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THE SHAKING OF THE PEAR-TREE
Dinah M. Muloch Craik
Of all days I remember,
In summers passed away,
Was “the shaking of the pear-tree,”
In grandma’s orchard gay.
A large, old-fashioned orchard.
With long grass under foot.
And blackberry-brambles crawling
In many a tangled shoot.
From cherry time, till damsons
Dropped from the branches sere,
That wonderful old orchard
Was full of fruit all year!
We picked it up in baskets.
Or pluck’d it from the wall;
But the shaking of the pear-tree
Was the grandest treat of all.
So off we started gaily,
Heedless of jolt and jar;
Through town, and lane, and hamlet.
In old Llewellyn’s car.
The patient, kind Llewellyn —
Whose broad face smiled all o’er,
As he lifted out the children
At Grandma’s very door.
And there stood Grandma’s Betty,
With cheeks like apples red;
And Dash, the spaniel, waddled
Out of his cosy bed.
I hope no child will vex us,
As we vexed Betty then,
With winding up the draw-well,
Or hunting the old hen.
And teazing, teazing, teazing,
Till afternoon wore ’round.
And shaken pears came tumbling
In showers upon the ground.
O, how we jumped and shouted!
O, how we plunged amid
The long grass, where the treasures
Dropped down and deftly hid;
Long, slender-shaped, red-russet,
Or yellow just like gold;
Ah! never pears have tasted
Like those sweet pears of old!
We ate — Fd best not mention
How many: paused to fill
Big basket after basket;
Working with right good-will;
Then hunted round the orchard
For half-ripe plums — in vain;
So, back unto the pear-tree,
And ate, and ate again.
Fm not on my confession,
And therefore need not say
How tired, and cross, and sleepy.
Some were ere close of day.
But yet this very minute,
I seem to see it all —
The pear-tree’s empty bi-anches.
The grey of evening fall;
The children’s homeward silence,
The furnace fires that glowed.
Each mile or so, out streaming
Across the lonely road;
And high, high set in heaven,
One large, bright, beauteous star,
That shone between the curtains
Of old Llewellyn’s car.
