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POEMS FOR CHILDREN 
 
One Thousand Poems 
 for Children 
 
 A Choice of the Best Verse Old and New 
 
 -true- 
 
 •SYCH. 
 iBRAAY 
 
 Edited by 
 
 ROGER INGPEN 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
 V. ^ 
 
Copyright, 1903, by 
 
 George W. Jacobs & Company 
 
 Published December, 1903 
 
 ^5 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 rN 
 
 yi[o 
 
 C^ 
 
 y. 
 
 CONTENTS. "7^- 
 
 P^ 
 
 
 ^r- 
 
 \RT 
 
 I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Rhymes for Little Ones 3 
 
 Cradle Songs . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 Nursery Rhymes 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 88 
 
 Fairy Land 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 109 
 
 Fables and Riddles 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 PART IL 
 
 The Seasons 139 
 
 Fields and AVoods . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 164 
 
 Home .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 187 
 
 Insects, Birds and "Beasts 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 201 
 
 Humorous Verse 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 237 
 
 The Fatherland 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 259 
 
 Ballads .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 298 
 
 Girlhood .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 350 
 
 Miscellaneous . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 366 
 
 Hymns .... 
 
 
 • 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 404 
 
 Index of Au thors . 
 
 
 423 
 
 Index of First Lines 
 
 
 
 
 
 . 
 
 
 . 435 
 
 mM7C>40 
 
PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 As perhaps nothing leaves a more lasting impression on the 
 memory than the poems one learns in childhood, it is important 
 that children should be provided with poetry that is both pleasant 
 to read and profitable to remember, and it is to meet these two 
 needs that the present volume has been prepared. 
 
 In compiling the work, the two objects which have prmiarily 
 been kept in mind are the claim of poetry and the demand of 
 the children ; but, since the collection is intended chiefly for the 
 pleasure of our boys and girls, the demand of the children has 
 been considered first. For this reason, most of the old favor- 
 ites which, because of their very familiarity, deserve a place in 
 all collections of children's verse, have been selected, together 
 with a generous quantity of nursery rhymes ; but it has been 
 deemed wise also to include the most desirable specimens of 
 recent juvenile poetry. The form of verse that first appeals to 
 the young is that of a mere pleasing repetition of sound and 
 rhythm without regard to meaning ; but this soon gives way to 
 the little story, quite simple and simply told, it is true, but 
 which nevertheless conveys an idea. The story continues to 
 hold its place in the affection of the child until the period of 
 youth is reached, when abstract subjects in poetry begin to offer 
 attraction, and a child cannot be said really to care for poetry in 
 the true sense until this time arrives. 
 
 The sections into which the book are divided do not seem 
 to demand much explanation, as it can be seen at a glance that 
 
 L 
 
vlii PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 the volume embraces poems for children of all ages, from the 
 very little tot to the average child of fifteen years. The first 
 part, of course, is intended for young children ; the second part 
 for older boys and girls who have reached an age at which they 
 can appreciate such material as is included therein. The sections 
 entitled " Ballads," "Girlhood," and " Miscellaneous," contain 
 most of the real poetry in the volume, the earlier divisions being 
 intended to lead up to these later groups. It is believed that 
 every single piece in the book has some special merit, and that 
 the volume will be of particular value to parents and teachers. 
 
 The editor desires to express his indebtedness to those 
 authors and publishers who have kindly granted him permission 
 to use such copyright matter as is contained in this collection. 
 
One Thousand Poems for Children. 
 
 Part I. 
 
I 
 
 ■ • • • t t L * 
 
 RHYMES FOR LITTLE ONES. 
 
 EARLY RISING. 
 
 Get up. little sister : the morning is 
 bright, 
 
 And the birds are all singing to wel- 
 come the light ; 
 
 The buds are all opening : the dew's 
 on the flower : 
 
 If you shake but a branch, see there 
 falls quite a shower. 
 
 By the side of their mothers, look 
 
 under the trees, 
 How the j'oung lambs are skipping 
 
 about as they please ; 
 And by all those rings on the water, 
 
 I know. 
 The fishes are merrily swimming bclov . 
 
 The bee, I dare say, has been long on 
 
 the wing 
 To get honey from everj- flower of the 
 
 Spring ; 
 For the bee never idles, but labours 
 
 all day. 
 And thinks, wise little insect, work 
 
 better than i)lay. 
 
 The lark's singing gaily ; it loves the 
 
 bright sun, 
 And rejoices that now the gay S[)ring 
 
 is begun ; 
 For Spring is so cheerful, I think 
 
 'twould be wrong 
 If we did not feel happy to hear the 
 
 lark's song. 
 
 Get up ; for when all things are merry 
 
 and glad. 
 Good children should never be lazy 
 
 and sad ; 
 For God gives us daylight, dear sister, 
 
 that we 
 May rejoice like the lark, and ma^' work 
 
 like the bee. 
 
 Lady Flora llaMiny-s. 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD- 
 MORNING. 
 
 A FAIR little girl sat luuicr a tree. 
 Sewing as long as her e3'es could see. 
 Then smoothed her work, and folded 
 
 it right. 
 And said, " Dear w<irk, good-night ! 
 
 good-night ! " 
 
 Such a number of rooks came over her 
 
 head. 
 Crying " Caw ! caw ! " on their way to 
 
 bed; 
 She said as she watched their curious 
 
 flight, 
 " Little black things, good-night ! 
 
 good-night ! " 
 
 The horses neighed, and the oxen 
 lowed ; 
 
 The sheep's " bleat ! bleat ! " came 
 over the road ; 
 
 All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, 
 
 " Good little girl, good-night ! good- 
 night ! " 
 
 She did not say to the sun " Good- 
 night ! " 
 
 Though she saw him there like a ball of 
 light. 
 
 For she knew he had God's time to 
 keep 
 
 All over the world and never could 
 sleep. 
 
 The tall pink foxglove bowed his head, 
 The violets curtsied and went to bed ; 
 And good little Lucy tied up her hair. 
 And said, on her knees, her favourite 
 prayer. 
 
 And while on her pillow she softly lay, 
 Siie knew nothing more till again it was 
 day : 
 
Poems for Children. 
 
 And all things saicT to the beautiful sun, 
 " 'jrudd inOtiiiug, ; gij'od-mbrning ! our 
 work ,ic btigufl.?',' ', . ,' 
 
 Lord Houghton. 
 
 INFANT JOY. 
 
 I HAVE no name, 
 
 I am but two days old. 
 
 What shall I call thee ? 
 
 I happy am, 
 
 Joy is my name — 
 
 Sweet joy befall thee. 
 
 Pretty joy ! 
 
 Sweet joy but two days old ; 
 
 Sweet joy I call thee. 
 
 Thou dost smile, 
 
 I sing the while, 
 
 Sweet joy befall thee ! 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 Now I wonder what would please bar, 
 Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa '.' 
 Ann and Mary, they're too common ; 
 Joan's too formal for a woman ; 
 Jane's a prettier name beside; 
 But we had a Jane that died. 
 They would say, if 'twas Rel)ecca, 
 That she was a Uttle Quakei. 
 Edith's prettj', but that looks 
 Better in old English books ; 
 Ellen's left ofi long ago ; 
 Blanche is out of fashion now. 
 None that I have named as yet 
 Are so good as Margaret. 
 Emily is neat and fine. 
 What do you think of Oarolitie ? 
 How I'm puzzled and perplex t 
 What to choose or think of next ! 
 I am in a httle fever 
 Lest the name that I shall give her 
 Should disgrace her or defame her ; 
 I will leave papa to name her. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lavib. 
 
 MY LITTLE BROTHER. 
 
 Little brother, darling boy. 
 You are very dear to me ! 
 
 I am happy — full of joy. 
 When your smiling face I see. 
 
 How I wish that you could speak. 
 And could know the words 1 say ! 
 
 Pretty stories I would seek 
 To amuse you every day, — 
 
 All about the honey-bees. 
 Flying jiast us in the sun ; 
 
 Birds that sing among the trees. 
 Lambs that in the meadows run. 
 
 Shake your rattle — here it is — 
 Listen to its merry noise ; 
 
 And, when you are tired of this, 
 I will bring you other toys. 
 
 Mary Lundie Duncan. 
 
 CHOOSING A NAME. 
 I HAVE got a new-born sister ; 
 I was nigh the first that kissed licr. 
 When the nursing woman brought her 
 To papa, his infant daughter. 
 How papa's dear eyes did ghsten ! — 
 She will shortly be to christen ; 
 And papa has made the offer, 
 I shall have the naming of her. 
 
 y 
 
 MY LITTLE SISTER. 
 I HAVE a little sister, 
 
 She is only two years old ; 
 But to us at home, who love her, 
 
 She is worth her weight in gold. 
 
 We often play together ; 
 
 And I begin to find. 
 That to make my sister happy, 
 
 I must be very kind ; 
 
 And always very gentle 
 
 When we run about and play. 
 
 Nor ever take her playthings 
 Or little toys away. 
 
 I must not vex or tease her, 
 
 Nor ever angry be 
 With the darhng little sister 
 
 That God has given me. 
 
 NURSINO. 
 
 O HUSH, my little baby brother ; 
 
 Sleep, my love, upon my knee. 
 What though, dear child, we've lost our 
 mother ; 
 
 That can never trouble thee. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 You are but ten weeks old to-morrow ; 
 
 What can you know of our loss ? 
 The house is full enough of sorrow. 
 
 Little baby, don't be cross. 
 
 Peace, cry not so, my dearest love ; 
 
 Hush, my baby-bird, lie still. 
 He's quiet now, he does not move. 
 
 Fast asleep is little Will. 
 
 My only solace, only joy. 
 
 Since the sad day I lust my mother, 
 Is nursing her own Willy boy. 
 
 My little orphan brother. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 I MUST NOT TEASE MY 
 MOTHER. 
 I MUST not tease my mother. 
 
 For she is very kind ; 
 And everything she says to me 
 
 I must directly mind ; 
 For when I was a baby 
 
 And could not speak or walk. 
 She let me in her bosom sleep. 
 
 And taught me how to talk. 
 
 I, must not tease my mother; 
 
 And when she likes to read. 
 Or has the headache, I will step 
 '. Most silently indeed: 
 Iwftill not choose a noisy play, 
 
 Nor trifling troubles tell. 
 But sit down quiet by her side. 
 
 And try to make her well. 
 
 I must not tease my mother ; 
 
 I've heard dear father say. 
 When I was in my cradle sick 
 
 She nursed me night and day ; 
 She lays me in my little bed. 
 
 She gives me clothes and food. 
 And I have nothing else to pay 
 
 But trying to be good. 
 
 I must not tease my mother ; 
 
 She loves me all the day. 
 And she has patience with my faults. 
 
 And teaches me to pray. 
 How much I'll strive to please her. 
 
 She every hour shall see ; 
 For should she go away or die. 
 
 What would become of me ? 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney. 
 
 MY MOTHEE. 
 Who fed me from her gentle breast. 
 And hush'd me in her arms to rest. 
 And on my cheeks sweet kisses prest ? 
 My Mother. 
 
 When sleep forsook my open eye. 
 Who was it sang sweet hu.shaby 
 And rock'd me that I should not cry ? 
 My Mother. 
 
 Who sat and watched my infant head, 
 When sleeping on my cradle bed. 
 And tears of sweet affection shed ? 
 My Mother. 
 
 When pain and sickness made me cry, 
 Who gaz'd upon my heavy eye. 
 And wept, for fear that I should die ? 
 My Mother. 
 
 Who drest my doll in clothes so gay. 
 And taught me pretty how to play. 
 And minded all I had to say ! 
 My Mother. 
 
 Who ran to help me when I fell. 
 And would some pretty story tell. 
 Or kiss the place to make it well ? 
 My Mother. 
 
 Who taught my infant lips to pray. 
 And love God's holy book and day. 
 And walk in wisdom's pleasant way V 
 My Mother. 
 
 And can I ever cease to be 
 Affectionate and kind to thee. 
 Who wast so very kind to me. 
 My Mother. 
 
 Ah ! no, the thought I cannot bear. 
 And if God please my hfe to spare, 
 I hope I shall reward thy care. 
 My Mother. 
 
 When thou art feeble, old, and grey. 
 My healthy arm shall be thy stay. 
 And I will soothe thy pains away. 
 My Mother. 
 
