THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 1 October to October, 1870-1871. BY LUCY CATLIN BULL, (BoBJi APEIL 18, 1861.) HARTFORD, CONN. 1 gut Utarg lupt all t^tst tlntigs, anb ponbmb t^tm in ^ARTFORD : CASE, LOCKWOOD & BRAINARD. 1872. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, BY JOHN C. BULL, in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. NEW YORK, Oct. 6, 1871. I have looked over the poems of Lucy C. Bull, of Hart ford, shown to me in manuscript. They seem to me most extraordinary for one so young, that is to say, of nine or ten years of age. They show a prodigious command of language considering her time of life, great ease of con struction, an accurate ear for poetic numbers, and facility in the use of imagery not copied from books, but derived immediately from nature. I do not think I have seen any thing produced at the same age at all comparable to them. WILLIAM CDLLEN BRYANT. 626061 f FACE IT is thought best to print this private edition of a child's first poems for two reasons. First, to save the labor of supply ing the large number of manuscript copies desired by friends ; and secondly, to collect the poems themselves in a secure and more permanent form. In doing this it is most earnestly desired that no more pub licity may be given to the verses and their author than must necessarily accompany a book privately printed. The arrangement of the book is simply in the order of the composition ; the object being to give a year's history of the working of the child's mind, as shown by her writings, rather than a volume of perfect poetry. For this reason, and for other obvious ones, no suggestions, corrections, or alterations have been made in any case. From title to end every poem is wholly original, and, with but few exceptions, they were withheld from parents and friends until completed. As the little book will meet the eyes of many who do not know the author, it may be proper to say a few words with regard to her. 1* From early childhood she has been keenly alive to impres sions of grace and beauty, and her writing is a natural out pouring rather than a mental labor. Her health, so far from deteriorating, has steadily improved since this gift was devel oped. She has a strong and healthy inclination to all childish and even boisterous sports ; great delight in the companion ship of little children ; and an even temperament, not subject to great exaltations or depressions. In a word, she is neither morbid nor precocious. Fearing injury to her health, great care has been taken to avoid suggestion or pressure in the matter of her writing and reading ; careful guiding of the latter being the only course adopted, and a holding back in study, writing and reading, so far as it could be done without arousing opposition and pro ducing unhappiness : it being evidently the wiser course to surround her with pleasures and occupations that unconsciously to herself would in great measure take the place of mental work. The " guiding of her reading " has consisted chiefly in with holding those books which in style or matter might have an injurious influence. Her own choice led her to make constant companions of Shakspeare and Milton, Scott's poems, and the Pilgrim's Progress, at so early an age as to surprise her parents. Later she became fond of Wordsworth, Tennyson and Bryant, and of her own accord took up Spenser's Faerie Queen with great delight. At the age of nine years and a half she began her first regu lar attendance at school, a private seminary holding only a morning session. She had long been in the habit of writing or dictating little stories in prose, but at this time she remarked to her mother, " I am going to write some poetry." " The Wildwood " was the result of this first attempt, and was imme diately re-written, and no one was permitted to see it until some three months afterwards, when " The Country School- House " and " Santa Glaus' Visit " had been written ; the pleasure which these pieces gave her parents making her wil ling to show them her first effort. From this beginning