144 



JUVENILE GLEANINGS. 



Jan. 



ceived a letter from a reader in Pennsylva- 

 nia, asking if we could not give the whole 

 poem, for slie used to know it, and had been 

 looldug for it a long time. Thinking many 

 more would like to read it, we give it entire 

 from McGuffey's Third Reader : — 



Son. 



Fath. 



Sun. 



Fath. 



Son. 

 Fath. 



Son. 



Fath. 

 Son. 



Fath. 



Son. 



Fath. 



S(ni. 



How bis' was Alexanclei", pa, 



That people call him great? 

 Was he, like old Goliah, tall? 



His speai- a hundred weight? 

 Was he sa large that he could stand 



Like some tall steeple high ; 

 And while his feet were on the grouad. 



His hands could touch the sky? 

 Oh ! no, mv child: about as large 



As I or Uncle James. 

 'Twas not his ataturc made him great. 



But greatness of his name. 

 His name so great? I know 'tis long. 



But casj' quite to spell; 

 And more than half a year ago 



I knew it very well. 

 I mean, my child, his actions were 



So great, he got a name 

 That everybody speaks with praise 



That tells about his fame. 

 Well, what great actions did he do? 



I want to know it all. 

 Why, he it was that conquered Tyre, 



And leveled down her wall. 

 And thousands of her people slew; 



And then to Persia went. 

 And tire and sword on evei'y side 



Through many a region sent. 

 A hundred conquered cities shone 



With midnight burnings red; 

 And strewed o'er many a battle-ground, 



A thousand soldiers bled. 

 Did killino pcoiilc make him great? 



Then why was Abdel Young, 

 Who killed his neighbor trainiug-daj', 



Put into jail and hung? 

 I never heard them call him great. 

 Why, no, 'twas not in war; 



And him that kills a single man. 

 His neighbors all abhor. 

 Well, then, if I should kill a man, 



I'd kill a hundred more; 

 J should be great, and not get hung, 



Like Abdel Voung, before. 

 Not so, my child, 'twill never do: 



The gospel bids be kind. 

 Then they that lull, and they that 2:>'«'Vr, 



The gospel do not mind. 

 You know, my child, the Bible says 



That you must always do 

 To other people, as you wish 



To have them do to you. 

 But, pa, did Alexander wish 



That some strong man would come 

 And burn his house, and kill him too, 



And do as he had done? 

 And everbody calls him great. 



For killing people so! 

 Well, now, what right he had to kill, 



I should be glad to know. 

 If one should burn the buildings here. 



And kill the folks within, 

 Would anybody call him great. 



For such a wicked thing? 



For Juvenile Gleanings. 



A mSIl OF VIRGIIi. 



R 



H! what's this? 



\ Why, some of Virgil's poetry, to be sure. 

 Virgil? who is he? 

 He was a poet, and you see people have a way 

 of valuing poets, and deciding who was the great- 

 est one that ever lived in the world, and who was the 

 next greatest, and so on. The general decision is, 

 that Homer was the greatest one, and Virgil the 

 next greatest. 

 But, why should j'ou be meddling in the matter, 



Mr. Ha?ty? Let Mr. Virgil himself write, and send 

 some poetry for us. 



That would hardly work. Virgil lived 1900 j'ears 

 ago, and has been dead so long, that we couldn't ex- 

 pect him to write a letter to the Juvenile Glean- 

 ings. 



But, isn't his big poeti-y a little too tremendous for 

 young people? And what business has it in a bee 

 paper, any way? 



Y'ou see, Virgil wrote a regular poetical A B C of 

 bee culture, and that's the business he has in a bee 

 paper; and as to his poetry being tremendous, I 

 think, dear children, you all need to leani the dif- 

 ference between empty rhyme and jingle, and real, 

 grand poetry. Real poetry has a certain gracefulness 

 of air and exaltation of thought, both of which are 

 frequently lacking in what passes for poetry. If 

 you would just study this poem of ^^irgi^s it would 

 do you lots of good, may be. Scholars study months, 

 and even years, to be able to read Virgil's poetry 

 in the original Latin. Moreovei', some of the big 

 folks, it may be, will enjoy looking over our shoul- 

 ders in this study. 



Let us chat a little about the writer of this bee 

 poem. We think it was a greatwhile ago that Jesus 

 was in the world doing miracles; and it was a few 

 years longer ago that Virgil lived. He lived in a 

 heathen country, in Home, in a cruel, wicked age; 

 and yet he seems to have been a gentle, modest, 

 amiable, good man. And the people were so proud 

 of their grand poet, that, when he came into an as- 

 sembly, everybody rose up, just as they did when 

 the emperor came in. The Romans were so much 

 given to fighting and bloodshed that pretty much 

 every thing useful was thought unworthy of a great 

 man's attention; and so Virgil wrote for them four 

 long poems about farming, fruit-growing, stock-rais- 

 ing, and bees, to turn their hearts to something bet- 

 ter than killing people. Was it not kind of him to 

 use his fame to do good? In Virgil's days many 

 were wondering and talking about the Christ that 

 was expected to come into the world, and so Virgil 

 wrote a splendid poem about the reign of Christ on 

 earth. In this poem there is a very touching prayer 

 for himself, that he might li\e to sec and write about 

 the wonderful things that should be done. Virgil 

 wanted very much to see the world's Christ. I have 

 felt very sad for him many times that his prayer 

 was not granted. He would not have been so very 

 old if he had lived till Jesus was born at Bethlehem. 

 Perhaps Jesus did just a little think of him when he 

 said that many righteous men had desired to see 

 and had not seen. 



I think the common impression is, that Virgil 

 didn't know much about bees, and that he drew on 

 imagination and popular whims for his facts. I 

 should like to do something to correct this idea. 

 Virgil misapprehended his facts sometimes, as do all 

 early investigators in any science; but for all that 

 he is a scientist and not a romancer. I feel astonish- 

 ed to see how well informed and accurate he was. 

 My feeling is, that no great poem in the world has 

 suffered so much from the ignorance of those who 

 have had the handling of it. It has been translated 

 into English, but never, I think, by a modern bee- 

 keeper, who would naturally take to its suggestions 

 as a duck takes to water. So, if Mr. Root approves, 

 I will render it for the Juvenile. 



You must understand, children, that the transla- 

 tion of a foreign poem into English rhyme can not be 

 an exactly literal translation. Some liberties have 