 And when I see thee hang thy head, 
 'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed, 
 And tears of sweet affection shed. 
 My Mother. 
 
6 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 For God Who lives above the skies, 
 Would look with vengeance in His eyes. 
 If I should ever dare despise 
 My Mother. 
 
 Ann Taylor. 
 
 THE GREAT GRANDFATHER. 
 
 My father's grandfather hves still. 
 
 His age is fourscore years and ten ; 
 He looks a monument of time, 
 
 The agedest of aged men. 
 
 THE FIRST TOOTH. 
 
 Sister. 
 
 Through the house what busy joy, 
 
 Just because the infant boy 
 
 Has a tiny tooth to show. 
 
 I have got a double row, 
 
 All as white, and all as smaU ; 
 
 Yet no one cares for mine at all. 
 
 He can say but half a word, 
 
 Yet that single sound's preferred 
 
 To all the words that I can say 
 
 In the longest summer day. 
 
 He cannot walk ; yet if he put 
 
 With mimic motion out his foot 
 
 As if he thought he were advancing, 
 
 It's prized more than my best dancing. 
 
 Though years lie on him like a load, 
 A happier man you will not see 
 
 Than he, whenever he can get 
 
 His great-grandchildren on his knee. 
 
 When we our parents have displeased. 
 He stands between us as a screen ; 
 
 By him our good deeds in the sun. 
 Our bad ones in the shade are seen. 
 
 His love's a line that's long drawn out. 
 Yet lasteth firm unto the end ; 
 
 His heart is oak, yet unto us 
 It Uke the gentlest reed can bend. 
 
 A fighting soldier he has been — 
 Yet by his manners you would guess, 
 
 That he his whole long life had spent 
 In scenes of country quietness. 
 
 His talk is all of things long past. 
 For modern facts no pleasure yield — 
 
 Of the far-famed year of forty-five. 
 Of William, and CuUoden's field. 
 
 Brother. 
 
 Sister, I know you jesting are ; 
 
 Yet O ! of jealousy beware. 
 
 If the smallest seed should be 
 
 In your mind of jealousy. 
 
 It will spring, and it will shoot. 
 
 Till it bear the baneful fruit. 
 
 I remember you, my dear. 
 
 Young as is tliis infant here. 
 
 There was not a tooth of those 
 
 Your pretty even ivory rows. 
 
 But as anxiously was watched, 
 
 Till it burst its shell new hatched. 
 
 As if it a Phoenix were. 
 
 Or some other wonder rare. 
 
 So when you began to walk — 
 
 So when you began to talk — 
 
 As now, the same encomiums past. 
 
 'Tis not fitting this should last 
 
 Longer than our infant days ; 
 
 A child is fed with milk and praise. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 The deeds of this eventful age. 
 
 Which princes from their thrones 
 have hurled. 
 
 Can no more interest wake in him 
 Than stories of another world. 
 
 When I his length of days revoke. 
 How like a strong tree he hath stood. 
 
 It brings into my mind almost 
 
 Those patriarchs old before the flood. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 -THE CRUST OF BREAD. 
 
 I MUST not throw upon the floor 
 The crust I cannot eat ; 
 
 For many little hungry ones 
 Would think it quite a treat. 
 
 My parents labour very hard 
 To get me wholesome food ; 
 
 Then I must never waste a bit 
 That would do others good. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 For wilful waste makes woeful want, 
 
 And I may live to say. 
 Oh ! how I wish I had the bread 
 
 That once I threw away I 
 
 I I LOVE LITTLE PUSSY. 
 
 I LOVE little pussy. 
 
 Her coat is so warm, 
 And if I don't hurt her. 
 
 She'll do me no harm. 
 
 So I'll not pull her tail. 
 Or drive her away. 
 
 But pussy and I 
 
 Very gently will play. 
 
 She will sit by my side. 
 And I'll give her her food. 
 
 And she'll like me because 
 I am gentle and good. 
 
 THE NORTH WIND DOTH 
 BLOW. 
 
 The north wind doth blow. 
 And we shall have snow. 
 And what will poor Robin do then ? 
 Poor thing ! 
 He'll sit in a barn. 
 And to keep himself warm. 
 Will hide his head under his wing. 
 Poor thing ! 
 
 A VISIT TO THE LAMBS 
 
 Mamma, let's go and see the lambs ; 
 
 This warm and sunny day 
 I think must make them very glad, 
 
 And full of fun and play. 
 
 pretty 
 
 Ah, there they are ! You 
 things. 
 
 Now don't you run away ; 
 Tm come on purpose with mamma. 
 
 To see you this fine day. 
 
 Come here, my pretty lambkin, come. 
 And lick my hand — now do I 
 
 How silly to be so afraid — 
 Indeed, I won't hurt you. 
 
 Just put your hand upon its back. 
 Mamma — how nice and warm ; 
 
 There, pretty lamb, you see I don't 
 Intend to do you harm. 
 
 What pretty little heads you've got, 
 And such good-natured eyes ; 
 
 Ami ruff of wool all round your necks. 
 How nicely curl'd it lies. 
 
 DEEDS OF KINDNESS. 
 
 StippoSE the httle Cowslip 
 
 Should hang its golden cup 
 And say, " I'm such a little flower 
 
 I'd better not grow up ! " 
 How many a weary traveller 
 
 Would miss its fragrant smell. 
 How many a little child would grieve 
 
 To lose it from the dell ! 
 
 Suppose the glistening Dewdrop 
 
 Upon the grass should say, 
 " What can a little dewdrop do ? 
 
 I'd better roll away ! " 
 The blade on which it rested. 
 
 Before the day was done. 
 Without a drop to moisten it. 
 
 Would wither in the sun. 
 
 Suppose the little Breezes, 
 
 Upon a summer's day. 
 Should think themselves too small to 
 cool 
 
 The traveller on his way : 
 \Vlio would not miss the smallest 
 
 And softest ones that blow. 
 And think they made a great mistake 
 
 If they were acting so ? 
 
 How many deeds of kindness 
 
 A little child can do. 
 Although it has but little strengtli 
 
 And little wisdom too ! 
 It wants a loving spirit 
 
 Much more than strength, to prove 
 How many things a child may do 
 
 For others by its love. 
 
 THE LITTLE STAB. 
 
 Twinkle, twinkle little star. 
 How I wonder what you are ; 
 Up above the world, so bright. 
 Like a diamond in the nigiit. 
 
8 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 When the blazing sun is gone, 
 When he nothing shines upon, 
 Then you show your little light. 
 Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 
 
 Then the traveller in the dark, 
 Thanks you for your tiny spark ; 
 He could not tell which way to go 
 If you did not twinkle so. 
 
 In the dark blue sky you keep. 
 And often through my curtains peep ; 
 For you never shut your eye 
 Till the sun is in the sky. 
 
 As your bright and tiny spark 
 Lights the traveller in the dark, 
 Though I know not what you are. 
 Twinkle, twinkle Uttle star. 
 
 THE MOTHER'S BETURN. 
 
 A MONTH, sweet Little-ones, is past 
 Since your dear Mother went away, — 
 
 And she to-morrow will return ; 
 To-morrow is the happy day. 
 
 blessed tidings ! thought of joy ! 
 The eldest heard with steady glee ; 
 
 Silent he stood : then laughed amain, — 
 And shouted, " Mother, come to me ! ' ' 
 
 Louder and louder did he shout. 
 With witless hope to bring her near ; 
 
 " Nay, patience ! patience, Uttle boy ! 
 Your tender mother cannot hear ! " 
 
 1 told of hills, and far-off towns, 
 And long, long vales to travel 
 
 through ; 
 He listens, puzzled, sore perplexed, 
 But he submits ; what can he do ? 
 
 No strife disturbs his sister's breast ; 
 
 She wars not with the mystery 
 Of time and distance, night and day ; 
 
 The bonds of our humanity. 
 
 Her joy is like an instinct, joy 
 Of kitten, bird, or summer fly ; 
 
 She dances, runs, without an aim, 
 She chatters in her ecstacy. 
 
 Her brother now takes up the note. 
 And echoes back his sister's glee j 
 
 They hug the infant in my arms, 
 As if to force his sympathy. 
 
 Then, settling into fond discourse. 
 We rested in the garden bower ; 
 
 While sweetly shone the evening suu 
 In his departing hour. 
 
 We told o'er all that we had done, — 
 Oui rambles by the swift brook's side 
 
 Far as the willow-skirted pool. 
 
 Where two fair swans together glide. 
 
 We talked of change, of winter gone, 
 Of green leaves on the hawthorn 
 spray. 
 
 Of birds that build their nests and sing. 
 And " all since Mother went away ! " 
 
 To her these tales they will repeat, 
 To her ovur new-born tribes will show, 
 
 The goslings green, the ass's colt, 
 The lambs that in the meadow go. 
 
 But, see, the evening star comes forth ! 
 
 To bed the children must depart : 
 A moment's heaviness they feel, 
 
 A sadness at the heart : 
 
 — 'Tis gone — and in a merry fit 
 They run upstairs in gamesome race : 
 
 I, too, infected by their mood, — 
 I could have joined the wanton chase. 
 
 Five minutes past — and 0, the change ! 
 
 Asleep upon their beds they lie ; 
 Their busy Umbs in perfect rest, 
 
 And closed the sparkling eye. 
 
 Dorothy Wordsworth. 
 
 HOW DOTH THE LITTLE 
 BUSY BEE. 
 
 How doth the little busy bee 
 Improve each shining hour. 
 
 And gather honey all tlae day 
 From every opening flow'r ! 
 
 How skilfully she builds her cell ! 
 
 How neat she spreads the wax ! 
 And labours hard to store it well 
 
 With the sweet food she makes. 
 
 In works of labour or of skill, 
 
 I would be busy too ; 
 For Satan finds some mischief still 
 
 For idle hands to do. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 9 
 
 In books, or work, or healthful play, 
 Let my first years be past. 
 
 That I may give for ev'ry day 
 Some good a«oount at last. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 SPEAK GENTLY. 
 
 Speak gently ! — It is better far 
 To rule by love than fear — 
 
 Speak gently — let not harsh words mar 
 The good we might do here ! 
 
 Speak gently I — love doth whisper low 
 The vows that true hearts bind ; 
 
 And gently Friendship's accents flow, — 
 Affection's voice is kind. 
 
 Speak gently to the httle child i 
 
 Its love be sure to gain ; 
 Teach it in accents soft and mild, 
 
 It may not long remain. 
 
 Speak gently to the young, foi- thev 
 Will have enough to boar ; 
 
 Pass through this life as best they may, 
 'Tis full of anxious care ! 
 
 Speak gently to the aged one, 
 Grieve not the careworn heart ; 
 
 The sands of Ufe are nearly run. 
 Let such in peace depart. 
 
 Speak gently, kindly to the poor — 
 Let no harsh tone be heard ; 
 
 They have enough they must endure. 
 Without an unkind Avord ! 
 
 Speak gently to the erring— know 
 They may have toiled in vain ; 
 
 Perchance mikindness made them so ; 
 Oh ! win them back again ! 
 
 liET DOGS DELIGHT TO 
 BABK AND BITE. 
 
 Let dogs delight to bark and bite, 
 For God hath made them so ; 
 
 Let bears and Uons growl and fight, 
 For 'tis their nature too. 
 
 But, childien, you should never let 
 Such angry passions rise ; 
 
 Your little hands were never made 
 To tear each other's eyes. 
 
 Let love through all your actions run, 
 And all your words be mild ; 
 
 Live like the Blessed Virgin's Son, 
 That sweet and lovely child. 
 
 His soul was gentle as a lamb, 
 And, as His stature grew. 
 
 He grew in favour both with man. 
 And God His Father, too. 
 
 Now Lord of all. He reigns al)ovc. 
 And from His heavenly throne 
 
 He sees what children dwell in love, 
 And marks them for his own. 
 
 Isaac Waits. 
 
 THE COW. 
 
 Thank you, pretty cow, that made 
 Pleasant milk to soak my bread. 
 Every day, and every night. 
 Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. 
 
 Do not chew the hemlock rank. 
 Growing on the weedy bank ; 
 But the yellow cowsUp eat, 
 That will make it very sweet. 
 
 Where the purple violet grows. 
 Where the bubbling water flows, 
 AA'here the grass is fresh and fine. 
 Pretty cow, go there and dine. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 COME HERE LITTLE ROBIN. 
 
