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    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems
    Ebook103 pages45 minutes

    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems

    By Horatio Alger

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    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherArchive Classics
    Release dateJan 1, 1978
    Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems
    Author

    Horatio Alger

    Horatio Alger (1832-1899) was an American author of children’s literature. While the majority of his works are young adult novels categorized by what came to be called the “Horatio Alger myth”—in which a young boy escapes poverty through hard work, determination, and the assistance of a wealthy benefactor—Alger also wrote poetry and short stories throughout his long, successful career. Born and raised in Massachusetts, Alger was greatly inspired by the Protestant work ethic, and sought to write books for children with moral, inspirational themes. Successful during his lifetime, Alger’s works remained popular through the beginning of the twentieth century, and to this day he is recognized as a pioneer of young adult fiction.

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      Book preview

      Grand'ther Baldwin's Thanksgiving with Other Ballads and Poems - Horatio Alger

      The Project Gutenberg EBook of Ballads, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

      This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

      almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

      re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

      with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

      Title: Ballads

      Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

      Release Date: September 21, 2008 [EBook #1919]

      Last Updated: December 10, 2012

      Language: English

      *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BALLADS ***

      Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

      BALLADS

      By Horatio Alger, Jr.

      1875

      CONTENTS

      BALLADS.

      GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING

      ST. NICHOLAS.

      BARBARA'S COURTSHIP.

      THE CONFESSION.

      ROSE IN THE GARDEN.

      PHOEBE'S WOOING.

      THE LOST HEART.

      JOHN MAYNARD.

      FRIAR ANSELMO.

      MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

      THE CHURCH AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON.

      MRS. BROWNING'S GRAVE AT FLORENCE.

      MY CASTLE.

      APPLE-BLOSSOMS.

      SUMMER HOURS.

      JUNE.

      LITTLE CHARLIE.

      THE WHIPPOORWILL AND I.

      CARVING A NAME.

      IN TIME OF WAR.

      GONE TO THE WAR.

      WHERE IS MY BOY TO-NIGHT?

      A SOLDIER'S VALENTINE.

      LAST WORDS.

      SONG OF THE CROAKER. (*)

      KING COTTON.

      OUT OF EGYPT.

      THE PRICE OF VICTORY.

      HARVARD ODES.

      OCCASIONAL ODES.

      BI-CENTENNIAL ODE. (*)

      FOR THE CONSECRATION OF A CEMETERY.

      BALLADS.

      GRAND'THER BALDWIN'S THANKSGIVING

      UNDERNEATH protected branches, from the highway just aloof;

      Stands the house of Grand'ther Baldwin, with its gently sloping roof.

      Square of shape and solid-timbered, it was standing, I have heard,

      In the days of Whig and Tory, under royal George the Third.

      Many a time, I well remember, I have gazed with Childish awe

      At the bullet-hole remaining in the sturdy oaken door,

      Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)

      Of the lurking, savage foeman from whose musket it was sped..

      Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn's harvest spoils,

      Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils;

      Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,

      While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet, drowsy mien.

      Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;

      Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

      Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost chill,

      There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard the hill.

      Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace,

      As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase.

      Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays,

      One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways.

      Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone,

      the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone.

      Turning round half-apprehensive (recking not how time had fled)

      Of the lurking savage foeman from whose musket it was sped.

      Not far off, the barn, plethoric with the autumn harvest spoils,

      Holds the farmer's well-earned trophies—the guerdon of his toils;

      Filled the lofts with hay, sweet-scented, ravished from the meadows green,

      While beneath are stalled the cattle, with their quiet drowsy mien.

      Deep and spacious are the grain-bins, brimming o'er with nature's gold;

      Here are piles of yellow pumpkins on the barn-floor loosely rolled.

      Just below in deep recesses, safe from wintry frost and chill,

      There are heaps of ruddy apples from the orchard on the hill.

      Many a year has Grand'ther Baldwin in the old house dwelt in peace,

      As his hair each year grew whiter, he has seen his herds increase.

      Sturdy sons and comely daughters, growing up from childish plays,

      One by one have met life's duties, and gone forth their several ways.

      Hushed the voice of childish laughter, hushed is childhood's merry tone,

      By the fireside Grand'ther Baldwin and his good wife sit alone.

      Yet once within the twelvemonth, when the days are short and drear,

      And chill winds chant the requiem of the slowly fading year,

      When the autumn work is over, and the harvest gathered in,

      Once again the old house echoes to a long unwonted din.

      Logs of hickory blaze and crackle in the fireplace huge anti high,

      Curling wreaths of smoke mount upward to the gray November sky.

      Ruddy lads and smiling lasses, just let loose from schooldom's cares,

      Patter, patter, race and clatter, up and down the great hall stairs.

      All the boys shall hold high revel; all the girls shall have their way,—

      That's the law at Grand'ther

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