Lil' Shelf

Poems of Childhood · Eugene Field

BAMBINO

Bambino in his cradle slept;
And by his side his grandam grim
Bent down and smiled upon the child,
And sung this lullaby to him,--
This “ninna and anninia”:

“When thou art older, thou shalt mind
To traverse countries far and wide,
And thou shalt go where roses blow
And balmy waters singing glide--
So ninna and anninia!

“And thou shalt wear, trimmed up in points,
A famous jacket edged in red,
And, more than that, a peakèd hat,
All decked in gold, upon thy head--
Ah! ninna and anninia!

“Then shalt thou carry gun and knife,
Nor shall the soldiers bully thee;
Perchance, beset by wrong or debt,
A mighty bandit thou shalt be--
So ninna and anninia!

“No woman yet of our proud race
Lived to her fourteenth year unwed;
The brazen churl that eyed a girl
Bought her the ring or paid his head--
So ninna and anninia!

“But once came spies (I know the thieves!)
And brought disaster to our race;
God heard us when our fifteen men
Were hanged within the market-place--
But ninna and anninia!

“Good men they were, my babe, and true,--
Right worthy fellows all, and strong;
Live thou and be for them and me
Avenger of that deadly wrong--
So ninna and anninia!”

LITTLE HOMER’S SLATE

After dear old grandma died,
Hunting through an oaken chest
In the attic, we espied
What repaid our childish quest;
’Twas a homely little slate,
Seemingly of ancient date.

On its quaint and battered face
Was the picture of a cart,
Drawn with all that awkward grace
Which betokens childish art;
But what meant this legend, pray:
“Homer drew this yesterday”?

Mother recollected then
What the years were fain to hide--
She was but a baby when
Little Homer lived and died;
Forty years, so mother said,
Little Homer had been dead.

This one secret through those years
Grandma kept from all apart,
Hallowed by her lonely tears
And the breaking of her heart;
While each year that sped away
Seemed to her but yesterday.

So the homely little slate
Grandma’s baby’s fingers pressed,
To a memory consecrate,
Lieth in the oaken chest,
Where, unwilling we should know,
Grandma put it, years ago.

Public domain. Source text via Project Gutenberg, PG boilerplate removed. View the source edition