she wrote almost daily, often having several pieces in her mind at once, but never being allowed to write after dark. In reply to expressions of anxiety lest so much writing should injure her health, she exclaimed, " They come to me, I must write them ; it is very easy, any one could do it if they would only think so." " Toots's Lament " was in spired by hearing only that portion of Dombey and Son read aloud ; but both renderings were very unsatisfactory to herself. The lines " On the Birthday of a Little Child " were found by the servant hidden away under an oilcloth. Sorrow for the loss of her life-long companion, produced the lines to Fido. A friend visiting her mother, and drawing the contrast between her two nieces, unconsciously suggested " Mabel's Good Be havior." One Sunday, being prevented attending church, she said to her mother, " I do not mean to write poetry on Sunday, but I have a piece in my head, and I cannot rest until it is out ; do you think it would be wrong for me to write it down ?" This single exception to her rule was " The Wooing of Young Jock- ington." The next afternoon she went out with her sled, but soon came in saying, ' she had so many pieces in her mind she could not stay out, but it was so late she must choose the shortest and easiest.' The " Ode to the Snowflake," and " Poetry Everywhere " were the result of this choice. Her grandfather's gift of a pair of canaries occasioned the lines dated February 3. She said that " The Resurrection Hymn was composed while swinging on a clothes line !" " The Poet's Dream " could not be finished ' because she had not read the whole of Shakspeare.' " Beautiful Rain " was written on the piazza during a shower ; " The Brook " and " The Baby's Breath," on the margin of a newspaper while traveling in the cars ; " An Evening Land scape," while alone in the upper chamber of a barn nestled in the hay, the wide doors thrown open to the west. " Yanna " and the Dramas were interspersed at intervals between the sixty shorter poems. J. P. B. APRIL, 1872. Page. The Wildwood, Written October, 1870. 9 The Wildwood as first written, October, " 10 The Country School-House, Dec. 17, " 11 Santa Glaus' Visit, Dec. 20. " 13 Mr. Toots's Lament for Florence, Jan. 11,1871. 16 Mr. Toots's Lament No. 2, Jan., " 17 On the Birthday of a Little Child, Jan., " 18 Charade Fido, Jan., " 18 On the Death of a Favorite Dog, Jan. 24, " 19 The Wooing of Young Jockington, Jan. 29, " 20 Ode to a Snowflake, Jan. 30, " 23 Mabel's Good Behavior, Jan. 29, " 24 Poetry Everywhere, Jan. 30, " 25 The Forget-me-not; A Tale of Germany Feb. 2. " 26 Our Canaries, Feb. 3, " 29 The Old Lamplighter, Feb. 3. " 30 Music, Feb. 3, " 31 Charade Poetry, Feb., " 31 Evening Lullaby Feb. 4, " 32 Valentine to Bessie, Feb. 13, " 33 Violets, Feb. 17, " 34 Evening at the Old Homestead, Feb., " 35 Under the Coverlid ; or The Morning Frolic, Feb. 27, " 36 Vi CONTENTS. Page. The Geranium, Feb. 27, 1871. 37 The Rainbow, Feb. 27, " 38 The Firelight; or Childhood's Memories, Feb. 27, " 39 Verses to Grandpa on his Birthday, Feb. 28, " 40 The Lily of the Valley, Mch. 1, " 41 The Tale of the Bee, Mch. 1, " 42 The Anemone, Mch. 9, " 44 Lines to Bessie, Mch. 1, " 45 Ode to the Violet, Mch. 9, " 46 The Three Mothers; or The Patters of Little Feet,. . . .Mch. 13, " 47 May, Mch. 18, " 49 The Soldiers' Parting, Mch. 20, " 50 Ode to a Sunset, Mch. 20, " 52 Odeto Venus, Mch. 21, " 53 Whatlslt? Mch. 27, " 54 HastEver? Mch. 30, " 55 Address to a Nightingale, April, " 56 The Child and the Cloud, ...April 3," 57 A Vision of the Future, April 7, " 59 Childhood's Memories, April, " 60 A Cluster of Violets, April. " 62 A Lament for Little Fido, April 11, " 63 Mandoline, April 22, " 65 A Hymn of the Resurrection, May 21, " 66 Only Six Years Old, May 31, " 68 The Poet's Dream Unfinished, May, ' ' 69 InaHammock, June 19, " 70 Beautiful Rain, June 28, " 71 The Brook, July 14, " 72 CONTENTS. Vii The Baby's Breath, July 14, 1871. 