 Come here, httle Robin, and don't be 
 afraid, 
 I would not hurt even a feather ; 
 Come here, httle Robin, and pick up 
 some bread. 
 To feed you this very cold weather. 
 
 I don't mean to hurt you, you poor 
 httle thing. 
 And pussy-cat is not behind me ; 
 So hop about pretty, and put down your 
 wing. 
 And pick up the crumbs, and don't 
 mind me ! 
 
 Cold Winter is come, but it will not last 
 long, 
 And Summer we soon shall be 
 greeting ; 
 
10 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Then remember, sweet Robin, to sing 
 me a song. 
 In return for the breakfast you're 
 eating 1 
 
 STJMMEB SONO. 
 
 Pketty bee, pray tell me why. 
 Thus from flower to flower ye fly, 
 Culling sweets the Uve-long day, 
 Never leaving off to play ? 
 
 Little child, Til tell you why 
 Thus from flower to flower I fly ; 
 Let the cause thy thoughts engage. 
 From thy youth, to riper age. 
 
 Summer flowers will soon be o'er. 
 Winter comes — they bloom no more ; 
 Finest days will soon be past, 
 Brightest suns will set at last. 
 
 But I hive less sense than a poor 
 
 creeping ant. 
 If I take not due care for the things 
 
 I shall want, 
 Nor provide against dangers in time. 
 When death or old age shall stare in 
 
 my face. 
 What a wretch shall I be at the end 
 
 of my days. 
 If I trifle away all their prime. 
 
 Now, now, while mv strength and my 
 
 youth are in bloom. 
 Let me think what will serve me when 
 nickness shall come. 
 And pray that my sins be forgiven ; 
 Let me read in good books and beheve 
 
 and obey. 
 That when death turns me out of this 
 cottage of clay, 
 I may dwell in a palace in heaven. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 Little child, come, learn of me, 
 Let thy youth thy seed-time be ; 
 So, when wint'ry age shall come, 
 Shalt thou bear thy harvest home. 
 
 THE AliTT OB EMMET. 
 
 These Emmets, how Uttle they are in 
 
 our eyes ! 
 We tread them to dust and a troop of 
 
 them dies, 
 Without our regard or concern ; 
 Yet as wise as we are, if we went to 
 
 their school. 
 There's many a sluggard, and many a 
 
 fool, 
 Some lessons of wisdom might learn. 
 
 They don't wear their time out in 
 
 sleeping or play. 
 But gather up corn in a sun-shiny day. 
 And for winter they lay up their 
 
 store : 
 They manage their work in such 
 
 regular forms, 
 One would think they foresaw all tlie 
 
 frost and the storms. 
 And BO brought their food within 
 
 doors. 
 
 PtrSST-CAT. 
 
 Pussy-cat lives in the servants' hall, 
 She can set up her back and purr : 
 
 The little mice live in a crack in the 
 wall. 
 But they hardly dare venture to stir. 
 
 For whenever they think of taking the 
 air, 
 Or filling their little maws. 
 The pussy-cat says, " Come out if you 
 dare ; 
 I will catch you all with my claws." 
 
 Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble ! went all 
 the little mice. 
 For they smelt the Cheshire cheese ; 
 The pussy-cat said, " It smells very 
 nice, 
 Now do come out if you please." 
 
 " Squeak ! " said the little mouse. 
 " Squeak, squeak, squeak ! " 
 Said all the young ones too, 
 " We never creep out when cats are 
 about. 
 Because we're afraid of you." 
 
 80 the cunning old cat lay down on a 
 mat. 
 By the fire in the servants' hall • 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 11 
 
 " If the little mice peep they'll think 
 I'm asleep " ; 
 So she rolled herself up like a ball. 
 
 " Sciueak ! " said the little mouse, we'll 
 creep out 
 
 And eat some Cheshire cheese ; 
 That silly old cat is asleep on the mat, 
 
 And we may sup at our ease." 
 
 Nibble, nibble, nibble ! went all the 
 little mice. 
 And they licked their little paws ; 
 Then the cunning old cat sprang Tip 
 from the mat. 
 And caught them all with her claws. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshatve. 
 
 THE LAMB. 
 
 Comb pretty lamb, do stay with me, 
 
 You look so very mild ; 
 I'll love you very much — now see ! 
 
 He's scampered off quite wild. 
 
 And do you think I'd hurt you, dear ? 
 
 You run away so quick ; 
 I only want to feed 5'ou here. 
 
 And nurse you when you're sick. 
 
 I must not fret that you will go. 
 
 And run away fiom me ; 
 I love my own mamma, I know. 
 
 And you love yours, I see. 
 
 Then keep in sight, do, pretty lamb. 
 And crop the meadows gay. 
 
 Or gambol near your sober dam. 
 That I may see you play. 
 
 THE FLOWERS. 
 
 Pretty flowers, tell me why 
 All your leaves do open wide. 
 
 Every morning, when on high 
 The noble sun begins to ride ? 
 
 This is why, my lady fair. 
 
 If you would the reason know ; 
 
 For betimes the pleasant air 
 Very cheerfully doea blow; 
 
 And the birds on every tree 
 Sing a very merry tune. 
 
 And the little honey bee 
 
 Comes to suck my sugar soon. 
 
 This is all the reason why 
 I my little leaves undo ; 
 
 Lady, lady, wake and try 
 If I have not told you true. 
 
 THE VIOLET. 
 
 Down in a green and shady bed, 
 
 A modest violet grew, 
 Its stalk was bent, it hung its head. 
 
 As if to hide from view. 
 
 And yet it was a lovely flower, 
 No colours bright and fair ; 
 
 It might have graced a rosy bower. 
 Instead of hiding there. 
 
 Yet there it was content to bloom. 
 
 In modest tints arrayed ; 
 And there diffused its sweet perfume. 
 
 Within the silent shade. 
 
 Then let me to the valley go. 
 This pretty flower to see ; 
 
 That I may also learn to grow 
 In sweet humility. 
 
 Jane Taylor 
 
 L^ 
 
 E BOBIN BEDBREASTS. 
 
 Two Robin Redbreasts built their nest 
 
 Within a hollow tree ; 
 The hen sat quietly at home. 
 
 The cock sang merrily ; 
 And all the little young ones said, 
 
 " Wee, wee, wee, wee, wee, wee ! " 
 
 One day (the sun was warm and bright. 
 
 And shining in the sky). 
 Cock Robin said, " My Uttle dears, 
 
 'Tis time you learn to fly ; " 
 And all the httle young ones said, 
 
 " I'U try, m try, TU try 1 " 
 
 I know a child, and who she is 
 
 I'll tell you by-and-bye. 
 When mamma says, " Do this," or 
 " That," 
 
12 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 She says, " What for ? " and " Why ? ' 
 She'd be a better child by far 
 If she would say, " I'll try." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkihawe. 
 
 CRUMBS TO THE BIRDS. 
 
 A BIRD appears a thoughtless thing, 
 He's ever living on the wing. 
 And keeps up such a carolhng, 
 That little eke to do but sing 
 
 A man would guess had he. 
 
 No doubt he has his Httle cares. 
 And very hard he often fares, 
 The which so patiently he bears. 
 That listening to those cheerful airs, 
 Who knows but he may be 
 
 In want of his next meal of seeds ? 
 I think for tJiat his sweet song pleads. 
 If so, his pretty art succeeds, 
 I'll scatter there among the -\\eeds 
 All the small crumbs I have. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE SHEEP. 
 
 Lazy sheep, pray tell me why 
 In the grassy fields you 'ie, 
 Eating grass and daisies white, 
 From the morning till the night ? 
 Every thing can something do. 
 But what kind of use are you T 
 
 Nay, my Uttle master, nay. 
 Do not serve me so, I pray ; 
 Don't you see the wool that grows 
 On my back to make you clothes ? 
 Cold, and very cold you'd get. 
 If I did not give you it. 
 
 Sure it seems a pleasant thing 
 To nip the daisies in the spring, 
 But many chilly nights I pass 
 On the cold and dewy grass. 
 Or pick a scanty dinner where 
 All the common's brown and bare. 
 
 Then the farmer comes at last. 
 When the merry spring is past. 
 And cuts my woolly coat away 
 To warm you in the winter's day ; 
 Little master, this is why 
 In the grassy fields I lie. 
 
 Ann Taylor. 
 
 THE BIRD'S NEST. 
 Eliza and Anne were extremely dis- 
 tress' d 
 To see an old bird fly away from her 
 nest. 
 And leave her poor young ones 
 alone ; 
 The pitiful chirping they heard from 
 
 the tree 
 Made them tliink it as cruel as cruel 
 could be, 
 Not knowing for what she had 
 flown. 
 
 But, when with a worm in her bill 
 
 she return'd, 
 They smil'd on each other, soon 
 
 having discern'd 
 She had not forsaken her brood ! 
 But like their dear mother was careful 
 
 and kind, 
 Still thinking of them, though she left 
 
 them behind 
 To seek for them suitable food. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE PET LAMB. 
 
 The dew was falling fast, the stars 
 
 began to bUnk ; 
 I heard a voice ; it said, " Drink, 
 
 pretty creature, drink ! " 
 And, looking o'er the hedge, before me 
 
 I espied 
 A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a 
 
 Maiden at its side. 
 
 Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the 
 
 lamb was all alone. 
 And by a slender cord was tethered to 
 
 a stone ; 
 With one knee on the grass did the 
 
 httle Maiden kneel, 
 While to that mountain-lamb she gave 
 
 its evening meal. 
 
 The lamb, while from her hand he thus 
 
 his supper took. 
 Seemed to feast with head and ears ; 
 
 and his tail with uleasure shook. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 13 
 
 " Drink, pretty creature, drink," she 
 
 said in such a tone 
 That I almost received her heart into 
 
 my own. 
 
 'Twa,s little Barbara Lewthwaite, a 
 
 child of beauty rare ! 
 I watched them with delight, they were 
 
 a lovely pair. 
 Now with her empty can the maiden 
 1 turned away : 
 
 ^ But ere ten yards were gone her foot- 
 steps did she stay. 
 
 Right towards the lamb she looked : 
 and from a shady place 
 
 I unobserved could see the workings 
 of her face ; 
 
 If Nature to her tongue could mea- 
 sured numbers bring. 
 
 Thus, thought I, to her lamb the httle 
 Maid might sing : 
 
 " What ails thee, young One, what ? 
 
 Why pull so at thy cord ? 
 Is it not well with thee ? well both for 
 
 bed and board ? 
 Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as 
 
 grass can be : 
 Rest, little young One, rest ; what 
 
 is't that aileth thee ? 
 
 " What is it thou wouldst seek ? What 
 
 is wanting to thy heart ? 
 Thy limbs, are they not strong ? And 
 
 beautiful thou art : 
 This grass is tender grass : these flowers 
 
 they have no peers : 
 And that green com is all day rustling 
 
 in thy ears 1 
 
 " If the sun be shining hot, do but 
 
 stretch thy woollen chain. 
 This beech is standing by, its covert 
 
 thou canst gain ; 
 For rain and mountain-storms ! the 
 
 Uke thou needst not fear. 
 The rain and storm are things that 
 
 scarcely can come here. 
 
 " Rest, little One, rest ; thou hast for- 
 got the day 
 
 When my father found thee first, in 
 places far away : 
 
 Many flocks were on the hills, but thou 
 wert owned by none. 
 
 And thy mother from thy side for 
 evermore was gone. 
 
 " He took thee in his arms, and in pity 
 
 brought thee home ; 
 A blessed day for thee I Then whither 
 
 wouldst thou roam ? 
 A faithful nurse thou hast : the dam 
 
 that did thee yean 
 Upon the mountain-tops no kinder 
 
 could have been. 
 
 " Thou know'st that thrice a day I have 
 
 brought thee in this can 
 Fresh water from the brook, as clear 
 
 as ever ran ; 
 And twice in the day, when the ground 
 
 is wet with dew, 
 I bring thee draughts of milk — warm 
 
 milk it is and new. 
 
 " Thy limbs will shortly be twice as 
 
 stout as they are now. 
 Then Til yoke thee to my cart Uke a 
 
 pony in the plough ; 
 My playmate shalt thou be ; and when 
 
 the wind is cold. 
 Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house 
 
 shall be thy fold. 
 
