See how the tall palms lift their locks
From mountain clefts, - what vales,
Basking beneath the noontide sun,
That high and hotly sails.
Yet all about the breezy shore,
Unheedful of the glow,
Look how the children of the South
Are passing to and fro!
What noble forms! what fairy place!
Cast anchor in this cove,
Push out the boat, for in this land
A little we must rove!
We'll wander on through wood and field,
We'll sit beneath the vine;
We'll drink the limpid cocoa-milk,
And pluck the native pine.
The bread-fruit and cassava-root
And many a glowing berry,
Shall be our feast; for here, at least,
Why should we not be merry?
WILLIAM HOWITT.
* * * * *
NOTE. - The following poem may be given as a recitation by changing the
title to "Puerto Rico." The words apply to this island as well as to the
island which is described.
SANTA CRUZ.
Betwixt old Cancer and the midway line,
In happiest climate lies this envied isle:
Trees bloom throughout the year, soft breezes blow,
And fragrant Flora wears a lasting smile.
Cool, woodland streams from shaded cliffs descend,
The dripping rock no want of moisture knows,
Supplied by springs that on the skies depend,
That fountain feeding as the current flows.
Sweet, verdant isle! through thy dark woods I rove
And learn the nature of each native tree,
The fustic hard; the poisonous manchineel,
Which for its fragrant apple pleaseth thee;
The lowly mangrove, fond of watery soil;
The white-barked palm tree, rising high in air;
The mastic in the woods you may descry;
Tamarind and lofty bay-trees flourish there;
Sweet orange groves in lonely valleys rise,
And drop their fruits unnoticed and unknown;
The cooling acid limes in hedges grow,
The juicy lemons swell in shades their own.
Soft, spongy plums on trees wide-spreading hang;
Bell apples here, suspended, shade the ground;
Plump granadillas and guavas gray,
With melons, in each plain and vale abound.
* * * * *
But chief the glory of these Indian isles
Springs from the sweet, uncloying sugar-cane;
Hence comes the planter's wealth, hence commerce sends
Such floating piles, to traverse half the main.
Whoe'er thou art that leaves thy native shore,
And shall to fair West India climates come;
Taste not the enchanting plant, - to taste forbear,
If ever thou wouldst reach thy much-loved home.
- PHILIP FREEMAN.
HELPFUL BOOKS
* * * * *
SONGS IN SEASON
Special songs for each season, and special songs for each noted day in
each season. There are twenty Songs of Springtime, eight Flower Songs,
thirteen Bird Songs, twenty-six Songs of Autumn, thirty Winter Songs,
and twenty Miscellaneous Songs. The general arrangement is by Miss
George. Words by Lydia Avery Coonley and others. Music by Mary E.
Conrade, Jessie L. Gaynor, Frank Atkinson, and others. It is a charming
song book, and will be used in all seasons.
