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Poems Every Child Should Know by  Mary E. Burt

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Poems Every Child Should Know
by Mary E. Burt
An outstanding collection of poems that appeal to both boys and girls, compiled by a teacher who believed in the formative power of learning poetry by heart. 'Children,' she maintains, 'should build for their future and get, while they are children, what only the fresh imagination of the child can assimilate. They should store up an untold wealth of heroic sentiment; they should acquire the habit of carrying a literary quality in their conversation; they should carry a heart full of the fresh and delightful associations and memories connected with poetry hours to brighten mature years. They should develop their memories while they have memories to develop.' The poems are grouped into six sections (The Budding Moment, The Little Child, The Day's at the Morn, Lad and Lassie, On and On, 'Grow Old Along with Me') to make it easier to locate poems that match a child's maturity.  Ages 8-12
391 pages $14.95   




"The Ballad of the Clampherdown," by Rudyard Kipling, is included because my boys always like it. It needs a great deal of explanation, and few boys will hold out to the end in learning it. But "it pays." (1865-.)

It was our war-ship Clampherdown

Would sweep the Channel clean,

Wherefore she kept her hatches close

When the merry Channel chops arose,

To save the bleached marine.

She had one bow-gun of a hundred ton,

And a great stern-gun beside;


They dipped their noses deep in the sea,

They racked their stays and stanchions free

In the wash of the wind-whipped tide.

It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

Fell in with a cruiser light

That carried the dainty Hotchkiss gun

And a pair o' heels wherewith to run,

From the grip of a close-fought fight.

She opened fire at seven miles—

As ye shoot at a bobbing cork—

And once she fired and twice she fired,

Till the bow-gun drooped like a lily tired

That lolls upon the stalk.

"Captain, the bow-gun melts apace,

The deck-beams break below,

'Twere well to rest for an hour or twain,

And botch the shattered plates again."

And he answered, "Make it so."

She opened fire within the mile—

As ye shoot at the flying duck—

And the great stern-gun shot fair and true,

With the heave of the ship, to the stainless blue,

And the great stern-turret stuck.

"Captain, the turret fills with steam,

The feed-pipes burst below—

You can hear the hiss of helpless ram,

You can hear the twisted runners jam."

And he answered, "Turn and go!"


It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

And grimly did she roll;

Swung round to take the cruiser's fire

As the White Whale faces the Thresher's ire,

When they war by the frozen Pole.

"Captain, the shells are falling fast,

And faster still fall we;

And it is not meet for English stock,

To bide in the heart of an eight-day clock,

The death they cannot see."

"Lie down, lie down, my bold A.B.,

We drift upon her beam;

We dare not ram, for she can run;

And dare ye fire another gun,

And die in the peeling steam?"

It was our war-ship Clampherdown

That carried an armour-belt;

But fifty feet at stern and bow,

Lay bare as the paunch of the purser's sow,

To the hail of the Nordenfeldt.

"Captain, they lack us through and through;

The chilled steel bolts are swift!

We have emptied the bunkers in open sea,

Their shrapnel bursts where our coal should be."

And he answered, "Let her drift."

It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

Swung round upon the tide.


Her two dumb guns glared south and north,

And the blood and the bubbling steam ran forth,

And she ground the cruiser's side.

"Captain, they cry the fight is done,

They bid you send your sword."

And he answered, "Grapple her stern and bow.

They have asked for the steel. They shall have it now;

Out cutlasses and board!"

It was our war-ship Clampherdown,

Spewed up four hundred men;

And the scalded stokers yelped delight,

As they rolled in the waist and heard the fight,

Stamp o'er their steel-walled pen.

They cleared the cruiser end to end,

From conning-tower to hold.

They fought as they fought in Nelson's fleet;

They were stripped to the waist, they were bare to the feet,

As it was in the days of old.

It was the sinking Clampherdown

Heaved up her battered side—

And carried a million pounds in steel,

To the cod and the corpse-fed conger-eel,

And the scour of the Channel tide.

It was the crew of the Clampherdown

Stood out to sweep the sea,


On a cruiser won from an ancient foe,

As it was in the days of long-ago,

And as it still shall be.


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