A Child To His Sick Grandfather
Joanna Baillie
1762 to 1851
Track 1
Reconstruct the poem by dragging each line into its correct position. Your goal is to reassemble the original poem as accurately as possible. As you move the lines, you'll see whether your arrangement is correct, helping you explore the poem's flow and meaning. You can also print out the jumbled poem to cut up and reassemble in the classroom. Either way, take your time, enjoy the process, and discover how the poet's words come together to create something truly beautiful.
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I'll lead you kindly by the hand:
Down on your bosom sinks your head:--
Grand-dad , they say you're old and frail,
And tell me how good children did;
And good men kneel and say their prayers,
You used to smile and stroke my head,
Your brow is crossed with many streaks;
And for your weal each neighbour cares;
But yet although his strength be fled,
You do not hear me, Dad.
By dead of midnight through a hole,
When dinner's set I'll with you bide,
You love a story, Dad?
To fill old Dad his cheer.
Yet ne'ertheless I am right glad,
You take me seldom on your knee,
You will not die and leave us then?
How lank and thin your beard hangs down!
When through the house you change your stand,
I'm vex'd to see you, Dad.
About a partlet and her brood,
Scant are the white hairs on your crown:
Supports your body bending low,
And gossips come to ask for you;
The housewives round their potions brew,
Your staff, no more my pony now,
When you are quiet and laid in bed,
Which slyly to the hen-roost led,--
And when the weary fire burns blue,
How wan and hollow are your cheeks,
And greedy cunning fox that stole
I'll sit and talk with you.
To sit beside you, Dad.
I love my own old Dad.
While back to wall you lean so sad,
Rouse up and be our Dad again.
We'll doff our shoes and softly tread;
And then I have a wondrous tale
And aye be serving by your side;
I have a tale both long and good,
Your heavy eyes begin to wink;--
Of men all clad in coats of mail,
When you are ailing, Dad.
But now, I wot not how it be,
With glittering swords,--you nod,--I think
And every body looks so sad,
And when you wake we'll still be near,
Your stiffened legs begin to fail: