  Rainbow 1My first is the name of a fowl, An emblem of modesty known; My second has coloring power, And grows ’neath a tropical sun. My third is a mourning array, That’s worn in an Orient clime, And reminds of those regions of day Beyond the confines of time. My fourth in the spring-time is gay, And comes with the note of the bird; In autumn, leaves forest and spray, And goes when no music is heard. My fifth takes the place of my fourth, When leaves are in autumn time sere; But when winter comes on, with its dearth, This too will in turn disappear. My sixth is a fruit of one zone, And name of a prince who sped In triumph to England’s proud throne, In place of a king who had fled. My seventh’s in the meteor’s blaze That lights up the star-spangled sky, And glows in the twilight’s maze, And the clouds in their golden dye. My whole in beauty far outvies The richest robe a prince e’er wore, A signet gleaming in the skies, A covenant for evermore. 2My first oft preys upon my second; My whole a bitter shrub is reckoned. 3My first and last are just the same, And would you know my second, ’Mong children’s first abbreviates You’ll oftenest find it reckoned. My first and last are always seen, A common preposition, And here methinks they love to meet For tasteful coalition. My second, infants spell the word, Ere they can lisp another; ’Tis name of one still dearer far Than sister or than brother. My whole, a luscious, pulpy fruit, In garden oft found growing, Is either with a yellow dress, Or richest red robe glowing. ’Tis in its prime, when wheat and rye Are ripening for the sickle, And ready then for present use, Or yet to dry and pickle. Few fruits in our cold northern clime, Than this is more inviting; You surely know its name, even while Its praises I’m reciting. Bird 4My first is the chief of delights That boys from their cradles desire; Its shrill crack more musical far To them than Apollo’s sweet lyre, To root out the evil that lurks in the heart. My second the Bible commends To the rich, the wise, and the great, With eloquence pleadeth their cause, And blesseth their lowly estate; They are ever with us, without search are found, The more we give to them, the more we abound. When the rich man lies down in the grave, He takes not his riches away, And anxious expectants cluster around, To hear what my third has to say: Its mandate is law, and if it sore pinches The fawning false friend, then vainly he flinches. My whole is a sombre brown bird, That sadly each night trills his lay; And each passer-by stops to hear What this bird of eve has to say. As ever he sings the same plaintive song, Who that has e’er heard him will guess on this long? 5My first, although not giving grace To ev’ry living creature, Is yet upon the human face, A most important feature. On some it has a classic mien, Fair Grecian or bold Roman; On some ’tis flat, on some I ween ’Twould answer for a gnomon! The water fowl which swims the pond, Or bathes in ocean briny, The dove that coos her ditty fond, My first doth have, yet tiny. My second is a vowel plain; My third an exclamation, Upon the music scale again It holdeth goodly station. My whole, ah, look in yonder sky, And you will see it gleaming, Less clear, perchance, because more shy, Than stars so brilliant beaming. The telescope will make how bright Its timid, shrinking beauties! And bring to mortal ken, the light Of its revolving duties. 6Awake, idle sleeper. Up! up! and arise, Already my first hath made vocal the skies. Arouse thee! arouse thee! mount horse, and away; For long is the journey before thee to-day. Forget not my second, when weary t Lane 8When night-winds whistle o’er the plain, And howls the storm in many a burst, How cheering to the way-worn swain To seek the shelter of my first! With cunning shining in his face, From eyes so watchful, keen, and dark, The scion of a remnant race— My artful second you may mark. My third in bearded front arrayed, With Autumn’s golden stores is found; Yet torn, and bruised, and lowly laid, Its head must rest upon the ground. My whole you always must forgive, As you expect to be forgiven; Nor must it in your memory live, Though multiplied to seven times seven. 9I stand on my first, on my second I sit, On my whole I do either just as I think fit. 10First. Mantling the ruined wall With my green, yielding pall; You know me well. Covering the river’s brink, ’Neath your soft tread I sink. My name pray tell. Second. Whole. See, when the blushing bride Casts her rich vail aside, I’m nestled there, Near some soft, waving tress, Or on her bridal dress, Shining so fair. Oft on the mourner’s tomb Drooping and sad I bloom, Token of love Left by the orphaned child, Calling in accents wild For those above. 