Gobolinks
or
Shadow-Pictures
For Young and Old
by Ruth McEnery Stuart And Albert Bigelow Paine
New York
The Century Co.
1896
Copyright, 1896, by The Century Co.[Pg vii]
DEDICATION
TO OLD FRIENDS WITH YOUNG HEARTS AND YOUNG HEARTSGROWING OLD.
Dear Friends of our youth, should you happen to look
At the curious things in this curious book,
And should you, with quizzical countenance, ask
The how and the why of our curious task—
We could truly reply
To the query of "why—"
To the smile on your lip, and your questioning eye,
That the work was begun
In a spirit of fun,
To amuse when the work of the daylight was done;
[Pg viii]And continued, because we believed it would be
Amusement to such as were weary as we
To drift for awhile among goblins and elves,
Or haply make shadows and rhymes for themselves.
For though years have passed since we drifted apart,
We're all of us more or less children at heart.
And maybe yourselves and the youngsters 't will please
To dwell for an hour with such creatures as these.
At the curious things in this curious book,
And should you, with quizzical countenance, ask
The how and the why of our curious task—
To the query of "why—"
To the smile on your lip, and your questioning eye,
That the work was begun
In a spirit of fun,
To amuse when the work of the daylight was done;
Amusement to such as were weary as we
To drift for awhile among goblins and elves,
Or haply make shadows and rhymes for themselves.
For though years have passed since we drifted apart,
We're all of us more or less children at heart.
And maybe yourselves and the youngsters 't will please
To dwell for an hour with such creatures as these.
Now, some one has said, in a moment of spleen,
We cannot make pictures of what we've not seen;
But such an assertion deserves only scorn,
For the shape of the Gobolink never was born.
He comes like the marvelous mimes of our dreams,
Whe
We cannot make pictures of what we've not seen;
But such an assertion deserves only scorn,
For the shape of the Gobolink never was born.
He comes like the marvelous mimes of our dreams,
Whe
...