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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>The Finding of the Lyre.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">Once a year my pupils teach me "The Finding of the Lyre." By the time I have learned it they know the meaning of every line and have caught the spirit of the verse. There is an ancient "lyre," or violin, made in northern Africa, in the possession of a Boston lady, and I have found the mud-turtle rattle among the Indians on the Indian reservation at Syracuse, New York. They use it as a musical instrument in their Thanksgiving dances. The poem helps to build an interest in history and mythology while it develops a child's reverence and insight. (1819-91.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> There lay upon the ocean's shore What once a tortoise served to cover; A year and more, with rush and roar, The surf had rolled it over, Had played with it, and flung it by, As wind and weather might decide it, Then tossed it high where sand-drifts dry Cheap burial might provide it. </div> <div class="stanza"> It rested there to bleach or tan, The rains had soaked, the sun had burned it; With many a ban the fisherman Had stumbled o'er and spurned it; And there the fisher-girl would stay, Conjecturing with her brother How in their play the poor estray Might serve some use or other. </div> <div class="stanza"> So there it lay, through wet and dry, As empty as the last new sonnet, Till by and by came Mercury, And, having mused upon it, "Why, here," cried he, "the thing of things In shape, material, and dimension! Give it but strings, and, lo, it sings, A wonderful invention!" </div> <div class="stanza"> So said, so done; the chords he strained, And, as his fingers o'er them hovered, The shell disdained a soul had gained, The lyre had been discovered. O empty world that round us lies, Dead shell, of soul and thought forsaken, Brought we but eyes like Mercury's, In thee what songs should waken! </div> </td></tr></table> James Russell Lowell. <h3>A Chrysalis.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"A Chrysalis" is a favourite poem with John Burroughs, and is found, too, in Stedman's collection. We all come to a point in life where we need to burst the shell and fly away into the new realm. (1835-98.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> My little Mädchen found one day A curious something in her play, That was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed; It was not anything that grew, Or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew; Had neither legs nor wings, indeed; And yet she was not sure, she said, Whether it was alive or dead. </div> <div class="stanza"> She brought it in her tiny hand To see if I would understand, And wondered when I made reply, "You've found a baby butterfly." "A butterfly is not like this," With doubtful look she answered me. So then I told her what would be Some day within the chrysalis: How, slowly, in the dull brown thing Now still as death, a spotted wing, And then another, would unfold, Till from the empty shell would fly A pretty creature, by and by, All radiant in blue and gold. </div> <div class="stanza"> "And will it, truly?" questioned she— Her laughing lips and eager eyes All in a sparkle of surprise— "And shall your little Mädchen see?" "She shall!" I said. How could I tell That ere the worm within its shell Its gauzy, splendid wings had spread, My little Mädchen would be dead? </div> <div class="stanza"> To-day the butterfly has flown,— She was not here to see it fly,— And sorrowing I wonder why The empty shell is mine alone. Perhaps the secret lies in this: I too had found a chrysalis, And Death that robbed me of delight Was but the radiant creature's flight! </div> </td></tr></table> Mary Emily Bradley. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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