 " It will not, will not rest ! Poor 
 
 creature, can it be 
 That 'tis thy mother's heart which is 
 
 working so in thee ? 
 Things that I know not of belike to 
 
 thee are dear. 
 And dreams of things which thou canst 
 
 neither see nor hear. 
 
 " Alas ! the mountain-tops that look 
 so green and fair ! 
 
 I've heard of fearful winds and dark- 
 ness that come there ; 
 
 The little brooks that seem all pastime 
 and all play. 
 
 When they are angry, roar like lions for 
 their prey. 
 
 " Here thou needst not dread the raven 
 in the sky ; 
 
 Night and day thou art safe, — our cot- 
 tage is hard by 
 
 Why bleat so after me ? why pull so 
 at thy chain ? 
 
 Sleep — and at break of day I will come 
 to thee again ! " 
 
 As homeward through the lane I went 
 
 with lazy feet. 
 This song to myself did I ofteatimes 
 
 repeat ; 
 
14 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad 
 
 line by line. 
 That but half of it was hers, and one 
 
 half of it was mine. 
 
 Again, and once again, did I repeat 
 
 the song, 
 " Nay," said I, " more than half to 
 
 the damsel must belong, 
 l<'or she looked with such a look, and 
 
 she spoke with such a tone. 
 That I almost received her heart into 
 
 my own." 
 
 Williain Wordsworth. 
 
 THE TITBTIiE DOVE'S TTEST. 
 
 Very high in the pine-tree, 
 
 The little turtle-dove 
 Made a pretty little nursery. 
 
 To please her httle love 
 She was gentle, she was soft. 
 
 And her large dark eye 
 Often turned to her mate 
 
 Who was pitting close by. 
 
 " Coo," said the turtle dove ; 
 
 *' Coo," said she ; 
 " Oh, I love thee," said the turtle dove ; 
 
 " And I love thee." 
 In the long shady branches 
 
 Of the dark pine tree, 
 How happy were the doves 
 
 In their little nursery 1 
 
 The young turtle doves 
 
 Never quarrelled in the nest ; 
 For they dearly loved each other. 
 
 Though they loved their mother best 
 " Coo," said the little doves, 
 
 " Coo," said she ; 
 And they played together kindly 
 
 In the dark pine tree. 
 
 Is this nursery of yours. 
 
 Little sister, little brother. 
 Like the turtle-dove's nest — 
 
 Do you love one another ? 
 Are you kind, are you gentle. 
 
 As children ought to be ? 
 Then the happiest of nests 
 
 Is your own nursery. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe, 
 
 THE WAVES ON THE SEA- 
 SHOBE. 
 
 Roll on, roll on, you restless waves. 
 That toss about and roar . 
 
 But why do j'ou all run back again 
 When you have reached the shore ? 
 
 Roll on, roll on, you noisy waves. 
 Roll higher up the strand ; 
 
 How is it that you cannot pass 
 That hne of yellow sand ? 
 
 Make haste, or else the tide will turn ; 
 
 Make haste, you noisy sea ; 
 Roll quite across the bank, and then 
 
 Far on across the lea. 
 
 " We must not dare," the waves reply : 
 " That line of yellow sand 
 
 Is laid along the shore to bond 
 The waters from the land ; 
 
 " And all should keep to time and place. 
 And all should keep to rule ; 
 
 Both waves upon the sandy shore. 
 And little boys at school." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 TO A MONKEY.* 
 
 LIVELY, most charming pug. 
 Thy graceful air, and heavenly mug ! 
 The beauties of his mind do shine. 
 And every bit is shaped and fine. 
 Your teeth are whiter than the snow. 
 You're a great buck, you're a great 
 
 beau ; 
 Your eyes are of so nice a shape. 
 More hke a Christian's than an ape ; 
 Your cheek is like the rose's blume. 
 Your hair is hke the raven's plume ; 
 His nose's cast is of the Roman, 
 He is a very pretty woman. 
 
 1 could not get a rh3'me for Roman, 
 So was obliged to call him woman. 
 
 Marjorie Fleming. 
 
 * The little iiuthor of this poem cjied at 
 the age of eight years. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 15 
 
 THE NEST. 
 
 Arthur, to Robert, made a sign 
 Tliat (^heck'd his merry tongue ; 
 
 And whispered, " See, what luck ia 
 mine, 
 A blackbird and its young. 
 
 " Look through the bush ; see, there's 
 the nest. 
 
 The mother, brood, and all ; 
 You shall have her — I'll take the rest. 
 
 But, hold me, lest I fall." 
 
 " Stay, Arthur, for a moment, stay, 
 And think upon the deed ; 
 
 When you were young and helpless, say, 
 Did you a mother need ? 
 
 " If so, you soon may imderstand 
 How these poor birds will fare ; 
 
 That you may gain your cruel end. 
 They lose a mother's care." 
 
 Mary EllioH. 
 
 _-^WHAT IS VEAL? 
 
 When William asked, how veal was 
 made. 
 
 His little sister smil'd ; 
 " It grew in foreign climes," she said. 
 
 And call'd him " silly child." 
 
 Eliza, laughing at thcni both. 
 Told, to their g?eat surprise. 
 
 The meat just cook'd to make them 
 broth. 
 Once liv'd — had nose and eyes ; 
 
 Nay, more, had legs, and walk'd about ; 
 
 William in wonder stood ; 
 He could not make the riddle out, 
 
 But begged his sister would. 
 
 Well, brother, I have had my laugh. 
 And you shall have yours now ; 
 
 Veal, when aUve, was called a calf ; 
 It's mother was a cow. 
 
 Mary Elliott 
 
 BIRDIE. 
 
 Bfrdie, birdie, quickly come ! 
 Come and take this little crumb ; 
 Go and fetch your httle brother. 
 And be kind to one another 
 
 Birdie, sing a song to me, 
 I will very quiet be ; 
 Yes, my birdie— yes, I will 
 Be so quiet, and so still. 
 
 Oh ! so still, you shall not hear me ; 
 Fear not, birdie, to come near me ; 
 Tell me, in your pleasant song, 
 What you're doing all day long. 
 
 How you pass the rainy days — 
 Tell me all about your plays. 
 Have you lessons, birdie ? tell — 
 Did you learn to read and spell ? 
 
 Or just fly from tree to tree, 
 Where you will, at liberty — 
 Far up in the clear blue sky 
 Very tar, and very high ? 
 
 ,0r in pleasant summer hours, 
 Do you i)lay with pretty flowers ? 
 Birdie, is this all you do ? 
 Then I wish that I were you. 
 
 Eliza Lee Fdlen. 
 
 THE POPPY. 
 
 High on a bright and sunny bed 
 
 A scarlet poppy grew ; 
 And up it held its staring head. 
 
 And thrust it full in view. 
 
 Yet no attention did it win. 
 By all these efforts made. 
 
 And less unwelcome had it been 
 In some retired shade. 
 
 For though within its scarlet breast. 
 
 No sweet perfume was foimd. 
 It seemed to think itself the best 
 Of all the flowers around. 
 
 From this I may a hint obtain. 
 And take great care indeed. 
 
 Lest I appear as pert and vain 
 As does this gaudy weed. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE YOUNG LINNETS. 
 
 Did you ever see the nest 
 Of chaffinch or of linnet. 
 
 When the little downy birds 
 Are lying snugly in it ? 
 
16 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Gaping wide their yellow mouths 
 For something nice to eat ? 
 
 Caterpillar, worm, or grub. 
 They reckon dainty meat. 
 
 When the mother bird returns. 
 And finds them still and good. 
 
 She will give them each by turns 
 A projier share of food. 
 
 She has hopped from spray to spray, 
 And peeped with knowing eye 
 
 Into all the folded leaves 
 Where caterpillars he. 
 
 She has searched among the grass, 
 And flown from tree to tree, 
 
 Catching gnats, and flies, to feed 
 Her littie family. 
 
 I have seen the Unnets chirp. 
 And shake their downy wings ; 
 
 They are pleased to see her come, 
 And pleased with what she brings. 
 
 But I never saw them look 
 
 Impatient for their food. 
 Somebody, at dinner time. 
 
 Is seldom quite so good. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 COMMON THINGS. 
 
 The sun is a glorious thing. 
 
 That comes ahke to all. 
 Lighting the peasant's lowly cot, 
 
 The noble's painted hall. 
 
 The moonlight is a gentle thing. 
 It through the window gleams 
 
 Upon the snowy pillow where 
 The happy infant dreams. 
 
 It shines upon the fisher's boat. 
 
 Out on the lovely sea ; 
 Or where the little lambkins lie. 
 
 Beneath the old oak tree. 
 
 The dew-drops on the summer morn. 
 
 Sparkle upon the grass ; 
 The village children brush them oft', 
 
 That through the meadows pass. 
 
 There are no gema in monarch's crowns 
 
 More beautiful than they ; 
 And yet we scarcely notice them. 
 But tread them off in play. 
 
 Poor Robin on the pear-tree sings, 
 
 Beside the cottage door ; 
 The heath-fl Aver fills the air with sweets 
 
 Upon the pathless moor. 
 
 There are as many lovely things. 
 
 As many pleasant tones. 
 For those who sit by cottage-hearths 
 
 As those who sit on thrones ! 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 THE GUiOW-WOBMS. 
 
 The Glow-worm with his homy wings 
 
 Can fly about at will ; 
 And now he settles on the heath, 
 
 And now upon the hill. 
 
 The while his graceful little wife 
 And daught rs stay at home ; 
 
 From sheltered nooks and quiet shades 
 They could not wish to roam. 
 
 The little lady Glow-worms seems 
 
 Most gentle little things, 
 And quite unlike their brothers bold, 
 
 For none of them have wings. 
 
 But each within her bosom bears 
 
 A tiny lamp that glows 
 With light as tender as the love 
 
 The purest spirit knows. 
 
 They would not fly away from home. 
 Nor leave it, if they could ; 
 
 For happy a:e the homes where all 
 Are loving, kind, and good. 
 
 But he, the little gentleman. 
 With shining horny wings. 
 
 On duty or on pleasure bent, 
 Forsook the little things. 
 
 " He must be weary now, or worn," 
 The lady Glow-worm said ; 
 
 " And soon he will return again, 
 To rest his weary head. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 17 
 
 " And we must kindle up the glow. 
 
 Like emeralds at night. 
 And try to beautify his home 
 
 With cheerfulness and Ught." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshaue. 
 
 THE GBEAT BBOWM" OWIj. 
 
 The bruwu Owl sits in the ivy bush. 
 And she looketh wondrous wise. 
 
 With a horny beak beneath her cowl. 
 And a pair of large round eyes. 
 
 She sat all day on the self-same spray. 
 
 From sunrise till sunset ; 
 And the dim, grey light it was all too 
 bright 
 
 For the owl to see in yet. 
 
 " Jermy- Owlet, Jenny-Owlet," said a 
 merry little bird, 
 " They say you're wondrous wise ; 
 But I don't think you see, though 
 you're looking at ME 
 With your large, roimd, shining eyes." 
 
 Eut night came soon, and the pale 
 white moon 
 Rolled high up in the skies ; 
 And the great brown Owl flew away in 
 her cowl, 
 With her round, large, shining eyes. 
 
 Mrs. Eawkshawe. 
 
 OH! LOOK AT THE MOON. 
 
 Oh ! look at the moon. 
 She is shining up there ; 
 
 Oh ! mother, she looks 
 Like a lamp in the air. 
 
 Last week she was smaller. 
 And shaped hke a bow ; 
 
 But now she's grown bigger. 
 And round as an 0. 
 
 Pretty moon, pretty moon, 
 How you shine on the door. 
 
 And make it all bright 
 On my nursery floor I 
 
 You shine on my playthings. 
 And show me their place. 
 
 And I loved to look up 
 At your pretty bright face. 
 
 And there is a star 
 
 Close by you, and may be 
 That small, twinkhng star 
 
 is yiiur little baby. 
 
 Eliza Lee Fotlen. 
 
 DAME DUCK'S FIRST LEC- 
 TITBE ON EDUCATION. 
 
 Old Mother Duck has liatched a brood 
 Of ducklings, small and callow ; 
 
 Their little wings are short ; their down 
 Is mottled grey and yellow. 
 
 There la a quiet httle stream. 
 
 That runs into the moat. 
 Where tall green sedges spread their 
 leaves. 
 
 And water lilies float. 
 