73 The Farmer's Baby, July 19, " 74 Baby Boy, July 19, " 75 The May Wreath, July 26, " 76 Mosses and Shells from Lily May's Cabinet, July 29, " 77 The Child and the Brook, August, " 80 Our Johnnie Aug. 30, " 82 The Evening Landscape; or My View, Sept. 5, " 84 Handsome Is that Handsome Does ; or The Three Flowers, Sept. 5, " 87 The Evening Scene, Oct. 11, " 90 Linda and the Brook, Oct. 12, " 92 To My Mother on her Birthday 94 Yanna; or the Lovely Picture, April 15-June 3, 1871. 95 ramas. A Rolling Stone Gathers no Moss; A Tragedy, Feb. 21, 1871. 129 No Use Crying for Spilled Milk; A Tragedy, April, " 135 Victor, the King of Fairy-Land, October, " 144 Cfo October, 1870. fKNOW a spot where the violet grows, And a mountain-brook through the forest flows Down to the sea that murmurs low, And dashes the foam as white as snow Around the rocks, and o'er the sands, And plays by the isle where the light-house stands. 'Tis beautiful there at the close of day, When the painted butterfly ceases its play To rest in calm and sweet repose, On the soft warm heart of the sweet red rose. Then the daisy shuts its golden eye, And the insects cease their hum and fly. I love to roam at dawn of day, And list to the wild birds' morning lay ; Then all the flowers are waking up, And the water-lily opes its cup, The sun sends down its warming rays, And the little brook with the pebbles still plays. As Pirst Written. fKNOW a spot where the wild thyme blows, Where the wind caresses the sweet red rose, Where human foot doth seldom tread On the soft green moss that makes a bed For the modest violet. I love to roam at dawn of day In its realms where the beautiful butterflies play, For there is peace and joyfulness E'en to the blades of soft green grass That peep up from the moss. Count rn December 17, 1870. fT stands upon a grassy plain, Arnid the elm-trees tall, That stretch their branches far in vain To catch the stars so small. But hark ! the school-bells ring For nine o'clock at morn, See the children coming in With book under each arm. With many a shout and merry din They pour in at the door, Their^ lunches in their pails of tin, Oh, me ! just hear them roar ! The old schoolmaster he is there, So dignified and tall, With stature large and figure spare, He seems to fill the hall. iz She Countrn $cbool-i)ose. He taps the desk and school begins. The children take their seats ; They laugh and whisper, play with pins, And many other feats. At last the bell rings school is done How glad the children are ! With many a joke and many a pun, They run out in the air. And now they're gone, the school-room's bare And still and empty as the night, Except a straggler here and there, That stayed to fly his kite. - Claws' December 20, 1870. j^jff WAS a merry Christmas eve, c5Z The snow was falling fast ; The time when folks believe Old Santa-Glaus comes past. The children hung their stockings At the chimney-corner tall Even little Toddlekins Hung up her stocking small. But hark ! what means this knocking In the chimney, who is that ? 'Tis Santa-Glaus that's coming, I thought it was a rat. Look, look ! his^head is peeping How funny he does seem ! He looks to see 'f they're sleeping So that he can't be seen. 2* Now see I he's coming out, Oh me ! how he does act ! How carefully he moves about So he shan't drop his pack ! Here is a doll for Chris And, oh dear me ! what's that ? A rocking-horse for Bob, And next a squeaking cat. And here's a drum for Tom, A little trumpet next, Then a dollie that came from Paris, in rose-silk dressed ; And then for Toddlekins a doll To ope and shut its eye ; And then a parrot, pretty Poll ! And a baby that can cry. And now his work is done, The stockings all are filled Not even a sugar-plum Upon the floor he's spilled. And now he's gone, the children sleep And dream sweet dreams all night, Till the morn begins to peep And the sun shines bright. Jr. Coots's Stemmt for January 11, 1871. LORENCE, my own true love ! Listen to me my dove Your dangers all with love I'd fence, But still it is no consequence. I never expected nor dreamed that Burgess and Co. would make this hat With band around, to show the love I feel for you, my cooing dove. And now I'll end