Textarchiv - Hannah Flagg Gould

The Bee and the Child

mrbot — Sat, 10 Aug 2019 21:10:08 +0000

Come here, little Bee,
There are fresh flowers by me;
Come, and just let me see
How your honey is made!
'I can't, for I fear
That, for coming too near,
I should pay very dear,
So I can't—I'm afraid!'

O, feel no alarm;
Not a leg, nor an arm,
Nor a wing will I harm.
You may here sip your fill.
'Pretty maid, then I'll come
Close beside you and hum,
And you shall have some
Of the sweets I distil.'

Then my trust shall be free
As yours is in me,
And be sure, little Bee,
That you do'nt use your sting!
'Oh! no! no! — since I flew
From the cell where I grew,
None has known me to do
So ungrateful a thing!'

Then why thus supplied
With a sting, but to hide
And to keep it untried,
Out of sight, little Bee?
'He, who gave me my sting
And my swift gauzy wing,
Bids me not harm a thing
That would not injure me!'

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Captive Butterfly

mrbot — Tue, 06 Aug 2019 21:10:09 +0000

Good morning, pretty Butterfly!
How have you passed the night?
I hope you're gay and glad as I
To see the morning light.

But, little silent one, methinks
You're in a sober mood.
I wonder if you'd like to drink,
And what you take for food.

I shut you in my crystal cup
To let your winglets rest.
And now I want to hold you up,
To see your velvet vest.

I want to count your tiny toes,
To find your breathing-place,
And touch the downy horn that grows
Each side your pretty face.

I'd like to see just how you're made,
With streaks and spots and rings;
And wish you'd show me how you played
Your shining, rainbow wings.

''T was not,' the little prisoner said,
'For want of food or drink,
That, while you slumbered on your bed,
I could not sleep a wink.

'My wings are pained for want of flight,
My lungs, for want of air.
In bitterness I've passed the night,
And meet the morning's glare.

'When looking through my prison wall,
So close and yet so clear,
I see there's freedom there for all,
While I'm a captive here.

'I've stood upon my feeble feet
Until they're full of pain.
I know that liberty is sweet,
Which I cannot regain.

'Do I deserve a fate like this,
Who've ever acted well,
Since first I left the chrysalis,
And fluttered from my shell?

'I've never injured fruit, or flower,
Or man, or bird, or beast;
And such a one should have the power
Of going free, at least.

'And now, if you will let me quit
My prison-house, the cup,
I'll show you how I sport and flit,
And make my wings go up!'

The lid was raised; the prisoner said,
'Behold my airy play!'
Then quickly on the wing he fled
Away, away, away!

From flower to flower he gaily flew,
To cool his aching feet
And slake his thirst with morning dew,
Where liberty was sweet.

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Bed on the Beach

mrbot — Tue, 06 Aug 2019 21:10:02 +0000

By what rude waves hast thou been tossed,
To gain this quiet beach?
What wide-spread waters hast thou crossed,
This peaceful shore to reach?

An awful secret dost thou tell
About the yawning deep,
That, while her billows war and swell,
They most profoundly keep.

Thou speakest of one whose weary frame
Has sought repose on thee;
But not of kindred, home, or name,
Sad outcast of the sea!

Thou giv'st no record of his birth,
No token of the clime,
Where he was last a child of earth,
Or when he passed from time.

And who must now, on some far shore,
Await the coming sail
Of him, they will behold no more
Till mortal sight shall fail?

For fearful things dost thou present
Before the spirit's view;
The parting bark! the canvass rent!
The helpless, dying crew!

Of one dread scene the fatal whole,
In thought, I hear and see.
It chills my blood—it makes my soul
Grow sick to look at thee.

'The seas must render up their dead!'
Is all thou dost reply;
While o'er thee, cold and restless bed,
The tide rolls proud and high!

The guilty deep is taking back
The witness of her wrath,
To bury it with every track
That marks its troubled path!

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Bee, Clover, and Thistle

mrbot — Mon, 05 Aug 2019 21:10:13 +0000

A bee from her hive one morning flew,
A tune to the day-light humming;
And away she went, o'er the clear, bright dew,
Where the grass was green, the violet blue,
And the gold of the sun was coming.

And what first tempted the roving Bee
Was a head of the crimson clover.
'I've found a treasure betimes!' said she,
'And perhaps a greater I might not see,
If I travelled the field all over.

