Caught by crabLest some should venture, over-bold,And fall a prey to cramp and cold,—A few began from piers to leapAnd plunge at once in water deep,But more to shiver, shrink, and shout
As step by step they ventured out;While others were content to stayIn shallow surf, to duck and playAlong the lines that people laidTo give the weak and timid aid.
It was a sight one should behold,When o'er the crowd the breakers rolled;—One took a header through the wave,One floated like a chip or stave,While others there, at every plunge,Were taking water like a sponge.Brownie policeman chasing
Caught by the handBut while the surf they tumbled through,They reckoned moments as they flew,And kept in mind their homeward raceBefore the sun should show his face.
At the shore
For sad and painful is the fateOf those who roam abroad too late;And well may Brownies bear in mindThe hills and vales they leave behind,When far from native haunts they run,As oft they do, in quest of fun.
But, ere they turned to leave the strand,They made a vow with lifted handThat every year, when summer's glowHad warmed the ocean spread below,They'd journey far from grove and glenTo sport in rolling surf again.Policeman looking at mess
Snarled stringOne evening, with the falling dew,Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew.Said one: "I've learned the reason whyWe miss the 'Biddy, Biddy!' cry,That every morning brought a scoreOf fowls around this cottage door;'T is rheumatism most severeThat keeps the widow prisoned here.Her sheep go bleating through the field,In quest of salt no herb can yield,To early roost the fowls withdrawWhile each bewails an empty craw.And sore neglect you may discernOn every side, where'er you turn.If aid come to the widow's need,From Brownies' hands it must proceed."
Another said: "The wool, I know,Went through the mill a month ago.I saw them when they bore the sackTip yonder hill, a wondrous packThat caught the branches overhead,And round their heels the gravel spread.Her spinning-wheel is lying thereIn fragments quite beyond repair.A passing goat, with manners bold,Mistook it for a rival old,
Outside cottage
Looking through fenceAnd knocked it 'round for half an hourWith all his noted butting power.They say it was a striking scene,That twilight conflict on the green;The wheel was resting on the shed,The frame around the garden spread,Before the goat had gained his sight,And judged the article aright."A third remarked: "I call to mindAnother wheel that we may find.Though somewhat worn by use and time,It seems to be in order prime;Now, night is but a babe as yet,The dew has scarce the clover wet;By running fast and working hardWe soon can bring it to the yard;Then stationed here in open airThe widow's wool shall be our care."This suited all, and soon with zealThey started off to find the wheel;Their course across the country layWhere great obstructions barred the way;But Brownies seldom go aroundHowever rough or wild the ground.O'er rocky slope and marshy bed,With one accord they pushed ahead,smashing up wheel
Across the tail-race of a mill,And through a churchyard on the hill.They found the wheel, with head and feet,And band and fixtures, all complete;
Struggling on the homeward road
And soon beneath the trying loadWere struggling on the homeward road.They had some trouble, toil, and care,Some hoisting here, and hauling there;
Carrying it home
At times, the wheel upon a fenceDefied them all to drag it thence,As though determined to remainAnd serve the farmer, guarding grain.But patient head and willing handCan wonders work in every land;And cunning Brownies never yield,But aye as victors leave the field.
Some ran for sticks, and some for pries,And more for blocks on which to rise,That every hand or shoulder there,In such a pinch might do its share.
Before the door they set the wheel,And near at hand the winding reel,That some might wind while others spun,And thus the task be quickly done.
Spinning aroundNo time was wasted, now, to findWhat best would suit each hand or mind.Some through the cottage crept aboutTo find the wool and pass it out;With some to turn, and some to pull,And some to shout, "The spindle's full!"The wheel gave out a droning song,—The work in hand was pushed along.Their mode of action and their skillWith wonder might a spinster fill;For out across the yard entireThey spun the yarn like endless wire,—Beyond the well with steady haul,Across the patch of beans and all,Until the walls, or ditches wide,A greater stretch of wool denied.The widow's yarn was quickly woundIn tidy balls, quite large and round.under frame
Taking it back
And ere the night began to fade,The borrowed wheel at home was laid;And none the worse for rack or wear,Except a blemish here and there,A spindle bent, a broken band,—'T was ready for the owner's hand.