11My first is a short sleep. My second is a relation. My whole is an article in daily use. Birds 12My first belongs, in pairs, to man and beast, And of the gifts of harvest not the least; The treasures of my next no boy of feeling Will e’er disgrace his heart or name by stealing; My first and third the time, my whole the way, To undertake the duties of each day. 13My first is a body of water. My second is a fish. My third is a preposition. My fourth is a name for the head. My whole was a bone of contention. 14Did’st ever go to singing-school, And hear the master try To sound the notes upon the scale, From lowest to most high? Then have you heard my first, the best, Fall sweetly on your ear, ’Tis strange that with such company My second should appear. My second ne’er in gentle mood, Is full of ire and hate, Oh, let none who shall glance this o’er, Be found in such a state. ’Tis only for the lunatic, Bereft of reason’s light, Thus to profane his nature by So sorrowful a sight. My whole is an illusion vain, Yet perfect as untrue; It doth the real object seem, But double on the view. By its strange spell the water seems As if ’twere hung in air, The desert traveler knows full well Its vision false as fair. 15My first is one, ’tis even you, My whole by many have been reckoned, But only He who numbers all Can ever rightly count my second. 16My first is an article in daily use. My second spells the twentieth letter of the alphabet. My third, if you prefix the letters, will name a declivity. My whole is an animal. Chinchillas 17My first is a part of the human face. My second is an unpleasant sensation. My third is an article. My whole is a small animal. 18My first is found in every bog, In every pool and pond, Without me not a single frog Or toad could e’er be found. My next is always to be found Wherever men exist; I build their houses, plow their ground, And help them to subsist. With dread the superstitious soul Will speculate upon my whole. 19Entire, I’m water, earth, or air, I’m food, or clothes, or light, Always provided, lady fair, That these are used aright. And though in fifty things I stay, This you will surely find, Come in whatever form I may, I benefit mankind. Two syllables I do possess, But what is very droll, Although a part my second is, My first one is the whole. 20My first is always on a par With every earthly thing; With reptile, brute, bird, fish, and man, With beggar, priest, and king. My second is a title— A foreign one, ’tis true— But none the less familiar To every one of you. My whole—a glorious revenge! And Heaven’s kindest boon: I dare not tell you plainer, lest You find me out too soon. 21My first is what young ladies aim at in their movements, and what Christians pray for. My second is what in winter we see little of, and what no young man likes to be considered. My third is what every woman should be before she is won, and what we should be badly off without during this cold weather. My whole is the name of an authoress, highly popular with both old and young. Sleigh riding 22My first, from the frozen North comes down In snowy mantle dressed; And the smiling earth grows bare and brown, Where’er his steps have pressed, The flowers close up each sparkling eye, And hide in the earth till he passes by. But when bleak winds and frosts are gone, ’Mid April’s smiles and tears, My second’s hue the earth puts on, And summer beauty wears; And tuneful birds and opening flowers Invite you to the forest bowers. On moss-grown banks, half hidden there, My whole may oft be seen; My fragrant leaves perfume the air, And shine in emerald green; And there my crimson berry glows, Ripened beneath New England snows. 23My first. The boy who, trusting in his father’s word, Sprang from the towering mast to meet the wave, Possessed in me the pledge that risk incurred, Was equaled by that father’s power to save. My second. The nation scourged, dispersed through every land, For many ages, wanderers without home, In me waits patiently the guiding hand Will lead its pilgrims back no more to roam. My third. The mother standing at the judgment seat, When wisdom’s voice to death her babe did give, Resigned to me her claim—willing to meet Her loss, so that her precious child might live. Through me the tongue of slander lulls its voice, Through me the poor have full provision given; I lift the fallen one, bid hearts rejoice; I bid the poor of earth seek wealth in heaven. My whole. A jeweled diadem of priceless worth, I quench the luster of all crowns on earth. 24My first in gardens oft is seen, And oft adorns the bride; In early spring its leaves are green— It is the maiden’s pride. My second thou repeatest Full oft in fireside games: As sweet, if not the sweetest, Of all familiar names. A flow’ring shrub, in a distant clime, My whole in beauty grows; It grew by the sea in olden time, And thus its name arose. 