“Practicing is good for a good little girl; It makes her nose straight, and it makes her hair curl.”
The second kind of verse appears to be written solely for the sake of the accompanying illustration, and is often the work of the illustrator, who is more at home with his pencil than his pen. Occasionally it is comic, occasionally sentimental or descriptive; for the most part it is something in this style:—
“Oh, bumble bee! Bumble bee! Don’t fly so near! Or you will tumble me Over, I fear.”
“Oh, funny elf! Funny elf! Don’t be alarmed! I am looking for honey, elf; You sha’n’t be harmed.”
“Then tarry, Oh, tarry, bee! Fill up your sack; And carry, oh, carry me Home on your back.”[1]
Now what child will read more than once these empty little verses (very prettily illustrated) when it is in his power to turn back to other sprites that sing in different strains,—to the fairy who wanders
“Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough briar,”
seeking pearl eardrops for the cowslips’ ears; or to that softer shape, the music of whose song, once heard, haunts us forever:—
“Full fathom five thy father lies; Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange.”
These are the sweet, mysterious echoes of true fairyland, where Shakespeare and little children wander at their will.
Poems of the third class are intended for growing girls and boys, and aspire to be considered literature. They are well written, as a rule, with a smooth fluency that seems to be the distinguishing gift of our minor verse-makers, who, even when they have least to say, say it with unbroken sweetness and grace. This pretty, easy insignificance is much better adapted to adult readers, who demand little of poets beyond brevity, than to children, who love large issues, real passions, fine emotions, and an heroic attitude in life. Pleasant thoughts couched in pleasant language, trivial details, and photographic bits of description make no lasting appeal to the expansive imagination of a child. Analysis is wasted upon him altogether, because he sees things swiftly, and sees them as a whole. He may disregard fine shading and minute merits, but there are no boundaries to his wandering vision. “Small sciences are the labors of our manhood, but the round universe is the plaything of the boy.”