Planning again
ne night, a restless Brownie bandResolved to leave their native strand,And visit islands fair and green,That in the distance might be seen.In answer to a summons wide,The Brownies came from every side—A novel spectacle they made,All mustered in the forest shade.With working implements they came,Of every fashion, use, and name.Said one, "How many times have weSurveyed those islands in the sea,And longed for means to thither sailAnd ramble over hill and vale!
CarryingThat pleasure rare we may command,Without the aid of human hand.And ere the faintest streak of grayHas advertised the coming day,A sturdy craft, both tough and tall,With masts and halyards, shrouds and all,With sails to spread, and helm to guide,Completed from the ways shall glide.So exercise your mystic powerAnd make the most of every hour!"
With axes, hammers, saws, and rules,Dividers, squares, and boring tools,The active Brownies scattered 'round,And every one his labor found.
Some fell to chopping down the trees,And some to hewing ribs and knees;While more the ponderous keelson made,And fast the shapely hull was laid.Then over all they clambered soon,Like bees around their hive in June.'T was hammer, hammer, here and there,And rip and racket everywhere,Chopping down trees
Some fell to chopping down the trees,
While more the ponderous keelson made,
'T was hammer, hammer, here and there,
hammeringWhile some were spiking planks and beams,The calkers stuffed the yawning seams,And poured the resin left and right,To make her stanch and water-tight.Some busily were bringing nails,And bolts of canvas for the sails,And coils of rope of every sizeTo make the ratlines, shrouds, and guys.
It mattered little whence it came,Or who a loss of stock might claim;Supply kept even with demand,Convenient to the rigger's hand.'T was marvelous to see how fastThe vessel was together cast;
Until, with all its rigs and stays,It sat prepared to leave the ways.It but remained to name it now,And break a bottle on the bow,To knock the wedges from the side,And from the keel, and let it slide.Christening
And when it rode upon the sea,The Brownies thronged the deck with glee,And veering 'round in proper style,They bore away for nearest isle.
Dropping the hammerBut those who will the ocean braveShould be prepared for wind and waveFor storms will rise, as many know,When least we look for squall or blowAnd soon the sky was overcast,And waves were running high and fast;
Sitting down sadThen some were sick and some were filledWith fears that all their ardor chilled;But, as when dangers do assailThe humankind, though some may quail,There will be found a few to faceThe danger, and redeem the race,—So, some brave Brownies nobly stoodAnd manned the ship as best they could.Some staid on deck to sound for bars;Some went aloft to watch for stars;And some around the rudder hung,And here and there the vessel swung,While, others, strung on yard and mast,Kept shifting sails to suit the blast.At times, the bow was high in air,And next the stern was lifted there.working on the mastover the yard armSo thus it tumbled, tossed, and rolled,And shipped enough to fill the hold,Till more than once it seemed as thoughTo feed the fish they all must go.
So, some brave Brownies nobly stood
And manned the ship as best they could.
Some staid on deck to sound for bars;
Some went aloft to watch for stars;
And some around the rudder hung,
And here and there the vessel swung,
While, others, strung on yard and mast,
Kept shifting sails to suit the blast.
At times, the bow was high in air,
And next the stern was lifted there.
At seaBut still they bravely tacked and veered,And hauled, and reefed, and onward steered;While screaming birds around them wheeled,As if to say: "Your doom is sealed";And hungry gar and hopeful sharkIn shoals pursued the creaking bark,Still wondering how it braved a galeThat might have made Columbus pale.The rugged island, near them now,Was looming on their starboard bow;But knowing not the proper wayOf entering its sheltered bay,They simply kept their canvas spread,And steered the vessel straight ahead.The birds were distanced in the race;The gar and shark gave up the chase,And turning back, forsook the keel,And lost their chances of a meal.
