| |
| PIPED the Blackbird, on the beechwood spray, | |
| “Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, | |
| What ’s your name?” quoth he,— | |
| “What ’s your name? O, stop and straight unfold, | |
| Pretty maid with showery curls of gold.”— | 5 |
| “Little Bell,” said she. | |
| |
| Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks, | |
| Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks,— | |
| “Bonny bird,” quoth she, | |
| “Sing me your best song before I go.” | 10 |
| “Here ’s the very finest song I know, | |
| Little Bell,” said he. | |
| |
| And the Blackbird piped; you never heard | |
| Half so gay a song from any bird,— | |
| Full of quips and wiles, | 15 |
| Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, | |
| All for love of that sweet face below, | |
| Dimpled o’er with smiles. | |
| |
| And the while that bonny bird did pour | |
| His full heart out, freely o’er and o’er | 20 |
| ’Neath the morning skies, | |
| In the little childish heart below | |
| All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, | |
| And shine forth in happy overflow | |
| From the brown, bright eyes. | 25 |
| |
| Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade; | |
| Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, | |
| And from out the tree | |
| Swung and leaped and frolicked, void of fear; | |
| While bold Blackbird piped, that all might hear,— | 30 |
| “Little Bell!” piped he. | |
| |
| Little Bell sat down amid the fern: | |
| “Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return; | |
| Bring me nuts,” quoth she. | |
| Up, away! the frisky Squirrel hies,— | 35 |
| Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes,— | |
| And down the tree | |
| Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, | |
| In the little lap drop one by one. | |
| Hark, how Blackbird pipes to see the fun! | 40 |
| “Happy Bell!” pipes he. | |
| |
| Little Bell looked up and down the glade: | |
| “Squirrel, Squirrel, from the nut-tree shade, | |
| Bonny Blackbird, if you ’re not afraid, | |
| Come and share with me!” | 45 |
| Down came Squirrel, eager for his fare, | |
| Down came bonny Blackbird, I declare; | |
| Little Bell gave each his honest share,— | |
| Ah! the merry three! | |
| |
| And the while those frolic playmates twain | 50 |
| Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, | |
| ’Neath the morning skies, | |
| In the little childish heart below | |
| All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, | |
| And shine out in happy overflow | 55 |
| From her brown, bright eyes. | |
| |
| By her snow-white cot, at close of day, | |
| Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms, to pray; | |
| Very calm and clear | |
| Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, | 60 |
| In blue heaven, an angel-shape serene | |
| Paused awhile to hear. | |
| |
| “What good child is this,” the angel said, | |
| “That with happy heart beside her bed | |
| Prays so lovingly?” | 65 |
| Low and soft, O, very low and soft, | |
| Crooned the Blackbird in the orchard croft, | |
| “Bell, dear Bell,” crooned he. | |
| |
| “Whom God’s creatures love,” the angel fair | |
| Murmured, “God doth bless with angels’ care; | 70 |
| Child, thy bed shall be | |
| Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, | |
| Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind, | |
| Little Bell, for thee!” | |
| |