this sad romance 'Tis not the slightest consequence ; Accept, I beg you, this nonsense, O'er which so many hours I've spent. glr. C00ts's f ammt Ho. 2. January, 1871. EAR Florence, if I might hope, Though 'tis no consequence ; You know if I might hope I'd stand in your defence. I walk the streets in sheer despair, I'd die for love of thee ; Despair ! despair goes through my hair When betrothed pairs I see. And now I'll end this sad romance, My devoted love you see ; A broken-hearted man I am Despairing for love of thee. ifo ghtb-Sau of a fittU Cbtlb. u ^ ( ' - ^ January, 1871. fHOU art one year old, my darling child, Twelve months have passed since first I held thee in my arm ; Sweet, gentle, trusting, meek, and mild, One year thy God hath kept thee from all harm. Thou art one year old yes, one year old, And still thou art more dear to me Than all the merchants' shining gold That comes across the sea. I pray to God to keep Thee safe another year ; May angels watch thy sleep, Then thou canst never fear. . Jfifro. January, 1871. My first is in fie, but not in shame, My second is in dough, but not in bread, My whole is the name of an animal. (fit % gotfr uf a Jfaborit* o0. FIDO died Jan. 24, 1871, aged eleven years. >^P IS only a little dog, and yet G2 It spreads a gloom upon the place, No one can ever him forget, No one can ever him replace. No more he'll meet me at two o'clock, No more he'll bark at the horses shy, Oh Fido ! such a dreadful shock ! So cold and stiff you there do lie. 'Twas but yesternight, yesternight ! It seems as if it could not be ; Art in the snow so cold and white ? Oh Fido ! look once more to me ! No more you'll go to the market with me, No more for strawberries red and round ; I weep when your little grave I see, To think of you in the cold, cold ground. (iMoohig of tfoung ^ochmgtott, |i .Scottish $allab. Jan. 29, 1871. gather round the fire, Ye warriors brave and true, And the wooing of young Jockington I will relate to you. In Scotland fair there lived a maid, Fair to the eye was she, With rosy cheeks and hazel eyes, The lily of the lea. Now there lived a lad, young Jockington, Who tended flocks of sheep, Who fell in love with Jennie fair, Oft causing him to weep. One day while he was tending sheep He saw the lassie fair, Come running o'er the mountain, Through the violets rare. ^e Mooing of Houug |ockmgion. 21 In her hand she held a pitcher Filled with water clear, Just returning from the fountain He saw as she came near. " How do you do, young Jennie ?" And " how do you do, young James ?" " Now stay awhile young Jennie, To watch the lambkins' games." " Oh no, I cannot stay," quoth she, " For grandam waits at home ;" " But never mind your grandam, lass, Come, lass, and with me roam." So, partly from his teasing She stayed with the young lad ; The emerald fields were waving, And the nightingale sang sad. When the murmur of sweet waters Came from the river Dee, The lassie stopped and listened " 'Tis my grandam calling me !" 3 22 &h* (Stoning of oung |ockington. " Oh, no," said James, " 'tis the river, 'Tis the azure river Dee, That floweth on forever, And softly sings to me." ******* I cannot tell you, warriors, How it all came about, But 'tis certain they were married Two weeks after their rout. to a January 30, 1871. fURE as crystal, light as feather, Flying through the chilly air, Pausing at some bunch of heather, Clear and dazzling, white and fair. Tell me, tell me, little snow-flake What do you, on this great earth ? You're so small no one can need you, You are dancing now with mirth. " Gentle, cheerful little maiden, I come down from the great sky ; I come down with all my brothers, I come from the clouds so high. We are covering up the meadows Where you used to run and play ; One by one we're softly falling Through the chilly winter's day." January 29, 1871. Mabel, at the table Always behaved as she ought ; Neat, precise, and very sable,* Always acted as she'd been taught. Orderly, careful, was this maiden. Different from her sister Lou ; Her heart with duties overladen She was politer than a Jew. Very neat was her hand-writing ; She could write as well as Lou Never quarreling, never fighting. Mabel is the pattern for you. *The author explains that when this was written she thought sable meant sober . Also that this piece was not intended for poetry, but merely for rhyme. January 30, 1871. fOETRY, poetry everywhere ! You breathe it in the summer air, You see it in the green wild woods, It nestles in the first spring buds. You find it in the primrose rare, "Pis in the apple blossom fair, It smiles in maidens and in youths, You taste it in the apple-juice ! 