For now the ship to ruin flew,As though it felt its work was through,And soon it stranded, "pitch and toss,"Upon the rocks, a total loss.The masts and spars went by the board—The hull was shivered like a gourd!But yet, on broken plank and rail,On splintered spars and bits of sailThat strewed for miles the rugged strand,The Brownies safely reached the land.
Sailing
Now, Brownies lack the power, 'tis said,Of making twice what once they've made;So all their efforts were in vainTo build and launch the ship again;—And on that island, roaming 'round,That Brownie band for years was found.
Brownies' Return
Oncewhile the Brownies lay at easeAbout the roots of rugged trees,And listened to the dreary moanOf tides around their island loneSaid one: "My friends, unhappy here,We spend our days from year to yearWe're cornered in, and hardly boastA run of twenty leagues at mostYou all remember well, I ween,The night we reached this island green,When flocks of fowl around us wailed,And followed till their pinions failed.And still our ship at every waveTo sharks a creaking promise gave,Then spilled us out in breakers white,To gain the land as best we might.Since then how oft we've tried in vainTo reach our native haunts again,Where roaming freely, unconfined,Would better suit our roving mind."To-night, while wandering by the seaA novel scheme occurred to me,As I beheld in groups and rowsThe weary fowl in deep repose.They sat as motionless as thoughThe life had left them years ago.The albatross and crane are there,The loon, the gull, and gannet rare.An easy task for us to creepAround the fowl, while fast asleep.And at a given signal springAboard, before they spread a wing,And trust to them to bear us o'er.In safety to our native shore."Another spoke: "I never yetHave shunned a risk that others met,But here uncommon dangers lie,Suppose the fowl should seaward fly,And never landing, course about,And drop us, when their wings gave out?"To shallow schemes that will not bringA modest risk, let cowards cling!The first replied. "A Brownie showsThe best where dangers thickest close.But, hear me out: by sea and land,Their habits well I understand.When rising first they circle wide,As though the strength of wings they tried,Then steering straight across the bay,To yonder coast a visit pay.But granting they for once should beInclined to strike for open sea,The breeze that now is rising fast,Will freshen to a whistling blast,And landward sweeping, stronger still,Will drive the fowl against their will."
Climbing one sideNow at his heels, with willing feet,They followed to the fowls' retreat.'Twas hard to scale the rugged breastOf crags, where birds took nightly rest.But some on hands, and some on knees,And more by vines or roots of trees,From shelf to shelf untiring strained,And soon the windy summit gained.With bated breath, they gathered round;They crawled with care along the ground.By this, one paused; or that, one eyed;Each chose the bird he wished to ride.Climbing Oher side
When all had done the best they could,And waiting for the signal stood,It hardly took a moment's spaceFor each to scramble to his place.
Some seized a neck and some a head,And some a wing, and some a shredOf tail, or aught that nearest lay,To help them mount without delay.Then rose wild flaps and piercing screams,As sudden starting from their dreamsThe wondering fowl in sore dismayBrought wings and muscles into play.Some felt the need of longer sleep,And hardly had the strength to "cheep;"While others seemed to find a storeOf screams they'd never found before—But off like leaves or flakes of snowBefore the gale the Brownies go,Away, away, through spray or cloudAs fancy led, or load allowed.Some birds to poor advantage showed,As, with an oddly balanced load,Now right or left at random cast,
Birds at topThey flew, the sport of every blast;While fish below had aching eyesWith gazing upward at the prize.They followed still from mile to mile,Believing fortune yet would smile;While plainer to the Brownies grewThe hills and vales that well they knew."I see," said one, who, from his postBetween the wings, could view the coast,"The lofty peaks we used to climb
They flew, the sport of every blast;
While fish below had aching eyes
With gazing upward at the prize.
They followed still from mile to mile,
Believing fortune yet would smile;
While plainer to the Brownies grew
The hills and vales that well they knew.