'My beautiful clover, so round and red,
There is not a thing in twenty
That lifts this morning so sweet a head
Above its leaves and its earthy bed,
With so many horns of plenty!'

The flow'rets were thick, which the clover crowned,
As the plumes in the helm of Hector,
And each had a cell that was deep and round;
Yet it would not impart, as the bee soon found,
One drop of its precious nectar.

She cast in her eye where the honey lay,
And her pipe she began to measure;
But she saw at once it was clear as day,
That it would not go down one half the way
To the place of the envied treasure.

Said she in a pet, 'one thing I know,'
As she rose in haste and departed,
'It is not those of the greatest show,
To whom for a favor 't is best to go,
Or that prove most generous-hearted!'

A fleecy flock came into the field,
And one of its members followed
The scent of the clover, till between
Her nibbling teeth its head was seen,
And then in a moment swallowed.

'Ha, ha!' said the Bee, as the clover died,
'Her fortune's smile was fickle!
And now I can get my wants supplied
By a humble flower with a rough outside,
And even a scale and prickle.'

Then she flew to one that by man and beast
Was shunned for its pointed bristle;
But it injured not the bee in the least;
And she filled her pocket, and had a feast
From the bloom of the purple Thistle.

The generous Thistle's life was spared
In the home where the Bee first found her;
Till she grew so old she was hoary-haired,
And her snow-white locks with the silk compared,
As they shone where the sun beamed round her.

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Bridemaid

mrbot — Sun, 04 Aug 2019 21:10:09 +0000

'T is over! I have past the cruel test!
Methinks I carried well the mask of joy,
That frequent use had fitted to my face
Too closely to be shaken by the throb
Of a torn bosom. Yes, I chose the dove
To fasten at my breast this chain of gems,
A sign of peace within. Sad mockery!
The dove was all without, and formed of stone!
A heart that's breaking at another's bliss
Should burst without a groan; and mine I thank,
That every string has snapped so silently,
Quivered and bled unseen.
Ye beauteous flowers,
Behold your sisters in the cast-off wreath,
That, pale and worthless, withers at my feet!
They speak of her who wore them—Ye, of one
Who grew beside her: Yet, the dew of grief
Ne'er touched her bloom.
My silent lute, farewell!!
Thy broken strings will never be restored.
When next thy mistress sweeps the tuneful chord,
May seraph voices mingle with the notes
Where sorrow claims no strain!
Poor, sickly pearls!
How dim and pale ye look, trailed useless out!
The hue of death is cast o'er every thing;
And, vanity is marked on all I see,
On all! Oh, no! One blessed sign appears,
A precious emblem to the eye of Faith!
The holy cross, formed of these ocean gems.
Lo! what a sudden lustre they assume!
It came not from the deep! It is the smile
Of heaven upon the figure they show forth!
With this before me, shall not purer love
And higher hopes than feed on aught below
Lead home my wildered soul?
If Heaven will take
A heart that earth has crushed, form it anew,
And light it from on high, I offer mine,
Not without shame, that all things else were tried
Before the only balm.
Look down, O Thou,
Who wast at Cana! Bless the rite that's past!
Help me to put a wedding garment on
For the great marriage supper; and to wear
Thy choice of ornaments, while I await
The coming of the BRIDEGROOM!

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Child on the Beach

mrbot — Fri, 02 Aug 2019 21:10:10 +0000

Mary, a beautiful, artless child,
Came down on the beach to me,
Where I sat, and a pensive hour beguiled
By watching the restless sea.

I never had seen her face before,
And mine was to her unknown;
But we each rejoiced on that peaceful shore
The other to meet alone.

Her cheek was the rose's opening bud,
Her brow of an ivory white;
Her eyes were bright, as the stars that stud
The sky of a cloudless night.

To reach my side as she gaily sped,
With the step of a hounding fawn,
The pebbles scarce moved beneath her tread,
Ere the little, light foot was gone.

With the love of a holier world than this,
Her innocent heart seemed warm;
While the glad, young spirit looked out with bliss
From its shrine, in her sylph-like form.

Her soul seemed spreading the scene to span,
That opened before her view,
And longing for power to look the plan
Of the universe fairly through.

She climbed and stood on the rocky steep,
Like a bird that would mount and fly
Far over the waves, where the broad, blue deep
Rolled up to the bending sky.

