Page:Poems Cook.djvu/247

When the dust-laden carpets were swung on the line,
 And brave cudgels were chosen—the strong and the thick,
It would not take Sibylline art to divine.
 That among them was always the grandfather's stick.

A branch of the pear-tree hung, drooping and wide,
 And the youngsters soon join'd in the pilfering trick;
"This, this will just reach all the ripest!" they cried,
 As they scamper'd away with the grandfather's stick.

Rich Autumn came on, and they roved far and near,
 With the sun on each cheek and red stain on each mouth;
They bask'd in the rays of the warm harvest days
 Till their faces were tinged with the glow of the South.

Luscious berries and nuts form'd the vineyard they sought,
 And the branches were highest where fruit was most thick;
Hooks and crooks of all sizes were theirs, but none caught
 The tall bramble so well as the grandfather's stick.

Full often they left the long willow behind,—
 The dandified cane was forgotten and lost;
What matter?—who cared? not a soul seem'd to mind
 The pains in the cutting, the shilling it cost:

But that brave bit of ash, let it fall where it might,
 In the brier-grown dell, on the nettle-bed's mound;
Every eye was intent, every heart in a fright—
 For they dared not go home if that stick were not found.

Old Winter stepp'd forth, and the waters were still,
 The bold hearts were bounding along on the slide;
And the timid one ventured, all trembling and chill,
 If he had but the grandfather's stick by his side.

231