A Belated Violet
Very dark the autumn sky,
Dark the clouds that hurried by;
Very rough the autumn breeze
Shouting rudely to the trees.
Listening, frightened, pale, and cold,
Through the withered leaves and mold
Peer’d a violet all in dread—
“Where, oh, where is spring?” she said.
Sighed the trees, “Poor little thing!
She may call in vain for spring.”
And the grasses whispered low,
“We must never let her know.”
“What’s this whispering?” roared the breeze,
“Hush! a violet!” sobbed the trees,
“Thinks it’s spring—poor child, we fear
She will die if she should hear!”
Softly stole the wind away,
Tenderly he murmured, “Stay!”
To a late thrush on the wing,
“Stay with her one day and sing!”
Sang the thrush so sweet and clear
That the sun came out to hear,
And, in answer to her song,
Beamed on violet all day long.
And the last leaves here and there
Fluttered with a spring-like air,
Then the violet raised her head—
“Spring has come at last!” she said.
Happy dreams had violet
All that night—but happier yet,
When the dawn came dark with snow,
Violet never woke to know.
The Parrot and the Cuckoo.
A Tragedy.
Scene: The vicinity of the Cuckoo Clock. Cuckoo discovered in the act of telling three o’clock. Parrot watching from a perch near by.
Cuckoo: Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Parrot: Hark, there she goes!
To hear her any parrot would suppose
She owned the earth, conceited little thing,
She really seems to fancy she can sing,
Yet, though you’ll scarce believe, that little bird
Rules the whole blessed household with a word.
She only has to call “Cuckoo!” and lo!
The family at once to luncheon go.
When she screams “Cuckoo!” twice it is the rule
For all the kids to hurry back to school—
And when six times they know it is a sign
That Cuckoo thinks it’s time for them to dine.
And so it goes through all the livelong day,
She tells them what to do and they obey.
But as for me, they treat me like a doll
And mimic me and call me “Pretty Poll,”
And ask me several million times a day,
“Does Polly want a cracker?”—by the way,
I’ve yet to see that cracker—oh, sometimes
I gnash my beak, or mutter nursery rhymes
Or anything! for fear I should let slip
The wicked words they taught me on the ship,
Those naughty sailors, when long, long ago
They brought me from the land where spices grow
And palm-trees wave, and Cuckoos do not rule
And tell folks when to bed and when to school
And when to go to dinner.
Never mind!
My time will come. As that vain bird will find
Unto her sorrow. Yes, the die is cast!
Next time the Cuckoo squawks will be her last.
Next time she tries—
Cuckoo (striking four o’clock): Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
Parrot: Come, now, have done! we’ve heard enough from you!
Prepare to die! your little reign is o’er,
Over this house you’ll tyrannize no more!
What! won’t you come? then I’ll soon show you how!
There! stop that racket; heavens, what a row!
(Smashes the Cuckoo to bits, causing the machinery to run down.)
Help, stop it, some one!
(It stops.)
Well, upon my word,
You’re tough for such a very little bird,
I thought you’d never die! and now, my dear,
The family will very soon be here,
And when they see how little’s left of you
They’ll be so glad they won’t know what to do—
To think the Cuckoo’s killed and they are free
To work or play or sleep or take their tea
Just when they please—and, best of all, how jolly
To feel they owe it all to “Pretty Polly”!
(Curtain.)