'Tis poetry, poetry, everywhere It nestles in the violets fair, It peeps out in the first spring grass Things without poetry are very scarce ! of Februarj- 2, 1871. AR, far in distant Germany There dwelt a peasant poor, Who had no children save Janet, A maiden fair and pure. Stern poverty did often break Upon that little cot, But still the little family lived Contented with their lot. Now Jennie's love was ' honest John," A goodly man was he, Known round the country by that name For his great honesty. But soon he'd leave fair Germany For countries far away, Till he'd come back both rich and great, And they'd be married gay. <{je Jorgei-me-noi : Q Kale of Two days before he left her, A lovely day was that, They strolled the woods together, And by the brookside sat ; And creeping all around it Grew the forget-me not ; Growing down to the water's edge, Their flowers just a dot. Then Johnnie plucked the fairest And gave it to Janet, Saying. " Oh, forget-me-not. And I'll come back, my pet !" The pearly tears stood in her eyes. She took the little flower, Saying, " Oh Johnnie, I'll be true to you, And love you with all my power." Two days had cast their shadows down Upon the wide, wide earth. When Johnnie sailed for England Out of the little firth. 28 ljE Jf orel-nu-not : i &ale of (Strman. A year had passed since Johnnie sailed Away from Germany ; A year of watching and suspense To the maid of Hanover, When, one day while she was sitting As she often used to do, Thinking of her dear Johnnie, And the forget-me-not blue, The door wide opened, she sprang up She knew 'twas her dear John ; Then in his arms he folded her Regardless of her gown. The next day they were married In pomp and splendor gay, And lived together happily For many a goodly day. (8D:ur Canaries. February 3, 1871. fANGING up in the ceiling, Billing and cooing all day, Are our darling Canary birds, ' As happy as if it were May. In the long winter evenings When it is dark and cold, Dickie beguiles us with singing, I would not sell them for gold. Hopping, hopping, hopping, On the long wooden pegs, With yellow backs and saucy black eyes, And funny little pink legs. They are the dearest little things, And the sunshine of my heart, With little bills and funny wings, I never with them will part. Febraary 3, 1871. f LOWLY, slowly, one by one, The old lamplighter goes Lighting each lamp in its turn, Till they sparkle gay in rows. His coat is ragged, his hair is gray, His face is thin and wan ; He has lighted lamps for many a day In the noisy, busy town. Each day he grows thinner, each day he grows old, Yet each day he lights the lamps ; Be the weather warm, or be it cold, Still he goes on his nightly tramps. His house is a poor one, his money is scarce, And nobody cares for old Joe, But still he goes on, each night lighting the gas, And each evening he makes it glow. February 3, 1871. fOFTLY, softly o'er me stealing, Comes sweet music soft and low ; O'er the meadows softly breathing, O'er the newly fallen snow. By the brooklet softly sighing, I love to lie and list to it Far off in the blue hills dying ; There do I most love to sit. Y first is in Poland, but not in Spain, My second is in get, but not in gain My third is in merry, but not in glee, My whole is in everything that I see. February 4, 1871. JPULLABABY, lullababy ! S* Angels watch you while you sleep, When the stars begin to peep, Pleasant dreams around you play While you sleep the time away ; Naughty dreams, go ! take your flight From my baby-girl to-night Hushaby ! Lullababy, lullababy ! Now your eyes are closing fast, My baby-girl's asleep at last ; Bye, bye, darling, mama's here, Don't you see her? she's quite near. Now the moon is brightly shining On her couch of stars reclining Hushaby ! dhening JTallabg. 