"I see," said one, who, from his post
Between the wings, could view the coast,
"The lofty peaks we used to climb
To gaze upon the scene sublime."A second cried: "And there's the bayFrom which our vessel bore away!""And I," another cried, "can seeThe shady grove, the very treeWe met beneath the night we plannedTo build a ship and leave the land!"All in confusion now at last,The birds upon the shore were cast.Some, tumbling through thick branches, fellA lot more birds
To gaze upon the scene sublime."
A second cried: "And there's the bay
From which our vessel bore away!"
"And I," another cried, "can see
The shady grove, the very tree
We met beneath the night we planned
To build a ship and leave the land!"
All in confusion now at last,
The birds upon the shore were cast.
Some, tumbling through thick branches, fell
And spilled the load that clung so well.Some, "topsy-turvy" to the ground,Dispersed their riders all around;And others still could barely getTo shores where land and water met.Congratulations then began,As here and there the Brownies ran,
Bird fallingTo learn if all had held their gripAnd kept aboard throughout the trip."And now," said one, "that all are o'erIn safety to our native shore,You see, so wasted is the night,Orion's belt is out of sight;And ere the lamp of Venus fadesWe all must reach the forest shades.
As mists of evening deeper grew,The Brownies 'round a comrade drew,An interesting tale to hearAbout a village lying near."Last night," said he, "I heard ariseFrom many throats discordant cries.At once I followed up the sound,And soon, to my amazement, foundIt issued from a building smallThat answered for the county hall.
"I listened there around the door,By village time, an hour or more;Until I learned beyond a doubtA singing-school caused all the rout.
Some, like the hound, would keep ahead,And others seemed to lag instead.Some singers, struggling with the tune,Outscreamed the frightened northern loon.Some mocked the pinched or wheezing cryOf locusts when the wheat is nigh,
While grumbling bassos shamed the strainOf bull-frogs calling down the rain."The Brownies labor heart and handAll mysteries to understand;And if you think those Brownies boldReceived the news so plainly told,And thought no more about the place,You're not familiar with the race.
While grumbling bassos shamed the strainOf bull-frogs calling down the rain."The Brownies labor heart and handAll mysteries to understand;And if you think those Brownies boldReceived the news so plainly told,And thought no more about the place,You're not familiar with the race.
When scholars next their voices tried,The Brownies came from every side;With ears to knot-holes in the wall,To door-jambs, thresholds, blinds, and all,
They listened to the jarring dinProceeding from the room within.
Said one at length, "It seems to meThe master here will earn his fee,If he from such a crowd can bringA single person trained to sing."Another said, "We'll let them tryTheir voices till their throats are dry,And when for home they all depart,We'll not be slow to test our art."That night the Brownies cheered to findThe music had been left behind;And when they stood within the hall,And books were handed 'round to all,They pitched their voices, weak or strong,At solemn verse and lighter song.
John-ny Mor-gan play'd the organ, The father beat the drum, The sis-ter play'd the tam-bou-rine.
Some sought a good old hymn to try;Some grappled with a lullaby;A few a painful effort madeTo struggle through a serenade;While more preferred the lively airThat, hinting less of love or care,Possessed a chorus kind and brightIn which they all could well unite.At times some member tried to rule,And took control of all the school;But soon, despairing, was contentTo let them follow out their bent.They sung both high and low, the same,As fancy led or courage came.
Singing school
Some droned the tune through teeth or nose,Some piped like quail, or cawed like crowsThat, hungry, wait the noonday hornTo call the farmer from his corn.By turns at windows some would stayTo note the signs of coming day.At length the morning, rising, spreadAlong the coast her streaks of red,And drove the Brownies from the placeTo undertake the homeward race.But many members of the bandStill kept their singing-books in hand,Determined not with those to partTill they were perfect in the art.And oft in leafy forest shade,In after times, a ring they made,To pitch the tune, and raise the voice,To sing the verses of their choice,And scare from branches overheadThe speckled thrush and robin red,And make them feel the time had comeWhen singing birds might well be dumb.
