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Poems Every Child Should Know

<h3>The Death of Napoleon.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Death of Napoleon," by Isaac McClellan (1806-99), was yet another of the good old reader songs taught us by a teacher of good taste. We love those teachers more the older we grow. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Wild was the night, yet a wilder night Hung round the soldier's pillow; In his bosom there waged a fiercer fight Than the fight on the wrathful billow. </div> <div class="stanza"> A few fond mourners were kneeling by, The few that his stern heart cherished; They knew, by his glazed and unearthly eye, That life had nearly perished. </div> <div class="stanza"> They knew by his awful and kingly look, By the order hastily spoken, That he dreamed of days when the nations shook, And the nations' hosts were broken. </div> <div class="stanza"> He dreamed that the Frenchman's sword still slew, And triumphed the Frenchman's eagle, And the struggling Austrian fled anew, Like the hare before the beagle. </div> <div class="stanza"> The bearded Russian he scourged again, The Prussian's camp was routed, And again on the hills of haughty Spain His mighty armies shouted. </div> <div class="stanza"> Over Egypt's sands, over Alpine snows, At the pyramids, at the mountain, Where the wave of the lordly Danube flows, And by the Italian fountain, </div> <div class="stanza"> On the snowy cliffs where mountain streams Dash by the Switzer's dwelling, He led again, in his dying dreams, His hosts, the proud earth quelling. </div> <div class="stanza"> Again Marengo's field was won, And Jena's bloody battle; Again the world was overrun, Made pale at his cannon's rattle. </div> <div class="stanza"> He died at the close of that darksome day, A day that shall live in story; In the rocky land they placed his clay, "And left him alone with his glory." </div> </td></tr></table> Isaac McClellan. <h3>How Sleep the Brave.</h3> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallow'd mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. </div> <div class="stanza"> By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung: There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall a while repair To dwell a weeping hermit there! </div> </td></tr></table> William Collins. <h3>The Flag Goes By.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"The Flag Goes By" is included out of regard to a boy of eleven years who pleased me by his great appreciation of it. It teaches the lesson of reverence to our great national symbol. It is published by permission of the author, Henry Holcomb Bennett, of Ohio. (1863-.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums, A flash of colour beneath the sky: Hats off! The flag is passing by! </div> <div class="stanza"> Blue and crimson and white it shines Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines. Hats off! The colours before us fly; But more than the flag is passing by. </div> <div class="stanza"> Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great, Fought to make and to save the State: Weary marches and sinking ships; Cheers of victory on dying lips; </div> <div class="stanza"> Days of plenty and years of peace; March of a strong land's swift increase; Equal justice, right, and law, Stately honour and reverend awe; </div> <div class="stanza"> Sign of a nation, great and strong Toward her people from foreign wrong: Pride and glory and honour,—all Live in the colours to stand or fall. </div> <div class="stanza"> Hats off! Along the street there comes A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums; And loyal hearts are beating high: Hats off! The flag is passing by! </div> </td></tr></table> Henry Holcomb Bennett. <h3>Hohenlinden.</h3> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow; And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. </div> <div class="stanza"> But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat, at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. </div> <div class="stanza"> By torch and trumpet fast array'd Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neigh'd To join the dreadful revelry. </div> <div class="stanza"> Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rush'd the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of Heaven, Far flashed the red artillery. </div> <div class="stanza"> But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills or stainèd snow; And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. </div> <div class="stanza"> 'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun, Shout in their sulphurous canopy. </div> <div class="stanza"> The combat deepens. On, ye brave Who rush to glory or the grave! Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave, And charge with all thy chivalry! </div> <div class="stanza"> Few, few shall part, where many meet! The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulcher. </div> </td></tr></table> Thomas Campbell. <h3>My Old Kentucky Home.</h3> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home; 'Tis summer, the darkeys are gay; The corn-top's ripe, and the meadow's in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day. The young folks roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, all happy and bright; By-'n'-by hard times comes a-knocking at the door:— Then my old Kentucky home, good-night! </div> <div class="stanza"> Weep no more, my lady, O, weep no more to-day! We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home, For the old Kentucky home, far away. </div> <div class="stanza"> They hunt no more for the 'possum and the coon, On the meadow, the hill, and the shore; They sing no more by the glimmer of the moon, On the bench by the old cabin door. The day goes by like a shadow o'er the heart, With sorrow, where all was delight; The time has come when the darkeys have to part:— Then my old Kentucky home, good-night! </div> <div class="stanza"> The head must bow, and the back will have to bend, Wherever the darkey may go; A few more days, and the trouble all will end, In the field where the sugar-canes grow. A few more days for to tote the weary load,— No matter, 'twill never be light; A few more days till we totter on the road:— Then my old Kentucky home, good-night! </div> <div class="stanza"> Weep no more, my lady, O, weep no more to-day! We will sing one song for the old Kentucky home, For the old Kentucky home, far away. </div> </td></tr></table> Stephen Collins Foster. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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