25Awake, my first, with thy inspiring tone, Behold an instrument joy calls his own, And with responsive foot, on dewy meads, The sylvan dance of fawn and wood nymph leads. My next adorns the noble Latin tongue, Whose numbers flow sonorous, smooth, and strong; There, should you fail to find the word, perchance ’Twill greet you in the livelier tones of France. My whole, a fragrant flower—’tis not for me To eulogize its grace and modesty; Full oft the poet’s reed hath breathed its fame, In loftier measures—can’st thou tell its name? Firefly 26In stillness of midnight, the cry of my first On ear of the sleeper affrighted will burst; The bells peal their loudest each moment of time, As if life depended on even one chime. When anger burns fiercely, he may not be stayed. Again round the hearth-stone are happy hearts met, From gray-headed sire to the lisping young pet. The flame doth grow warmer, and brighter the light; How cheering it maketh the winter’s cold night! So changeth my first, as the hawk to the dove, His aspect is here one of comfort and love. My second, bound neither to inland or coast, Is one ’mong the many, a numberless host; Full transient his being; he cometh in spring, And chill winds of autumn his requiem sing. Though said to be useful, I frankly confess, My wish has been often his music were less. Though peaceful his temper, I can not deny That rarely by nature he’s suffered to die. A foe doth he find in the duster and brush, E’en flowerets allure, his existence to crush; Like warfare with bodkin Domitian begun, Hence gathering much of the fame which he won. My whole doth love best to be out in the night, And flatters himself on his furnishing light; Dear Luna is nothing of comfort to him, For brighter his glory when hers is most dim. Two lamps he doth carry, and brilliant they are, As beams which were stolen from eye of a star. His joy is to frisk from the sunset to dawn; When morn comes, the pride of his beauty is gone! In tropical climates he oft’nest doth dwell, He lighteth the savage—hast never heard tell? ’Tis growing quite dark; oh, I wish he were nigh; Perchance he would give me his lamps to see by. 27My first is equality, my second inferiority, and my whole superiority. 28I am composed of nine letters. My first is a name appropriated to a certain class of foreigners. It is also a nickname. My second is an article. My third implies motion. My fourth in sound implies proximity. My fifth is a vowel. My whole is a part of the Western hemisphere. 29When round the weary traveler The stormy evening closes, When tangled wood or swelling stream His toilsome way opposes; If through the trees his eager steps To rest and warmth are beckoned, How gladly will he hail my first, That leads him to my second! When from some hill’s commanding brow The gloomy prospect viewing, He hears the distant ocean rage, Waves, frightened waves pursuing, How gladly turns he to my whole, In watch serene abiding, And fears no more to think of those Who trust my faithful guiding. 30Till winter takes his stormy seat, In fragrant meads and gardens sweet Evolves my viscid first; When stilly night, with fleecy cloud Flings round the earth a darksome shroud, My second often beams;— O would you each enjoy my whole, And have true bliss pervade your soul And from your eyes outburst— Some loving one make haste to find, Let Hymen close your spirits bind, And learn just how it seems! Hare 31My first is a timid and gentle creature, Restless and bright her glancing eye, Quick to discern the approach of danger, Swift from her covert to spring and fly. Oft in the cool of the dewy morning, Startled amid her calm retreat, She heareth the shrill-toned sound of warning, And bounds away on frantic feet, While close her fierce pursuers follow, Through brush and brake, o’er hill and hollow. My second telleth of holy seasons, And calleth the multitude to prayers; On festivals speaketh right joyously, When all a face of gladness wears; Having at times, too, a voice of sorrow, Speaking in deep and solemn tone, Telling how faithless is false to-morrow, To those who weep for the dear ones gone; Yet feeling itself nor grief nor gladness, Responsive ever to mirth or sadness. My whole is a beautiful, modest flower, Shaking its bells to the summer wind, Peeping out coyly from lonely places, Which footsteps of children love to find, Dreaming they hear in the purple blossoms Fairy-like tones of the olden time: Fondly thinking the sweet bells are ringing, With a soft, low, musical chime, Their golden curls and innocent bosoms, They fill with the graceful, drooping blossoms. Moonlight 32My first is seen in all its pride On summer nights when bright and clear, Night owes me much throughout the year; Some say my whole no substance has, However plain it may appear; I shall not give you further clue, No need to one as smart as you; Enough, my whole is written here. |
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