To think that I, who’ve ruled alone So proudly in the past, Should be ejected from my throne By my own son at last! He trots his treason to and fro, As only babies can, And says he’ll be his mamma’s beau When he’s a “gweat, big man”! You stingy boy! you’ve always had A share in mamma’s heart. Would you begrudge your poor old dad The tiniest little part? That mamma, I regret to see, Inclines to take your part,-- As if a dual monarchy Should rule her gentle heart! But when the years of youth have sped, The bearded man, I trow, Will quite forget he ever said He’d be his mamma’s beau. Renounce your treason, little son, Leave mamma’s heart to me; For there will come another one To claim your loyalty. And when that other comes to you, God grant her love may shine Through all your life, as fair and true As mamma’s does through mine! THE BELL-FLOWER TREE When brother Bill and I were boys, How often in the summer we Would seek the shade your branches made, O fair and gracious bell-flower tree! Amid the clover bloom we sat And looked upon the Holyoke range, While Fido lay a space away, Thinking our silence very strange. The woodchuck in the pasture-lot, Beside his furtive hole elate, Heard, off beyond the pickerel pond, The redwing-blackbird chide her mate. The bumblebee went bustling round, Pursuing labors never done-- With drone and sting, the greedy thing Begrudged the sweets we lay upon! Our eyes looked always at the hills-- The Holyoke hills that seemed to stand Between us boys and pictured joys Of conquest in a further land! Ah, how we coveted the time When we should leave this prosy place And work our wills beyond those hills, And meet creation face to face! You must have heard our childish talk-- Perhaps our prattle gave you pain; For then, old friend, you seemed to bend Your kindly arms about us twain. It might have been the wind that sighed, And yet I thought I heard you say: “Seek not the ills beyond those hills-- Oh, stay with me, my children, stay!” See, I’ve come back; the boy you knew Is wiser, older, sadder grown; I come once more, just as of yore-- I come, but see! I come alone! The memory of a brother’s love, Of blighted hopes, I bring with me, And here I lay my heart to-day-- A weary heart, O bell-flower tree! So let me nestle in your shade As though I were a boy again, And pray extend your arms, old friend, And love me as you used to then. Sing softly as you used to sing, And maybe I shall seem to be A little boy and feel the joy Of thy repose, O bell-flower tree! FAIRY AND CHILD