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Poems Every Child Should Know

<h3>A Musical Instrument.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"A Musical Instrument" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-61). This poem is the supreme masterpiece of Mrs. Browning. The prime thought in it is the sacrifice and pain that must go to make a poet of any genius. <blockquote> "The great god sighed for the cost and the pain." </blockquote></div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> What was he doing, the great god Pan, Down in the reeds by the river? Spreading ruin and scattering ban, Splashing and paddling with hoofs of a goat, And breaking the golden lilies afloat With the dragon-fly on the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> He tore out a reed, the great god Pan, From the deep cool bed of the river: The limpid water turbidly ran, And the broken lilies a-dying lay, And the dragon-fly had fled away, Ere he brought it out of the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> High on the shore sat the great god Pan, While turbidly flow'd the river; And hack'd and hew'd as a great god can, With his hard bleak steel at the patient reed, Till there was not a sign of a leaf indeed To prove it fresh from the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> He cut it short, did the great god Pan (How tall it stood in the river!), Then drew the pith, like the heart of a man, Steadily from the outside ring, And notched the poor dry empty thing In holes, as he sat by the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> "This is the way," laugh'd the great god Pan (Laugh'd while he sat by the river), "The only way, since gods began To make sweet music, they could succeed." Then, dropping his mouth to a hole in the reed He blew in power by the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! Blinding sweet, O great god Pan! The sun on the hill forgot to die, And the lilies reviv'd, and the dragon-fly Came back to dream on the river. </div> <div class="stanza"> Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, To laugh as he sits by the river, Making a poet out of a man: The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,— For the reed which grows nevermore again As a reed with the reeds in the river. </div> </td></tr></table> Elizabeth Barrett Browning. <h3>The Brides of Enderby.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Brides of Enderby," by Jean Ingelow (1830-97). This poem is very dramatic, and the music of the refrain has done much to make it popular. But the pathos is that which endears it. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> The old mayor climb'd the belfry tower, The ringers ran by two, by three; "Pull, if ye never pull'd before; Good ringers, pull your best," quoth he. "Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Ply all your changes, all your swells, Play uppe, 'The Brides of Enderby.'" </div> <div class="stanza"> Men say it was a stolen tyde— The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall: And there was naught of strange, beside The flight of mews and peewits pied By millions crouch'd on the old sea wall. </div> <div class="stanza"> I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies; And dark against day's golden death She moved where Lindis wandereth, My sonne's faire wife, Elizabeth. </div> <div class="stanza"> "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews were falling, Farre away I heard her song, "Cusha! Cusha!" all along; Where the reedy Lindis floweth, Floweth, floweth, From the meads where melick groweth Faintly came her milking song— </div> <div class="stanza"> "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, "For the dews will soone be falling; Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot; Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, From the clovers lift your head; Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, Jetty, to the milking shed." </div> <div class="stanza"> If it be long ay, long ago, When I beginne to think howe long, Againe I hear the Lindis flow, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; And all the aire, it seemeth mee, Bin full of floating bells (sayth shee), That ring the tune of Enderby. </div> <div class="stanza"> Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, Save where full fyve good miles away The steeple tower'd from out the greene; And lo! the great bell farre and wide Was heard in all the country side That Saturday at eventide. </div> <div class="stanza"> The swanherds where their sedges are Mov'd on in sunset's golden breath, The shepherde lads I heard afarre, And my sonne's wife, Elizabeth; Till floating o'er the grassy sea Came downe that kyndly message free, The "Brides of Mavis Enderby." </div> <div class="stanza"> Then some look'd uppe into the sky, And all along where Lindis flows To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, "And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea? They ring the tune of Enderby! </div> <div class="stanza"> "For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, They have not spar'd to wake the towne: But while the west bin red to see, And storms be none, and pyrates flee, Why ring 'The Brides of Enderby'?" </div> <div class="stanza"> I look'd without, and lo! my sonne Came riding downe with might and main; He rais'd a shout as he drew on, Till all the welkin rang again, "Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" (A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.) </div> <div class="stanza"> "The olde sea wall," he cried, "is downe, The rising tide comes on apace, And boats adrift in yonder towne Go sailing uppe the market-place." He shook as one that looks on death: "God save you, mother!" straight he saith "Where is my wife, Elizabeth?" </div> <div class="stanza"> "Good sonne, where Lindis winds her way With her two bairns I marked her long; And ere yon bells beganne to play Afar I heard her milking song." He looked across the grassy lea, To right, to left, "Ho, Enderby!" They rang "The Brides of Enderby!" </div> <div class="stanza"> With that he cried and beat his breast; For, lo! along the river's bed A mighty eygre rear'd his crest, And uppe the Lindis raging sped. It swept with thunderous noises loud; Shap'd like a curling snow-white cloud, Or like a demon in a shroud. </div> <div class="stanza"> And rearing Lindis backward press'd Shook all her trembling bankes amaine; Then madly at the eygre's breast Flung uppe her weltering walls again. Then bankes came downe with ruin and rout— Then beaten foam flew round about— Then all the mighty floods were out. </div> <div class="stanza"> So farre, so fast the eygre drave, The heart had hardly time to beat Before a shallow seething wave Sobb'd in the grasses at oure feet: The feet had hardly time to flee Before it brake against the knee, And all the world was in the sea. </div> <div class="stanza"> Upon the roofe we sate that night, The noise of bells went sweeping by; I mark'd the lofty beacon light Stream from the church tower, red and high— A lurid mark and dread to see; And awsome bells they were to mee, That in the dark rang "Enderby." </div> <div class="stanza"> They rang the sailor lads to guide From roofe to roofe who fearless row'd; And I—my sonne was at my side, And yet the ruddy beacon glow'd: And yet he moan'd beneath his breath, "O come in life, or come in death! O lost! my love, Elizabeth." </div> <div class="stanza"> And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was clear. Thy pretty bairns in fast embrace, The lifted sun shone on thy face, Downe drifted to thy dwelling-place. </div> <div class="stanza"> That flow strew'd wrecks about the grass, That ebbe swept out the flocks to sea; A fatal ebbe and flow, alas! To manye more than myne and mee; But each will mourn his own (she saith); And sweeter woman ne'er drew breath Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth. </div> <div class="stanza"> I shall never hear her more By the reedy Lindis shore, "Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, Ere the early dews be falling; I shall never hear her song, "Cusha! Cusha!" all along Where the sunny Lindis floweth, Goeth, floweth; From the meads where melick groweth, When the water winding down, Onward floweth to the town. </div> <div class="stanza"> I shall never see her more Where the reeds and rushes quiver, Shiver, quiver; Stand beside the sobbing river, Sobbing, throbbing, in its falling To the sandy lonesome shore; I shall never hear her calling, "Leave your meadow grasses mellow, Mellow, mellow; Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; </div> <div class="stanza"> "Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot; Quit your pipes of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow; Lightfoot, Whitefoot, From your clovers lift the head; Come uppe, Jetty, follow, follow, Jetty, to the milking shed." </div> </td></tr></table> Jean Ingelow. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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