 Close by the margin of the brook 
 The old duck made her nest, 
 
 Of straw, and leaves, and withered 
 grass. 
 And down from her own breast. 
 
 And there she sat for four long weeks, 
 
 In rainy days and fine. 
 Until the ducklings all came out — 
 
 Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ! 
 
 One peeped out from beneath her wing. 
 
 One scrambled on her back ; 
 " That's very rude," said old Dame 
 
 Duck, 
 *' Get off ! quack, quack, quack, 
 
 quack." 
 
 "'Tis close," said Dame Duck, shoving 
 out 
 
 The egg-shells with her bill ; 
 " Besides it never suits young ducks 
 
 To keep them sitting still." 
 
 So, rising from her nest, she said, 
 " Now, children, look at me : 
 
 A well-bred duck should waddle so, 
 From side to side — d'ye see ? " 
 
18 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Yes," said the little ones, and then 
 
 She went on to explain : 
 " A weil-bred duck turns in its toes 
 
 As I do — try again." 
 
 ' Yes," said the ducklings, -waddhng on. 
 
 " That's better," said their mother ; 
 " But well-bred ducks walk in a row, 
 
 Straight — one behind another." 
 
 " Yes," said the little ducks again, 
 All waddUng in a row ; 
 
 " Now to the pond," said old Dame 
 Duck- 
 Splash ! splash, and in they go. 
 
 " Let me swim first," said old Dame 
 Duck, 
 " To this side, now to that ; 
 There, snap at those great brown- 
 winged flies. 
 They make J'oung ducklings fat. 
 
 " Now, when you reach the poultry- 
 yard 
 
 The hen-wife, Molly Head 
 Will feed you, with the other fowls, 
 
 On bran and mashed-up bread ; 
 
 " The hens will peck and fight, but 
 mind, 
 
 I hope that all of you 
 Will gobble up the food as fast 
 
 As well-bred ducks should do. 
 
 " You'd better get into the dish. 
 
 Unless it is too small ; 
 In that case I should use my foot 
 
 And overturn it all." 
 
 The ducklings did as they were bid, 
 And found the plan so good 
 
 That, from that day, the other fo^\ls 
 Got hardly any food. 
 
 Mrs. Hawksliawe. 
 
 THE CHINESE PIG. 
 
 Old Madam Grumpli the pig has got 
 
 A pig-stye of her own ; 
 She is a most uncommon pig, 
 
 And likes to live alone. 
 
 A red-tiled roofing covers in 
 
 The one-half of her stye ; 
 And half, surrounded by a wall. 
 
 Is open to the sky. 
 
 There stands the trough, they keep it 
 filled 
 
 With pig- wash and with parings ; 
 And all the other pigs declare 
 
 Dame Grumph has dainty tarings. 
 
 They like to see what she's about. 
 And poke their noses through 
 
 A great hole in the pig-stye door. 
 From Avhence they get a view. 
 
 The pigs that run about the yard 
 
 Are very lean and tall, 
 With long hind legs — but Madam 
 Grumph 
 
 Is round as any ball. 
 
 One autumn day when she awoke 
 ('Twas very cold and raw). 
 
 She found a litter of young pigs 
 Half buried in the straw. 
 
 " Humph ! " said the dame; " now let 
 me see 
 
 How many have I got." 
 She counted : " Six and four are ten — • 
 
 Two dead ones in the lot. 
 
 " Eight — that's a nice round family : 
 A black one and two white ; 
 
 The rest are spotted like myself. 
 With prick ears. That's all right. 
 
 " What's to be done with these dead 
 things ? 
 
 They'd better be thrown out," 
 Said she, and packed the litter round 
 
 The others with her snout. 
 
 " What's that, old Grumphy 1 " said a 
 
 PJg. 
 Whose snout peeped through the 
 
 door ; 
 " There's something moving in the 
 
 straw 
 I never saw before." 
 
 " I wish you'd mind your own affairs," 
 Said she, and stepped between 
 
 The young pigs ami tlie pig-stye door. 
 Not wishing to be seen. 
 

 Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 19 
 
 " I hope you slept well," said the pig. 
 
 " The wind was very high ; 
 You are most comfortable lodged — 
 
 A most convenient stye." 
 
 " I thought I told you once before 
 To mind your own affairs," 
 
 Said she, and bristling up her back. 
 She bit the lean pig's ears. 
 
 " Squeak ! " said the bitten pig, 
 " sque — e — eak ! 
 
 Old Gruraphy's biting hard ; " 
 And all the lean pigs scampered up 
 
 From all sides of the yard. 
 
 They grumbled and they grunted low. 
 They squeaked in every key. 
 
 At last another pig peeped through 
 To see what he could see. 
 
 Dame Grumph was standing by her 
 
 pigs. , 
 And looking very proud. 
 And all the little piggy-wigs 
 Were squeaking very loud. 
 
 " These lovely creatures," said Old 
 Grumph, 
 
 " These lovely pigs are mine ; 
 They're fat and pink, like human baht-s, 
 
 Most promising young swine." 
 
 " Indeed ! " excltiimed the peeping pig; 
 
 " I never should have thought 
 They were so very promising." 
 
 Old Grumphy gave a snort. 
 
 " They' re of a most distinguished race : 
 My mother and her brother 
 
 Were both imported from Pekin — 
 My pigs are like my mother. 
 
 " They never shall associate 
 
 With long-legged pigs like yon," 
 
 Said she, addressing the lean pig 
 Whose snout was peeping through. 
 
 " Begging your pardon, Madam Grumph, 
 
 I really think," said he, 
 " The difference is not so great 
 
 As it appears to be. 
 
 " If you and I were bacon, ma'am. 
 
 The difference between 
 An Irish and a Chinese pig 
 
 Would hardly then be seen. 
 
 " Give me your comfortable stye, 
 And, above all, your food. 
 
 Our little families might prove 
 Indifferently good." 
 
 Mrs, Hawkshawe. 
 
 A CAT TO HER KITTENS. 
 
 " Little kittens, be quiet — be quiet, I 
 
 say! 
 You see I am not in the humour for 
 ^ play. 
 I've watched a long time every crack 
 
 in the house, 
 Without being able to catch you a 
 
 mouse. 
 
 " Now, Muff, I desire you will let my 
 foot go ; 
 
 And, Prinny, how can you keep jump- 
 ing, miss, so ? 
 
 " Little Tiny, get up, and stand on your 
 
 feet. 
 And be, if you can, a httle discreet ! 
 Am I to be worried and harass'd by 
 
 you, 
 Till I really don't know what to think 
 
 or to do ? 
 
 " But hush ! hush ! this minute ! now 
 
 don't mew and cry — 
 My anger is cooling, and soon will pass 
 
 So kiss me and come and sit down on 
 
 the mat, 
 And make your dear mother a nice 
 
 happy cat." 
 
 Eliza Grove. 
 
 THE CHORnS OF FBOQS. 
 
 " Yaup, yaup, yaup ! " 
 
 Said the croaking voice of a frog : 
 " A rainy day 
 In the month of May, 
 
 And plenty of room in the bog." 
 
 " Yaup, yaup, yaup ! " 
 Said the frog, as it hopped away 
 
 " The insects feed 
 
 On the floating weed. 
 And I'm hungry for dinner to-day.' 
 
20 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Yaup, yaup, yaup ! " 
 Said the frog as it splashed about : 
 " Good neighbours all, 
 When you hear me call. 
 It is odd that you do not come out." 
 
 " Yaup, yaup, yaup ! " 
 Said the frogs ; " it is charming 
 weather ; 
 We'll come and sup 
 When the moon is up. 
 And we'll all of us croak together." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkskawe. 
 
 TO A BUTTEBFLY. 
 
 BuTTEEFLY, butterfly, brilliant and 
 
 bright. 
 How very often I envy your flight ! 
 I think I should like through the whole 
 
 summer day. 
 Like you, pretty insect, to flutter and 
 
 play. 
 
 Butterfly, butterfly, onward you fly. 
 
 Now skimming so lowly, now rising so 
 high, 
 
 First on the jessamine, then on the 
 rose. 
 
 Then you will visit the pinks, I sup- 
 pose ? 
 
 Now you are resting, pray let me come 
 near: 
 
 I will not hurt you, nor touch you, 
 don't fear ; 
 
 For mamma says my hand is too heavy 
 by far. 
 
 To touch such little creatures as butter- 
 flies are. 
 
 Now you are off again. Butterfly, 
 
 stay ; 
 Don't fly away from me, butterfly, 
 
 pray : 
 Just let me look at your beautiful 
 
 wings ; 
 Oh ! it does not mind me, but upward 
 
 it springs. 
 
 Lady Flora Hastings. 
 
 Sweetest notes he always sung, 
 Which much delighted Mary ; 
 
 Often when his cage was himg. 
 She sat to hear Canary. 
 
 Crumbs of bread and dainty seeds 
 She carried to him daily : 
 
 Seeking for the early weeds. 
 She deck'd his palace gaily. 
 
 This, my little readers, learn. 
 And ever practise duly ; 
 
 Songs and smiles of love retui-n 
 To fiiends who love you truly. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE MERBY PLY. 
 
 My merry httle fly, play here. 
 
 And let me look at you ; 
 I will not touch you, though you're 
 near. 
 
 As naughty children do. 
 
 I see you spread your pretty wings. 
 
 That sparkle in the sun ; 
 I see your legs — what tiny things ; 
 
 And yet how fast they run ! 
 
 You walk along the ceiling now. 
 And down the upright wall : 
 
 I'll ask mamma to tell me how 
 You walk and do not fall. 
 
 'Twas God that taught you, little fly, 
 To walk above the ground. 
 
 And mount above my head so high. 
 And frohc round and round. 
 
 I'll near you stand to see you play ; 
 
 But do not be afraid : 
 I would not lift my httle hand 
 
 To hurt what God has made. 
 
 Mary Lundie Duncan. 
 
 THE CANABY. 
 
 Mary had a Httle bird. 
 
 With feathers bright and yellow. 
 Slender legs — upon my word, 
 
 He was a pretty fellow 1 
 
 THE CLOCKING HEN. 
 
 " WiLi. you take a walk with me. 
 
 My little wife to-day ? 
 There's barley in the barley- fields. 
 
 And hay-seed in the hay." 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 21 
 
 " Thank you," said the clocking lien ; 
 
 "I've something else to do ; 
 I'm busy sitting on my eggs, 
 
 I cannot walk with yoii." 
 
 "(lock, clock, clock, clock," 
 
 Said the clocking hen ; 
 " .My little chicks will soon be hatch'd, 
 
 J '11 think about it then." 
 
 The clocking hen sat on her nest, 
 
 She made it in the hay ; 
 And warm and snug beneath her breast 
 
 A dozen white eggs lay 
 
 Crack, crack, went all the egg3 ; 
 
 Out dropp'd the chickens small I 
 " Clock," said the clocking hen. 
 
 Now I have j'ou all. 
 
 " Come along, my little chick, 
 I'll take a walk with you." 
 
 " Hallo ! " said the barn-door cock, 
 " Cock-a-doodle-doo." 
 
 Mrs. Ilawkshawe. 
 
 SLEEPY HARRY. 
 
 Get up, little boy, you are sleeping 
 
 too long. 
 Your brother is dressed and singing a 
 
 And you must be wakened, — oh ! fie ! 
 
 Come, come open the curtains, and let 
 
 in the light. 
 For children should only be sleepy at 
 
 night. 
 
 When stars may be seen in the sky. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 I Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful 
 world. 
 
 With the wonderful water round you 
 I curled. 
 
 And the wonderful grass upon your 
 \ breast — 
 ' World, you are beautifully drest. 
 
 I The wonderful air is over me, 
 
 I And the wonderful wind is shaking the 
 
 I tree. 
 
 It walks on the water and whirls the 
 
 mills, 
 And talks to itself on the toiis of the 
 
 hills. 
 
 You friendly Earth ! how far you go, 
 With tlie wheat-fields that nod and the 
 
 rivers that flow. 
 With cities and gardens, and clilVs and 
 
 isles. 
 And people upon you for thousands of 
 
 miles ? 
 
 Ah ! you are so great, and I am so 
 
 small, 
 I tremble to think of you. World, at all ; 
 And yet when I said my j^raycrs to-day, 
 A whisper inside me seemed to say, 
 " You are more than the Earth, though 
 
 you are such a dot : 
 You can love and think, and the Earth 
 
 cannot 1 " 
 
 William Brighty Rands, 
 
 THE LAMB. 
 