She placed her lips to the spiral shell,
And breathed through every fold.
She looked for the depth of its pearly cell
As a miser would look for gold.

Her small white fingers were spread to toss
The foam as it reached the strand.
She ran them along in the purple mess,
And over the sparkling sand.

The green sea-egg by its tenant left,
And formed to an ocean cup,
She held by its sides, of their spears bereft,
To fill, as the waves rolled up.

But the hour went round, and she knew the space
Her mother's soft word assigned;
While she seemed to look with a saddening face
On all she must leave behind.

She searched 'mid the pebbles, and, finding one
Smooth, clear, and of amber die,
She held it up to the morning sun,
And over her own mild eye.

Then, 'Here,' said she, 'I will give you this,
That you may remember me!'
And she sealed her gift with a parting kiss,
And fled from beside the sea.

Mary, thy token is by me yet.
To me 't is a dearer gem
Than ever was brought from the mine, or set
In the loftiest diadem.

It carries me back to the far-off deep,
And places me on the shore,
Where the beauteous child, who bade me keep
Her pebble, I meet once more.

And all that is lovely, pure and bright
In a soul that is young, and free
From the stain of guile, and the deadly blight
Of sorrow, I find in thee.

I wonder if ever thy tender heart
In memory meets me there,
Where thy soft, quick sigh, as we had to part,
Was caught by the ocean air.

Blest one! over time's rude shore, on thee
May an angel guard attend,
And 'a white stone bearing a new name,' be
Thy passport when time shall end!

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

The Caterpillar

mrbot — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 21:10:09 +0000

'Don't kill me!' Caterpillar said,
As Charles had raised his heel
Upon the humble worm to tread,
As though it could not feel.

'Don't kill me!' and I'll crawl away
To hide awhile, and try
To come and look, another day,
More pleasing to your eye.

'I know I'm now among the things
Uncomely to your sight;
But by and by on splendid wings
You'll see me high and light!

'And then, perhaps, you may be glad
To watch me on the flower;
And that you spared the worm you had
To-day within your power!'

Then Caterpillar went and hid
In some secreted place,
Where none could look on what he did
To change his form and face.

And by and by, when Charles had quite
Forgotten what I've told,
A Butterfly appeared in sight
Most beauteous to behold.

His shining wings were trimmed with gold,
And many a brilliant dye
Was laid upon their velvet fold,
To charm the gazing eye!

Then, near as prudence would allow,
To Charles's ear he drew
And said, 'You may not know me, now
My form and name are new!

'But I'm the worm that once you raised
Your ready foot to kill!
For sparing me, I long have praised,
And love and praise you still.

'The lowest reptile at your feet,
When power is not abused,
May prove the fruit of mercy sweet,
By being kindly used!'

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

Sisera

mrbot — Thu, 01 Aug 2019 21:10:02 +0000

Why tarries Sisera? His mother stands
At the high window, where her eye commands
The hill and vale afar, while waning day
Shows not her son, in all the winding way.

Forth from the lattice goes her earnest cry,
'Where art thou, Sisera? My son, O why,
While o'er the world this solemn twilight steals,
Why tarry thus thy burning chariot wheels?

'When wilt thou come triumphant from the plain,
With Israel's spoils and captives in thy train;
Thy parent's pride, a shouting kingdom's boast,
Thou valiant leader of a dauntless host?

'How went the battle? None will come and tell
Where the dart entered, or the javelin fell;
What shield was shivered, which the trusty sword
That met its aim, or whose the blood that poured.

'If that I gave thee from my own rich veins
Empurple earth's cold sod, what hope remains?
Thy nation's glory must with thee depart;
And one dread swell will burst thy mothers heart!

'But why thy joyful coming thus delay?
Is it to share the spoil, and take the prey?
Dim grows the distance to my weary eye;
Nor hoof, nor wheel, nor foot of man comes nigh!'

Why, hapless mother, does he not return!
Go to the Kenite's distant place, and learn!
Fly to the tent on Zaanaim's plain;
Ask Heber's wife for hint thou call'st in vain!

Enter her tent, and slowly raise the veil;
Lift that spread mantle; see the fatal nail!
Behold thy son, as now he lieth low;
Inglorious chief! and by a woman's blow!

Is this the brow that thou hast hoped to see
Twined with the laurel, high in victory?
The blood thou gav'st him in a form so fair
Is thick around it, on the matted hair!

