EUGENE FIELD.

Maoriland Worker, Volume 9, Issue 349, 16 January 1918, Page 7

EUGENE FIELD.

Dear Sunbeams, there died in America not so long ago a poet named Eugene Field. He will always be remembered because he wrote verses for children. He had a heart and a thought for little Sunbeams throughout all his life. One of his poems written wfawn his life was drawing to a close, was called "My playmates," in. which he think? of the little boys and girls lie went *o schopl with forty years before. Some day Uncle Merry's Sunbeams will grow up and. maybe, will eit and think of those they went to school with just as Mr. Eugeae Field did. Here is the poem: The wind comes whispering to mc of the country green and cool— Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool; It brings mc soothing fancies of the homestead on the hill, And I hear the thrush's evening eong and the robin's monoing trill: ' So I fall to thinking teedeirry of those I used to know Where the sassafras and snabesroot and checkerberries grow* What has become of Ezra Marsh, who lived on Baker's Hill? And what's become of Noble Pratt, whose father kept the mill. And what's become of Lizzie Crum, and i Anastasia Snell, And of Roxie Hoot, who tended school in Boston for a epell? They were the boys and they the girla who shared my youthful play— They do not answer to my call! My playmates^ —where are they? Whab has become of Levi and hie little brother Joe, Who lived next door to where we lived some forty years .ago? I'd like to 6ee the Newton, boys 'and Quincy Adams Brown, And Hepsy Hall, and Ella Cowlee, who spelled the whole school down! And Gracie Smith, the Cutter boye, Leander Snow, and all Who I am sure would answer oould they only bear my call! I'd like to ccc Bill Warner and the Conkey boys again. And talk about the times we need to wish that , we were men! And one—l shall not name her—could I see her gentle face And hear her girlish treble in this distant, lonely place! The flowers and hopes of springtime— they perished long ago, And the garden where they blossomed is white with winter snow. O oottage 'neath the maples, ihave you seen those girls and boye That but a little while ago made, oh! such a pleasant noise? Oh trees, and hills, aad brooks, and lanes, and meadows, do you know Where I shall find my little friends of forty years ago ? Ton .see, I'm old and weary, and I've travelled long and far; I'm looking for my playmates —I wonder where they are.