 Little lamb, who made thee ? 
 Dost thou know who made thee ? 
 Gave thee life and bid thee feed 
 By the stream and o'er the mead ; 
 Gave thee clothing of delight, 
 Softest clothing, woolly, bright ; 
 Gave thee such a tender voice 
 Making all the vales rejoice ; 
 
 I^ittle lamb, who made thee ? 
 
 Dost thou know who made thee ? 
 
 Little lamb, I'll tell thee. 
 Little lamb, I'll tell thee. 
 He is called by thy name, 
 For He calls Himself a Lamb ; 
 He is meek and He is mild. 
 He became a little child 
 I a child and thou a lamb. 
 We are called by His name 
 
 Little lamb, God bless thee. 
 Little lamb, God bless thee. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE LOST LAMB. 
 
 Storm upon the mountain. 
 Night upon its throne ! 
 
 And the Uttle snow-white lamb. 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
22 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Storm upon the mountain, 
 
 Eainy torrents beating, 
 And the little snow-white lamb. 
 
 Bleating, ever bleating ! 
 
 Down the glen the shepherd 
 
 Drives his flock afar ; 
 Through the murky mist and cloud, 
 
 Shines no beacon star. 
 Fast he hurries onward. 
 
 Never hears the moan 
 Of the pretty snow-white lamb, 
 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
 At the shepherd's doorway 
 
 Stands his little son ; 
 Sees the sheep come trooping home, 
 
 Counts them one by one : 
 Counts them full and fairly — 
 
 Trace he findcth none 
 Of the little snow-white lamb. 
 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
 Up the glen he races, 
 
 Breasts the bitter wind. 
 Scours across the plain and leaves 
 
 Wood and wold behind ; — 
 Storm upon the mountain. 
 
 Night upon its throne, — 
 There he finds the Uttle lamb. 
 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
 Struggling, panting, sobbing. 
 
 Kneeling on the ground, 
 Round the pretty creature's neck 
 
 Both his arms are wound ; 
 Soon within his bosom. 
 
 All its bleatings done. 
 Home he bears the little lamb. 
 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
 Oh ! the happy faces. 
 
 By the shepherd's fire ! 
 High without the tempest roars. 
 
 But the laugh rings higher. 
 Young and old together 
 
 Make that joy their own. — 
 In their midst the little lamb. 
 
 Left alone, alone ! 
 
 Thomas Westwood. 
 
 THE GREEDY PIGGY THAT 
 
 ATE TOO FAST. 
 " Oh, Piggy, what was in your trough 
 That thus you raise your head and 
 cough ? 
 
 Was it a rough, a crooked bone. 
 That cookey m the pail had thrown ? 
 Speak, Piggy, speak ! and tell me plain 
 What 'tis that seems to cause you pain." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, sir ! I will speak out 
 As soon as I can clear my throat. 
 Tliis morning, when I left my stye, 
 So eager for my food was I, 
 That I began my rich repast — 
 I blush to own it — rather fast ; 
 And, what with haste, sir, and iU-luck, 
 A something in my poor throat stuck. 
 Which I discover'd very soon 
 To be a silver table-spoon. 
 This, sir, is all — no other tale 
 Have I against the kitchen-pail." 
 
 " I hope it is ; but I must own 
 I'm sorry for my table-spoon ; 
 And scarcely can I overlook 
 The carelessness of Mistress Cook- 
 But, Piggy, profit by your pain. 
 And do not eat so fast again." 
 
 Eliza Grove. 
 
 A lilTTIiE HOBBY-HORSE. 
 
 Theee was a little hobby-horse. 
 Whose name I do not know, — 
 
 An idle little hobby-horse. 
 That said he wouldn't go. 
 
 But his master said, " If it be so 
 That you wiU only play. 
 
 You idle rogue, j'ou shall not eat 
 My nice sweet clover-hay ! " 
 
 Then Hobby shook his saucy head, 
 And said, " If that's the case. 
 
 Bather than go Mithout my hay, 
 I'll try and mend my pace." 
 
 Eliza Grove. 
 
 THE POND. J 
 
 There was a round pond, and a pretty i 
 pond too, ; 
 
 About it white daisies and butter- 
 flowers grew ; 
 
 And darkweeping willows that stoop 
 to the ground, 
 
 Dipp'd in their long branches and 
 shaded it round. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 23 
 
 A party of ducks to this pond would 
 
 repair. 
 To feast on the green water- weeds that 
 
 grew there : 
 Indeed, the assembly would frequently 
 
 meet. 
 To talk over aflfairs in this pleasant 
 
 retreat. 
 
 Now, the subjects on which they were 
 
 wont to converse, 
 I'm sorry I cannot include in my verse ; 
 For though I've oft listened, in hopes 
 
 of discerning, 
 I own 'tis a matter that baffles my 
 
 learning. 
 
 One day a young chicken that lived 
 
 thereabout. 
 Stood watching to see the ducks pass 
 
 in and out ; 
 Now standing tail upward, now diving 
 
 below ; 
 She thought of all things she should 
 
 hke to do so. 
 
 She splashed and she dashed and she 
 
 turned herself round. 
 And heartily wished herself safe on 
 
 the gi-ound. 
 
 But 'twas too late to begin to repent. 
 The harder she struggled the deeper 
 
 she went ; 
 And when every effort she vainly had 
 
 tried, 
 She slowly sunk down to the bottom 
 
 and died ! 
 
 The ducks, I perceived, began loudly to 
 
 quack. 
 When they saw the poor fowl floating 
 
 dead on its back ; 
 And by their grave gestures and looks 
 
 •'twas apparent 
 They discoursed on the sin of not 
 minding a parent. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 So this foohsh chicken began to de- 
 clare, 
 
 " I've really a great mind to venture 
 in there ; 
 
 My mother oft tells nie I must not go 
 nigh. 
 
 But then, for my part, I can never 
 tell ^\hy. 
 
 " Wings and feathers have ducks, and 
 
 so have I too ; 
 And my feet, what's the reason that 
 
 they will not do ? 
 Though my beak is pointed, and their 
 
 beaks are round. 
 Is that any reason that I should be 
 
 drowned ? 
 
 *' So why should not I swim as well 
 
 as a duck ? 
 Suppose that I venture, and e'en try 
 
 my luck ! 
 For," said she (spite of all that her 
 
 mother had taught her), 
 " I am so remarkably fond of the 
 
 water." 
 
 So in this poor ignorant creature flew, 
 But soon found her dear mother's 
 cautions were true ; 
 
 THE SPIDEB AND HIS WIFE. 
 
 In a dark little crack, half a yard from 
 the ground, 
 An honest old spider resided ; 
 So pleasant, and snug, and convenient 
 
 'twas found. 
 That his friends came to see it for 
 many miles round : 
 It seemed for his pleasure provided. 
 
 Of the cares, and fatigues, and distresses 
 of hfe, 
 This spider was thoroughly tired : 
 So, leaving those scenes of contention 
 
 and strife 
 (His children all settled), he came with 
 his wife, 
 To live in this cranny retired. 
 
 He thought that the little his wife 
 would consume 
 'Twould be easy for him to provide 
 her ; 
 Forgetting he hved in a gentleman's 
 
 room. 
 Where came every morning a maid 
 and a broom. 
 Those pitiless foes to a spider I 
 
 i 
 
24 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 For when (as sometimes it would 
 chance to befall). 
 Just Mhen his neat web was com- 
 pleted, 
 Brush — came the great broom down 
 
 the side of the wall, 
 And, perhaps, carried with it, web, 
 spider, and all, 
 He thought himself cruelly treated. 
 
 One day, when their cupboard was 
 empty and dry. 
 His wife (Mrs. Hairy-leg Spinner), 
 Said to him, " Dear, go to the cobweb 
 
 and try 
 If you can't find the leg or the wing 
 of a fly. 
 As a bit of a relish for dinner " 
 
 Directly he went, his long search to 
 resume 
 (For notliing he ever denied her), 
 Alas ! little guessing his terrible doom. 
 Just then came the gentleman into Iiis 
 room 
 And saw the unfortunate spider. 
 
 So while the poor fellow in search of 
 his pelf, 
 In the cobweb continued to linger. 
 The gentleman reached a long cane from 
 
 the shelf 
 {For certain good reasons best known to 
 himself, 
 Preferring his stick to his finger). 
 
 Then presently, poking him down to 
 the floor. 
 Nor stopping at all to consider. 
 With one horrid crash the whole bus'- 
 
 ness was o'er. 
 The poor little spider was heard of no 
 more. 
 To the lasting distress of his widow I 
 
 lane Taylor. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL. 
 
 Come, take up yoiu: hats, and away 
 let us haste 
 
 To the Butterfly's ball and the Grass- 
 hopper's feast ; 
 
 The trumpeter Gadfly has summon'd 
 the crew. 
 
 And the revels are now only waiting 
 for vou. 
 
 On the smooth shaken grass by the 
 
 side of the wood, 
 Beneath a broad oak that for ages has 
 
 stood. 
 See the children of earth, and the 
 
 tenants of air, 
 For an evening's amusement together 
 
 repair. 
 
 And there came the Beetle, so blind 
 
 and so black. 
 Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on 
 
 his back ; 
 And there was the Gnat, and the 
 
 Dragon-fly too. 
 With all their relations, green, orange, 
 
 and blue. 
 
 And there came the Moth in his 
 
 plumage of doTvn, 
 And the Hornet in jacket of yellow 
 
 and brown. 
 Who with him the Wasp his companion 
 
 did bring. 
 But they promised that evening to 
 
 lay by theii- sting. 
 
 And the sly little Dormouse crept out 
 
 of his hole. 
 And lead to the feast liis blind brother 
 
 the Mole ; 
 And the Snail, with his horns peeping 
 
 out from his shell, 
 Came from a great distance — the length 
 
 of an ell. 
 
 A mushroom their table, and on it was 
 
 laid 
 A water dock leaf, with a table-cloth 
 
 made ; 
 The viands were various, to each of 
 
 their taste. 
 And the Bee brought his honey to 
 
 crown the repast. 
 
 There close on his haunches, so solemn 
 
 and wise 
 The Frog from a corner look'd up to 
 
 the skies ; 
 And the Squirrel well-pleased such 
 
 diversion to see. 
 Sat cracking his nuts overhead in a 
 
 tree. 
 
 Then out came the Spider, with fingers 
 
 so fine. 
 To show his dexterity on the tight 
 
 lino; 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 From one branch to another liis cob- 
 webs he shing, 
 
 Then as quick as an arrow he darted 
 along. 
 
 But just in the niiildle, oh ! shocking 
 
 to tell ! 
 From his rope in an instant poor 
 
 Harlequin fell ; 
 Yet he touch'd not the ground, but 
 
 with talons outspread, 
 Hung suspended in air at the end of 
 
 a thread. 
 
 Then the Grasshopper came with a 
 
 jerk and a spring. 
 Very long was his leg, though but 
 
 short was his wing ; 
 He took but three leaps, and was soon 
 
 out of sight, 
 Then chirp'd his own praises the rest 
 
 of the night. 
 
 With step so majestic the Snail did 
 
 advance, 
 And promised the gazers a minuet to 
 
 dance ; 
 But they all laugh'd so loud that he 
 
 pull'd in his head. 
 And went in his own little chamber to 
 
 bed. 
 
 Then as evening gave way to the 
 
 shadows of night, 
 The watchman, the Glow-worm, came 
 
 out with his light ; 
 Then home let us hasten while yet we 
 
 can see. 
 For no watchman is waiting for you 
 
 and for me. 
 
 William Roscoe. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY'S 
 FTJlTEEAIi. 
 
 Oh ye ! who so lately were blithesome 
 
 and gay. 
 At the Butterfly's banquet carousing 
 
 away ; 
 Your feasts and your revels of pleasure 
 
 are fled. 
 For the chief of the banquet, the 
 
 Butterfly's dead ! 
 
 No longer the Flies and the Emmets 
 
 advance. 
 To join with their friends in the Grass 
 
 hopper's dance. 
 For see his fine form o'er the favourite 
 
 bend. 
 And the Grasshopper mourns for the 
 
 loss of his fiiend. 
 
 And hark to the funeral dirge of the 
 
 Bee, 
 And the Beetle, who follows as solemn 
 
 as he ! 
 And see, where so mournful the green 
 
 lu.-^hes wave. 
 The Mole is preparing the Butterfly's 
 
 grave. 
 