Fallen down with books
Onenight while snow was lying deepOn level plain and mountain steep,A sheltered nook the Brownies found,Where conversation might go 'round.
Said one: "The people hereaboutTheir wood supply have taken out;But while they stripped the timber lot,The village parson they forgot.
Said one: "The people hereabout
Their wood supply have taken out;
But while they stripped the timber lot,
The village parson they forgot.
Now that good man, the story goes,As best he can, must warm his toes."Another spoke: "The way is clearTo show both skill and courage here.You're not the sort, I know, to shirk:And coward-like to flee from work.You act at once whene'er you findA chance to render service kind,Nor wait to see what others doIn matters that appeal to you.
"This task in waiting must be doneBefore another day has run.The signs of change are in the air;A storm is near though skies are fair;
As oft when smiles the broadest lie,The tears are nearest to the eye.To work let every Brownie bend,And prove to-night the parson's friend.We'll not take oxen from the stall,That through the day must pull and haul,
Nor horses from the manger lead;But let them take the rest they need.Since mystic power is at our call,By our own selves we'll do it all.
Our willing arms shall take the placeOf clanking chain and leathern trace,And 'round the door the wood we'll strewUntil we hide the house from view."
At once the Brownies sought the groundWhere fuel could with ease be found,—A place where forest-fires had spread,And left the timber scorched and dead.And there throughout the chilly nightThey tugged and tore with all their might;Some bearing branches as their load;With lengthy poles still others strode,
Tugged and tore
Or struggled till they scarce could see,With logs that bent them like a V;While more from under drifts of snowRemoved old trees, and made them goLike plows along the icy street,With half their limbs and roots complete.Some found it hard to train their logTo keep its place through jolt and jog,While some, mistaking ditch for road,Were almost buried with their load,And but for friends and promptest care,The morning light had found them there.
Pulling
Holding him upThe wind that night was cold and keen,And frosted Brownies oft were seen.They clapped their hands and stamped their toes,They rubbed with snow each numbing nose,And drew the frost from every faceBefore it proved a painful case.Holding his foot
And thus, in spite of every ill,The task was carried forward still.Some were by nature well designedFor work of this laborious kind,And never felt so truly great,As when half crushed beneath a weight.While wondering comrades stood aghast,And thought each step must be the last.
But some were slight and ill could bearThe heavy loads that proved their share,under a log
Though at some sport or cunning planThey far beyond their comrades ran.Around the house some staid to pileThe gathered wood in proper style;Which ever harder work they foundAs high and higher rose the mound.Above the window-sill it grew,And next, the cornice hid from view;And, ere the dawn had forced a stop,The pile o'erlooked the chimney-top.
Some hands were sore, some backs were blue,And legs were scraped with slipping throughWhere ice and snow had left their markOn rounded log and smoothest bark.
That morning, when the parson rose,Against the pane he pressed his nose,And tried the outer world to scanTo learn how signs of weather ran.But, 'round the house, behind, before,In front of window, shed, and door,The wood was piled to such a heightBut little sky was left in sight!
In the snowWhen next he climbed his pulpit stair,He touched upon the strange affair,And asked a blessing rich to fallUpon the heads and homes of allWho through the night had worked so hardTo heap the fuel 'round the yard.
His hearers knew they had no claimTo such a blessing if it came,But whispered: "We don't understand—It must have been the Brownie Band."
Hauling logs
WhenIndependence Day was nigh,And children laid their pennies by,Arranging plans how every centShould celebrate the grand event,The Brownies in their earnest wayExpressed themselves about the day.
Said one: "The time is drawing near—To every freeman's heart so dear—When citizens throughout the land,From Western slope to Eastern strand,
Will celebrate with booming gunTheir liberties so dearly won!""A fitting time," another cried,"For us, who many sports have tried,
Holding firecrackerTo introduce our mystic artAnd in some manner play a part."A third replied, with beaming face:"Trust me to lead you to a placeWhere fireworks of every kindAre made to suit the loyal mind.