33 Lullababy, lullababy ! Sleep, and dream sweet dreams all night, Sleep until the sun shines bright ; Then my baby'll ope her eyes, And up with the lark she'll rise ; Then when he is singing gay You will get up, my little May Hushaby ! Co |}tggie. February 13, 1871. dear cousin Bessie, I wish you good health, And a pleasant St. Valentine's day, With valentines plenty to add to your wealth, And beguile all your pretty play. Violttn. February 17, 1871. beneath the hedges, Growing in the grass, Violets are my favorites, I loved them when a lass. Growing in the meadows, Growing in the fields, Everywhere the violet Its little blossom yields. In the stately garden Is the handsome rose, While the little violet 'Neath the hedges grows. Gentle little violet, Never knows a care, Free from pain and sorrow, Modest, sweet and fair. at % 4Mb Jpomesteafr, February, 1871. HE evening shades are flitting, And the tallow-lamp shines bright ? Grandmama sits a-knitting By the crimson firelight. Grandpa sits with snowy hair, Dreaming of years long past, In front of the fire's reddening glare, With the light on his features cast. Faithful old Fido lies at their feet, Sleeping away the day ; Tabby is purring softly and sweet, While her kitten is at play. And many years will come before This picture be removed ; When Tabby'll be too old to claw The mice she once had loved. Coberlib; or % gtornhig /rolic. February 27, 1871. fNDER the coverlid dotted with green, Two little rosy cheeks may be seen ; Two little eyes are winking with fun, Can't keep themselves open before the great sun ; Two cherry lips so merry and sweet, Two little hands and two little feet. Now Bessie darling, she must arise, Then she must open those little blue eyes; But Bessie is roguish and mischievous too, And though she will open those eyes of blue. She's dancing o'er coverlid and o'er sheet In her long nightie and little bare feet. But see ! mama's caught her and folded her tight. Away from the sun's glaring reddening light ; And now Bessie's going down stairs to sup Some nice bread and milk from her little red cup ; For mama has dressed her and brushed her soft hair. And washed her round face with sweet loving care. Cjxe (Jkranram. February 27, 1871. ROAMED throughout the garden, I roamed throughout the field, And every little blossom Its sweet perfume did yield. The lily and the rose were there, And the gentle little maiden -hair. But something still was wanting, Though I could not tell what ; The air was filled with fragrance From every yard and lot. I saw the pink and violet, The heliotrope and mignonette. But suddenly I smelt a breath So sweet and pure and clear, I knew 'twas the geranium The moment I came near. I handled it, and oh ! so sweet it smelt ! I plucked a leaf and put it in my belt. 4* ilamboin. o '- ^ February 27, 1871. I SING in the lofty mountain. Stretching through the atmosphere, Gleaming in some playful fountain, Off so far, and yet so near. Bow of promise ! far extending Through the misty, rainy land, In the low green valley bending, All a colored, shining band. JroKgbt; or Cjjilbjwob's J February 27, 1871. fLove to sit by the firelight, ._ When the stars peep out, and the moon shines bright, And think of my childhood's happy days, And of all my pleasures and all my plays. I used to play 'neath the apple-tree, And there with my dollies I'd take real tea ; Then I and my darling sister Bess, We'd go to the pantry and make a mess. We played at milkmaid, we played at horse, And then to each other a ball we'd toss ; We swung in the swing, we sat in the teenter. We jumped off the roof of the house 'twas a lean-to ! And I'll never forget childhood's happy day. Though my hand grow withered, and my hair grow gray, And I love to sit and build castle-towers, And think myself again in those hours.