 The Dormouse attended, but coid and 
 
 forlorn, 
 And the Gnat slowly winded his shrill 
 
 little horn ; 
 And the Moth, being grieved at the 
 
 loss of a sister. 
 Bent over her body and silently kissed 
 
 her. 
 
 The corpse was embalmed at the set 
 of the sun. 
 
 And enclosed in a case which the Silk- 
 worm had spun ; 
 
 Bj^ the help of the Hornet the coffin 
 was laid 
 
 On a bier out of myrtle and jessamine 
 made. 
 
 In weepers and scarfs came the Butter- 
 flies all. 
 
 And six of their number supported the 
 pall; 
 
 And the Spider came there in his 
 monruing so black. 
 
 But the lire of the Glow-worm soon 
 frightened him back. 
 
 The Grub left his nut-shell to join the 
 sad throng. 
 
 And slowly led with him the Book- 
 worm along. 
 
 Who wept for his neighbour's vuifor- 
 tunatc doom, 
 
 .\nd wrote these few lines, to be placed 
 on his tomb : 
 
 Epiiaph. 
 
 At this solemn spot, where the green 
 rushes Avave, 
 
 In sadness we bent o'er the Butter- 
 fly's grave : 
 
26 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 'Twa3 here the last tribute to beauty 
 
 we paid, 
 As we wept o'er the moimd where her 
 
 ashes are laid. 
 
 And here shall the daisy and violet 
 blow. 
 
 And the Uly discover her bosom of 
 snow ; 
 
 While under the leaves, in the even- 
 ings of spring. 
 
 Still mourning his friend, shall the 
 Grasshopper sing. 
 
 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY. 
 
 ' Will you walk into my parlour ? " 
 
 said the Spider to the Fly, 
 " 'Tis the prettiest little jjarlour that 
 
 ever you did spy ; 
 The way into my parlour is up a wind- 
 ing stair. 
 And I have many curious things to 
 
 show when you are there." 
 " Oh, no, no," said the little Fly ; " to 
 
 ask me is in vain ; 
 For who goes up your winding stair 
 
 can ne'er come down again." 
 " I'm sure you must be weary, dear, 
 
 with soaring up so high ; 
 Will you rest upon my little bed ? " 
 
 said the Spider to the Fly. 
 " There are pretty curtains drawn 
 
 around ; the sheets are fine and thin. 
 And if you hke to rest awhile, I'll 
 
 snugly tuck you in ! " 
 " Oh, no, no," said the httle Fly, "for 
 
 I've often heard it said, 
 They never, never wake again, who 
 
 sleep upon your bed ! " 
 Said the cunning Spider to the Fly : 
 
 " Dear friend, what can I do. 
 To prove the warm affection I've always 
 
 felt for you ? 
 I have within my pantry good store 
 
 of all that's nice ; 
 I'm sure you're very welcome — will 
 
 you please to take a slice ? " 
 " Oh, no, no," said the little Fly, " kind 
 
 sir, that cannot be, 
 I've heard what's in your pantry, and 
 
 I do not wish to see ! " 
 " Sweet creature ! " said the Spider, 
 
 " you're witty and you're wise, 
 How handsome are your gauzy wings, 
 
 how brilliant are your eyes ; 
 I have a little looking-glass upon my 
 
 parlour shelf, 
 
 If you'll step in one moment, dear, you 
 
 shall behold yourself." 
 " I thank you, gentle sir," she said, 
 
 " for what you're pleased to say. 
 And bidding you good morning now, 
 
 I call another day." 
 
 The Spider turned him round about, 
 
 and went into his den. 
 For well he knew the silly Fly would 
 
 soon come back again : 
 So he wove a subtle web in a little 
 
 corner sly. 
 And set his table ready to dine upon 
 
 the Fly. 
 Then he came out to his door again, 
 
 and merrilv did sing, 
 " Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with 
 
 the pearl and silver wing ; 
 Your robes are green and purple — 
 
 there's a crest upon your head ; 
 Your eyes are like the diamond bright, 
 
 but mine are dull as lead ! " 
 Alas, alas ! how very soon this silly 
 
 little Fly, 
 Hearing his wily, flattering words, 
 
 came slowly flitting by ; 
 With buzzing wings she hung aloft, 
 
 then neai" and nearer drew. 
 Thinking only of her brilliant eyea, and 
 
 green and purple hue — 
 Thinking only of her crested head — 
 
 poor fooUsh thing ! — at last 
 Up jump'd the cunning Spider, and 
 
 fiercely held her fast. 
 He dragg'd her up his winding stair, 
 
 into his dismal den. 
 Within his little parlour — but she ne'er 
 
 came out again ! 
 
 And now, dear little children, who may 
 
 this story read. 
 To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray 
 
 you ne'er give heed : 
 Unto an evil counsellor close heart and 
 
 ear and eye. 
 And take a lesson from this tale, of the 
 
 Spider and the Fly. 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 OLD DOBBIN. 
 
 Here's a song for old Dobbin whose 
 
 temper and worth 
 Are too rare to be spumed on the 
 
 score of his birth. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 27 
 
 He's a creature of trust, and what more 
 
 should we lieed ? 
 'Tis deeds, and not blood, make the 
 
 man and the steed. 
 
 He was bred in the forest, and turned on 
 
 the plain, 
 Where the thistle-burs clung to his 
 
 fetlocks and mane. 
 All ugly and rough, not a soul could 
 
 espy 
 The spark of good-nature that dwelt 
 
 in his eye. 
 
 The summer had waned and the 
 
 autumn months rolled 
 Into those of stern winter, all dreary 
 
 and cold ; 
 But the north wind might whistle, the 
 
 snow Hake might dance. 
 The colt of the common was left to 
 
 his chance. 
 
 Half-starved and half-frozen, the hail- 
 storm would pelt 
 
 Till his shivering limbs told the pangs 
 that he felt ; 
 
 But we pitied the brute, and though 
 laughed at by all. 
 
 We filled him a manger and gave him 
 a stall. 
 
 He was fond as a spaniel, and soon 
 
 he became 
 The pride of the heid-boy, the pet of 
 
 the dame ; 
 'Tis well that his niaiket price cannot 
 
 be known; 
 But wo christened him Dobbin, and 
 
 called him our own. 
 
 He grew out of colthood, and, lo I 
 what a change ! 
 
 The knowing ones said it was " mor- 
 tally strange " ; 
 
 For the foal of the forest, the colt of 
 the waste 
 
 Attracted the notice of jockeys of 
 taste. 
 
 The line of his symmetry was not exact. 
 
 But his paces were clever, his mould 
 was compact ; 
 
 And his shaggy thick coat now ap- 
 peared with a gloss. 
 
 Shining out like the gold that's been 
 purged of its dross. 
 
 We broke him for service, and tamely 
 
 he wore 
 Girth and rein, seeming proud of the 
 
 thraldom he bore ; 
 Each farm, it is known, must possess 
 
 an " odd " stead. 
 And Dobbin was ours, for all times 
 
 and all need. 
 
 He carried the master to barter his 
 
 grain. 
 And ever returned with him safely 
 
 again ; 
 There was merit in that, for — deny it 
 
 who may — 
 When the master could not Dobbin 
 
 could find his way. 
 
 The dairy-maid ventured her eggs on 
 
 his back, 
 'Twas him, and him only, she'd trust 
 
 with the pack ; 
 The team-horses jolted, the roadster 
 
 played pranks ; 
 So Dobbin alone had her faith and 
 
 her thanks. 
 
 We fun-loving urchins would group by 
 
 his side ; 
 We might fearlessly mount him, and 
 
 daringly ride ; 
 We might creep through his legs, we 
 
 might plait his long tail, 
 But his temper and patience were ne'er 
 
 known to fail. 
 
 We would brush his bright hide till 
 
 t'was free from a speck, 
 We kissed his brown muzzle, and 
 
 hugged his thick neck ; 
 Oh ! we prized him hke life, and a 
 
 heart-breaking sob 
 Ever burst when they threatened to 
 
 sell our dear Dob. 
 
 He stood to the collar, and tugged up 
 the liill. 
 
 With the pigs to the market, the grist 
 to the mill ; 
 
 With saddle or halter, in shaft or in 
 trace. 
 
 He was staunch to his work, and con- 
 tent with his place. 
 
 When the hot sun was crowning the 
 
 toil of the year, 
 He was sent to the reapers with ale 
 
 and good cheer ; 
 
28 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And none in the corn-field more wel- 
 come were seen 
 
 Than Dob and his well-laden panniers, 
 I ween. 
 
 Oh ! those days of pure bliss shall I 
 
 ever forget, 
 When we decked out his head with the 
 
 azure rosette ? 
 All frantic with joy to be off to the 
 
 fair, 
 With Dobbin, good Dobbin, to carry 
 
 us there ? 
 
 He was dear to us all, ay, for many 
 
 long years ; — 
 But, mercy ! how's this ? my eyes 
 
 filling with tears ! 
 Oh, how cruelly sweet are the echoes 
 
 that start 
 When memory plays an old tune on 
 
 the heart. 
 
 There are drops on my cheek, there's 
 
 a throb in my breast. 
 But my song shall not cease, nor my 
 
 pen take its rest, 
 Till I tell that old Dobbin still Uves to 
 
 be seen 
 With his oats in the stable, his tares 
 
 on the green. 
 
 His best years have gone by, and the 
 master who gave 
 
 The stern yoke to his youth has en- 
 franchised the slave ; 
 
 So browse on, my old Dobbin, nor 
 dream of the knife. 
 
 For the wealth of a king should not 
 purchase thy life. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 THE MOUSE AND THE CAKE. 
 
 A MOUSE found a beautiful piece of 
 
 plum-cake. 
 The richest and sweetest that mortal 
 
 could make ; 
 'Twas heavy with citron, and fragrant 
 
 with spice. 
 And cover'd with sugar all sparkling 
 
 as ice. 
 
 " My stars ! " said the Mouse, while 
 
 his eye beamed vnth glee, 
 " Here's a treasure I've found ; what 
 
 a feast it will be ! 
 But, hark ! there's a noise ; 'tis my 
 
 brothers at plaj% 
 So I'll hide with the cake, lest they 
 
 wander this way. 
 
 " Not a bit shall they have, for I know 
 
 I can eat 
 Every morsel myself, and I'll have 
 
 such a treat " ; 
 So off went the mouse as he held the 
 
 cake fast, 
 Wliile his hungry young brothers went 
 
 scampering past. 
 
 He nibbled, and nibbled, and panted, 
 
 but still 
 He kept gulping it down till he made 
 
 himself ill ; 
 Yet he swallow'd it all, and 'tis easy to 
 
 guess. 
 He was soon so unwell that he groan'd 
 
 with distress. 
 
 His family heard him, and as he grew 
 worse. 
 
 They sent for the doctor, who made 
 him rehearse 
 
 How he'd eaten the cake to the very 
 last crumb. 
 
 Without giving his playmates and rela- 
 tives some. 
 
 " Ah, me ! " cried the Doctor, " advice 
 
 is too late, 
 You must die befoie long, so prepare 
 
 for your fate ; 
 If j'ou had but divided the cake with 
 
 your brothers 
 'Twould have done you no harm, and 
 
 been good for the others. 
 
 " Had yoii shared it the treat had been 
 
 wholesome enough ; 
 But all eaten by one, it was dangerous 
 
 stuff ; 
 So prepare for the worst," and the word 
 
 had scai'ce fled, 
 \\'hen the doctor turned round, and 
 
 the patient waa dead. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 29 
 
 Now all little people the lesson may 
 
 take. 
 And some large ones may leam from 
 
 the mouse and the cake; 
 Not to be over selfish with what we 
 
 may gain. 
 Or the best of our pleasures may turn 
 
 into pain. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 THE DEATH OF MASTER 
 TOMMY ROOK. 
 
 A PAIR of steady rooks 
 Chose the safest of all nooks 
 In the hollow of a tree to build their 
 home ; 
 Antl while they kept within 
 They did not care a pin 
 For any roving sportsman who might 
 come. 
 
 Their family of five 
 
 Were all happy and ah"ve, 
 
 And Mrs. Rook was careful as could be. 
 To never let them out 
 Till she looked all round about, 
 
 And saw that they might wander far 
 and free. 
 