"There, Roman candles are in store,And bombs that like a cannon roar;While 'round the room one may beholdDesigns of every size and mold,—The wheels that turn, when all ablaze,And scatter sparks a thousand ways;The eagle bird, with pinions spread;The busts of statesmen ages dead;And him who led his tattered bandAgainst invaders of the land
Until he shook the country freeFrom grasp of kings beyond the sea."We may, from this supply, with easeSecure a share whene'er we please;And on these hills behind the townThat to the plain go sloping down,Exploding firecracker
We'll take position, come what may,And celebrate the Nation's Day."That eve, when stars began to shine,The eager band was formed in line,And, acting on the plans well laid,A journey to the town was made.The Brownies never go astray,However puzzling is the way;With guides before and guards behind,They cut through every turn and wind,Until a halt was made at lastBefore a building bolted fast.But those who think they'd turn aroundAnd leave because no keys are foundShould entertain the thought no more,But study up the Brownie lore.They rummaged boxes piled aroundAnd helped themselves to what they found,Some eager to secure the wheelThat would so many sparks reveal.Some active members of the bandTo bombs and crackers turned their hand,While more those emblems sought to findThat call the Nation's birth to mind,And bring from every side the shoutWhen all their meaning blazes out.
exploding out of a barrel
Ere long, upon the homeward roadThey hastened with their novel load:And when the bell in chapel towerGave notice of the midnight hour,The ruddy flame, the turning wheel,The showering sparks and deafening pealShowed Brownies in the proper wayGave welcome to the glorious day.
Carrying fireworks home
The lighted eagles, through the night,Looked down like constellations bright;The rockets, whizzing to and fro,Lit up the slumbering town below;
While, towering there with eyes of fire,As when he made his foes retire,Above all emblems duly raised,The Father of his Country blazed.But ere the Brownies' large supplyHad gone to light the summer sky,Some plasters would have served the bandMuch better than the goods on hand;For there were cases all aboutWhere Brownies thought the fuse was out,Till with a sudden fizz and flareIt caught the jokers unaware.At times, in spite of warning cries,Some proved too slow at closing eyes;Some ears were stunned, some noses gotToo close to some- thing quick and hot,And fingers bore for days and weeksThe trace of hasty powder's freaks.Some dodging 'round would get a shareOf splendor meant for upper air,And with a black or speckled faceThey ran about from place to place,To find new dangers blaze and burnOn every side where'er they'd turn.But few were there who felt afraidOf bursting bomb or fusillade,And to the prize they'd stick and hangUntil it vanished with a "bang,"Or darting upward seemed to flyOn special business to the sky.
While, towering there with eyes of fire,As when he made his foes retire,Above all emblems duly raised,The Father of his Country blazed.But ere the Brownies' large supplyHad gone to light the summer sky,
Some plasters would have served the bandMuch better than the goods on hand;For there were cases all aboutWhere Brownies thought the fuse was out,Till with a sudden fizz and flareIt caught the jokers unaware.
At times, in spite of warning cries,Some proved too slow at closing eyes;Some ears were stunned, some noses gotToo close to some- thing quick and hot,And fingers bore for days and weeksThe trace of hasty powder's freaks.
Some dodging 'round would get a shareOf splendor meant for upper air,And with a black or speckled face
They ran about from place to place,To find new dangers blaze and burnOn every side where'er they'd turn.But few were there who felt afraidOf bursting bomb or fusillade,And to the prize they'd stick and hangUntil it vanished with a "bang,"Or darting upward seemed to flyOn special business to the sky.
Lighting up the night
But there, while darkness wrapped the hill,The Brownies celebrated still;For, pleasures such as this they foundBut seldom in their roaming 'round;And with reluctant feet they fledWhen morning tinged the sky with red.
Explaining to the police