in the ocean caves
Abode, a creature grim
And the scaled Serpents huge and strong
Coiled up in the waters dim.

The wastes of the world were all our own
A proud, imperial lot!
Man had not then dominion given,
Or else we knew it not.

There was no city on the plain
No fortress on the hill
No mighty men of strength, who came
With armies up, to kill.

There was no iron then, no brass
No silver and no gold
The wealth of the world was in its woods,
And its granite mountains old.

And we were the kings of all the world
We knew its breadth and length
We dwelt in the glory of solitude,
And the majesty of strength.

But suddenly came an awful change!
Wherefore, ask not of me
That it was, my desolate being shews,
Let that suffice for thee.

The Mammoth huge and the Mastodon
Were buried beneath the earth
And the Hydra and the Serpents strong,
In the caves where they had birth!

There is now no place of silence deep,
Whether on land or sea
And the Dragons lie in the mountain-rock,
As if for eternity!

And far in the realms of thawless ice,
Beyond each island shore,
My brethren lie in the darkness stern
To awake to life no more!

And not till the last conflicting crash
When the world consumes in fire,
Will their frozen sepulchres be loosed,
And their dreadful doom expire!

This poem is just fun to read!

The Spider and the Fly
By Mary Howitt

Will you walk into my parlour?” said the Spider to the Fly,
‘Tis the prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy;
The way into my parlour is up a winding stair,
And I’ve a many curious things to shew when you are there.”
Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “to ask me is in vain,
For who goes up your winding stair can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high;
Will you rest upon my little bed?” said the Spider to the Fly.
“There are pretty curtains drawn around; the sheets are fine and thin,
And if you like to rest awhile, I’ll snugly tuck you in!”
Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “for I’ve often heard it said,
They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!”

Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, ” Dear friend what can I do,
To prove the warm affection I ‘ve always felt for you?
I have within my pantry, good store of all that’s nice;
I’m sure you’re very welcome—will you please to take a slice?”
“Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, “kind Sir, that cannot be,
I’ve heard what’s in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!”

“Sweet creature!” said the Spider, “you’re witty and you’re wise,
How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes!
I’ve a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you’ll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself.”
“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said, “for what you ‘re pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I’ll call another day.”

The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again:
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
And set his table ready, to dine upon the Fly.
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing,
“Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple—there’s a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!”

Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by;
With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue—
Thinking only of her crested head—poor foolish thing! At last,
Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragged her up his winding stair, into his dismal den,
Within his little parlour—but she ne’er came out again!

And now dear little children, who may this story read,
To idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne’er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor, close heart and ear and eye,
And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly.