Harper's Young People, February 1, 1881 / An Illustrated Weekly

Baked in a patty-pan, Flaky and light, Done to a turn, And seasoned just right, By a recipe taken From mother's big book, And some words of advice Thrown in by the cook, Is Kitty's first pie. She made it herself, Did little Miss Kit, Without the least help, Not one tiny bit. But in eating it she'll have Assistance enough; For there's Bertha her sister, And little dog Buff, And dear Mrs. Purr (Who's a cat, as you know), And all the sweet dolls Sitting up in a row, Each waiting her turn For a piece of the pie; And all the young people Besides you and I Would, if asked, take a bit Of Kitty's first pie. Of course 'twill go round, For it's round as a wheel, Though I doubt if for all It would make a full meal. But I'm sure there's enough For each one to taste, And pass an opinion On the mince and the paste Of Kitty's first pie.

Oh, how the wild north winds stormed loud in the Pentland Firth, Beating the shores of the Orcades Isles, all white with foam! Oh, 'mid the shuddering cold and frost, was life aught worth? Yes, for they saw through the blackness the lights of Home. Hakon and Ragon alone were left of the gallant crew That had sailed to the arctic seas more than a year ago. Some had perished of hunger, and some where great winds blew: Only they two on the ship, sinking so surely below. But when the morning dawned, and the ship broke slowly apart, They saw men launching the life-boat. Ah, would it come too late! Naught was left but a three-foot spar. Each saw, with a sinking heart, It would keep but one afloat. Then Hakon said, sadly: My mate, Thou hast a wife and lasses and lads, and I am only one. Good-by! I'll give thee a chance, Ragon. God bless thee, mate! Good-by! And down he sank with a smiling face, his duty bravely done. Little he cared for fame: he'd found a noble way to die. Then, when the tide beat inland, and Hakon came to his place, All the little Orcades town brought back the hero's clay, And bore him to Ragon's cottage with loving tears and grace. Many were there to weep for him, many were there to pray. The dominie kissed his brave cold hand, and said, Hakon, well done! Mothers, I bid you tell your sons how Hakon lived and died. Nay, do not weep; this sailor boy a noble crown has won: He rests in God, and in our hearts his memory shall abide. And in that Court of Peace that lies in Stromness old and gray There is a spot where, spite of cold, the long green grasses wave, Where youths and maidens wander, and little children play. Ask them its charm, they'll answer you, Why, this is Hakon's grave!