Pierced through the temples! pillowed on the ground!
Is this the head that glory should have crowned?
Was the fair captive's needle-work to deck,
With many colors, this poor severed neck?

Oh! 't is a fearful thing to be a rod
Used on a people, by the hand of God,
To bring his children back, when they offend;
To chasten them; then have the scourge's end!

To Tabor's mount the bands of Barak drew,
In arms but feeble; in their numbers, few;
While Jabin's hosts, with Sisera their head,
By Kishon's stream the valley overspread.

With strong war-chariots they took the field;
With prancing horses, gleaming spear and shield.
Thick as the grass they overran the plain,
Like that, when mown, to strow it with the slain.

When to the onset, like a stream that gushed
Forth from the mount, the men of Israel rushed;
The Lord of hosts was with them in the fight,
And death, or dread seized every Canaanite.

The ancient river felt its heavy tide
Swell with the blood that flowed upon its side.
Horses and horsemen weltered in the waves,
That bore down thousands into restless graves.

Then Sisera, unchiefed, with none to head,
Leaped from his iron chariot and fled.
His steps the fugitive in terror bent
To ask of Jael refuge in her tent.

She gave him milk; and 'in a lordly dish,'
She brought him food; she granted him his wish
Here to be screened from Barak; but his sleep
She fastened on him! it is long and deep!

Oh, Sisera! it was a fearful thing
To be the minion of an evil king;
Against an injured people to contend,
Who had the God of armies for their friend

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

Sarah

mrbot — Wed, 31 Jul 2019 21:10:10 +0000

She had not breathed this world's inclement air
Till it had chilled, or touched her with a blight.
She had not lived till sorrow, pain, or care
Had marked her brow, or dimmed her spirit's light.

Beauty and health hung round her infant form.
Ten hasty summers had not o'er her flown.
Her guileless heart was happy, pure and warm;
And she believed all others like her own.

She was a shining creature God had lent
This world awhile, too holy to be given!
And SARAH knew that she was only sent
To visit earth, and that her home was heaven.

And, finding much to lure and bind her here,
She smiled on all around her, while within,
Her little angel bosom felt a fear,
Lest thoughts might enter with the stain of sin.

The things of time, the flowery fields of earth
Had much to charm; to win her childish love:
But still she doubted if they all were worth
The brighter scenes that she should find above.

She therefore made her young and tender heart
A morning off'ring for her God to keep;
So that, if summoned early to depart,
Upon his bosom she might fall asleep.

Some spirit-messenger of his had come,
But none knew how, or when, to Sarah's ear,
And told her she had nearly filled the sum
Of days allotted for her being here!

She startled not at this. The warning word,
That told the little listener she must die,
Without surprise, without dismay was heard;
It filled with purer light her joyful eye.

She only sought to soothe her weeping friends,
Assuring them, that she was now to go
Where, but to enter, were to make amends
For more than all that man can leave below.

She fell asleep! The gently fleeting breath
Left her young spirit on a seraph's wing,
Triumphant o'er the grave! The angel Death,
To her, had neither terrors or a sting!

She was a blessed creature God had sent
To show what love and beauty dwell on high,
Upon a kind, a holy errand bent;
To win our love and lure us to the sky!

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836

Requiem for Lafayette

mrbot — Sun, 28 Jul 2019 21:10:02 +0000

He's gone to his home! Like a well-ripened sheaf,
The ear in its fulness and sear in its leaf,
The angels have borne him with joy to the skies;
The portals of heaven have closed on their prize.

He's gone, like the sun at the dying of day,
When shades vale the earth, as his light fades away!
In greatness he rose, and in glory he shone,
Till claimed by the world, while the world was his own.

He's gone, like the waters in brightness that flow;
While verdure and flowers clothe their banks as they go,
Till, forth to the deep, in their grandeur they roll;
He's gone to the ocean, the home of his soul!

He's gone! and the nations in sackcloth are dressed
They mingle their tears round the place of his rest:
But none, like Columbia, lingers to weep,
The friend of her youth, with his fathers asleep.

He watched o'er her childhood—he saw her young form,
Arise in its beauty, 'mid darkness and storm.
Her sighs, like an orphan's, are heavily drawn,
While speaks the cold marble, 'He's gone! he is gone!'

Hannah Flagg Gould

1836