 She had talked to every one 
 Of the dangers of a gun, 
 And fondly begged that none of them 
 woidd stir 
 To take a distant llight. 
 At morning, noon, or night. 
 Before they prudently asked leave of 
 her. 
 
 But one fine sunny day, 
 
 Toward the end of May, 
 Young Tommy Rook began to scorn her 
 power, 
 
 And said that he would fly 
 
 Into the field close by, 
 And walk among the daisies for an hour. 
 
 "Stop, stop ! " she cried, alarmed, 
 " I see a man that's armeil. 
 
 And he will shoot you, sure as you are 
 seen ; 
 Wait till he goes, and then, 
 Secure from guns and men. 
 
 We all will have a ramble on the green." 
 
 But Master Tommy Rook, 
 With a very saucy look. 
 Perched on a twig and plumed his 
 jetty breast ; 
 Still talking all the while 
 In a very pompous style. 
 Of doing just what he might like the 
 best. 
 
 " I don't care one bit," said he, 
 
 " For any gun you see ; 
 I am tired of the cautions you bestow ; 
 
 I mean to have my way. 
 
 Whatever you may say. 
 And shall not ask when I may stay 
 or go." 
 
 " But, my son," the Mother cried, 
 
 " I only wish to guide 
 Till you are wise and fit to go alone. 
 
 I have seen much more of life. 
 
 Of danger, woe, and strife 
 Than you, my child, can possibly have 
 known. 
 
 " Just wait ten minutes here, — 
 Let that man disappear ; 
 I am sure he means to do some evil 
 thing ; 
 I fear you may be shot 
 If you leave this sheltered spot," 
 So pray come back, and keep beside 
 my wing." 
 
 But Master Tommy Rook 
 Gave another saucy look, 
 And chattered out, " Don't care ! don't 
 care ! don't care ! " 
 And off he flew Avith glee 
 Fi'om his brothers in the tree. 
 And hghted on the field so green and 
 fair. 
 
 He hopped about and found 
 All pleasant things around ; 
 He strutted through the daisies, — but 
 alas ! 
 A loud shot — bang ! — was heard, 
 And the wounded, silly bird 
 Rolled over, faint and dying, on the 
 grass 
 
 " There, there ! I told you so ! " 
 Cried his mother in her woe ; 
 " I warned you with a parent's thought- 
 ful truth ; 
 
30 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And you see that I was right 
 When I tried to stop your flight, 
 And said you needed me to guide your 
 youth." 
 
 Poor Master Tommy Rook 
 Gave a melancholy look 
 And cried, just as he drew his latest 
 breath : 
 " Forgive me, mother dear, 
 And let my brothers hear 
 That disobedience caused my cruel 
 death." 
 
 Now, when his lot was told. 
 
 The rooks, both young and old. 
 All said he should have done as he was 
 bid,— 
 
 That he well deserved his fate ; 
 
 And I, who now relate 
 His hapless story, really think he did. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 HOME FOR THE HOILIDAYS. 
 
 Home for the Hohdays, here we go ! 
 Bless me ! the train is exceedingly 
 
 slow ! 
 Pray, Mr. Engineer, get up your steam. 
 And let us be off with a pufE and a 
 
 scream ! 
 We have two long hours to travel, you 
 
 say; 
 Come, Mr. Engineer, gallop away ! 
 Two hours more ! why the sun will be 
 
 down 
 Before we reach dear old London 
 
 Town! 
 And what a number of fathers and 
 
 mothers. 
 And uncles and aunts, and sisters and 
 
 brothers 
 Will be there to meet us — oh ! do make 
 
 haste. 
 For I'm sure, Mr. Guard, we have no 
 
 time to waste ! 
 Thank goodness we shan't have to 
 
 study and stammer 
 Over Latin, and sums, and that nasty 
 
 French grammar ! 
 Lectures, and classes, and lessons are 
 
 done. 
 And now we'll have nothing but frolic 
 
 aud iuu 
 
 Home for the holidays, here we go ! 
 But this Fast Train is exceedingly slow. 
 We shall have sport when Christmas 
 
 comes. 
 When " snap-dragon " burns our fingers 
 
 and thumbs ! 
 We'll hang mistletoe over our dear 
 
 little cousins. 
 And pull them beneath it, and kiss 
 
 them by dozens ; 
 We shall have games at " blind-man's- 
 buff," 
 And noise and laughter and romping 
 
 enough ; 
 We'll crown the plum-pudding with 
 
 bunches of bay. 
 And roast all the chestnuts that come 
 
 in our way ; 
 And when Twelfth Night falls, we'U 
 
 have such a cake 
 That as we stand round it the table 
 
 shall quake. 
 We'll di-aw " King and Queen," and 
 
 be happy together. 
 And dance old " Sir Roger " with 
 
 hearts hke a feather. 
 Home for the hohdays, here we go ! 
 But this Fast Train is exceedingly 
 
 slow ! 
 
 And we'll go and see Harlequin's won- 
 derful feats, 
 
 Changing by magic whatever he meets ; 
 
 And Columbine, too, with her beautiful 
 tripping, 
 
 And Clown with his tumbling, and 
 jumping, and sHpping, 
 
 Cramming all things in his pockets so 
 big, 
 
 And letting off crackers in Pantaloon's 
 
 The horses that danced, too, last year 
 
 in the ring. 
 We remember the tune, it was sweet 
 
 " Tink-a-Ting," 
 And their tails and their manes, and 
 
 their sleek coats so bright ; 
 Some cream and some piebald, some 
 
 black and some white ; 
 And how Mr. Merryman made us all 
 
 shout 
 When he fell from his horse, and went 
 
 rolUng about ; 
 We'll be sure to go there — 'tis such 
 
 capital fun. 
 And we won't stir an inch till it's 
 
 every bit done 1 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 31 
 
 Mr Punch, we'll have him, too, our 
 
 famous old friend — 
 One might see liim for ever, and laugh 
 
 to the end ; 
 With his little dog Toby, so clever and 
 
 wise, 
 And poor Mrs. Judy, with tears in her 
 
 ej'es ; 
 With the constable taking him off to 
 
 the bar, 
 And the gentleman talking his " Shilla- 
 
 balla " ; 
 With tlie flourishing stick that knocks 
 
 ail of tlieni down. 
 For Punch's delight is breaking a 
 
 crown 
 
 Home for the hohdays, here we go ! 
 But really this train is exceedingly 
 
 slow ; 
 Yet, stay ! I declare here is London 
 
 at last 1 
 The Park is right over the timnel just 
 
 pass'd. 
 Huzza ! Huzza ! I can see my papa ! 
 I can see George's nncle, and Edward's 
 
 mamma ! 
 And Fred, there's your brother ! Look ! 
 
 look ! there he stands ! 
 They see us ! they see us ! they're 
 
 waving their hands ! 
 Why don't the train stop ? what are 
 
 t ey about ? 
 Now, now it is steady — oh ! pray let 
 
 us out ! 
 A cheer for old London, a kiss for 
 
 mamma. 
 We're home for the holidays. Now, 
 
 huzza ! 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 INNOCENT PLAY. 
 
 Abroad in the meadows to see the 
 
 young lambs 
 Run sporting about by the side of 
 
 their dams. 
 With fleeces so clean and so white ; 
 Or a nest of young doves in a large 
 
 open cage. 
 When they play all in love without 
 
 anger or rage. 
 How much we may learn from the 
 
 si^ht I 
 
 If we had been ducks we might dabble 
 in mud. 
 
 Or dogs, we might play till it ended 
 in blood — 
 So foul and so fierce are their natures ; 
 
 But Thomas and Wilham, and such 
 jiretty names, 
 
 Should be cleanly and harmless as doves 
 or as lambs. 
 Those lovely, sweet, innocent crea- 
 tures. 
 
 Not a thing do we do, nor a word that 
 
 we say 
 Should hinder another in jesting or 
 play. 
 For he's still in earnest that's hurt ; 
 How rude are the boys that throw 
 
 pebbles and mire ! 
 There's none but a madman will fling 
 about fire. 
 And tell you, " 'Tis all but in sport" 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 PEAISE FOR MEBCIES 
 SPIRITTJAIi AND TEMPORAL. 
 
 Whene'er I take my walks abroad 
 
 How many poor I see ; 
 What shall I render to my God 
 
 For all His gifts to me ? 
 
 Not more than others I deserve. 
 Yet God has given me more ; 
 
 For I have food, while others starve. 
 Or beg from door to door. 
 
 How many children in the street 
 
 Half-naked I behold ; 
 While I am cloth'd from head to feet, 
 
 And cover'd from the cold. 
 
 While some poor wretches scarce can 
 tell 
 
 Where they may lay their head, 
 I have a home wherein to dwell. 
 
 And re^^t upon my bed. 
 
 While others early earn to swear, 
 And curse and lie and steal. 
 
 Lord, I am taught Thy name to fear. 
 And do Thy holy will. 
 
32 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Are these Thy favours, day by day, 
 
 To me above the rest ? 
 Tlien let me love Thee more than they, 
 
 And try to serve Thee best. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 liOVE BETWEEN BBOTHEBS 
 AND SISTEKS. 
 
 Whatever brawls disturb the street, 
 There should be peace at home ; 
 
 Where siste s dwell, and brothers meet. 
 Quarrels should never come. 
 
 Birds in their Uttle nests agree ; 
 
 And 'tis a shameful sight, 
 When children of one family 
 
 Fall out and chide and fight. 
 
 Hard names at fii'st, and threat'ning 
 words 
 
 That are but noisy breath 
 May grow to clubs and naked swords. 
 
 To murder and to death. 
 
 The devil tempts one mother's son 
 
 To rage against another ; 
 So wicked Cain was hurried on 
 
 Till he had kill'd his brother. 
 
 The wise will make their anger cool. 
 At least before 'tis night ; 
 
 But in the bojom of a fool 
 It burns till morning-light. 
 
 Pardon, Lord, our childish rage. 
 
 Our httle brawls remove. 
 That as we grow to riper age 
 
 Our heart? may all be love. 
 
 laaac Watts. 
 
 So clear, so bright, our fathers said 
 He wears a jewel in his head ! 
 And when, upon some showery day, 
 Into a path or public way, 
 A frog leaps out from bordering grass 
 Starthng the timid as they pass. 
 Do you observe him, and endeavour 
 To take the intruder into favour ; 
 Learning from him to find a reason 
 For a light heart in a dull season. 
 And you may love the strawberry 
 
 flower, 
 And love the strawberry in its bower : 
 But when the fruit, so often praised 
 For beauty, to your lip is raised. 
 Say not you love the delicate treat. 
 But like it, enjoy it, and thankfully eat. 
 
 Dorothy Wordsworth. 
 
 THE COTTAGER TO HEB 
 
 INFANT. 
 
 The days are cold, the nights are long, 
 Tlie north- wind sings a doleful song ; 
 Then hush again upon my breast ; 
 All merry things are now at rest, 
 Save thee, my pretty Love ! 
 
 The kitten sleeps upon the hearth ; 
 The crickets long have ceased their 
 
 mirth ; 
 There's nothing stirring in the house 
 Save one wee, hungry, nibbhng mouse 
 Then why so busy thou ? 
 
 Nay ! start not at that sparkling light ; 
 'Tis but the moon that shines so bright 
 On the window-pane bedropped with 
 
 rain : 
 Then, little Darhng, sleep again, 
 And wake when it is day ! 
 
 Dorothy Wordsworth. 
 
 LOVINQ AND LIKING. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A CHILD. 
 
 Say not you love a roasted fowl, 
 But you may love a screaming owl, 
 And, if you can, the unwieldy toad 
 That crawls from his seciu-e abode. 
 Within the grassy garden wall. 
 When evening dews begin t > fall. 
 Oh ! mark the beauty of his eye 
 What wonders in that circle Ue 1 
 
 ADDBESS TO A CHILD 
 
 DUBING A BOISTEBOITS 
 
 WINTEB EVENING. 
 
 What waj' does the Wind come ? 
 
 What way does he go ? 
 He rides over the water, and over the 
 
 sno\^', 
 Through wood, and through vale ; and 
 
 o'er rocky height, 
 Whic 1 the goat cannot cUmb, takes his 
 
 sounding fliglit ; 
 
r 
 
 Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 33 
 
 He tosses about in every bare tree, 
 As, if you Kiok up, you plainly may see : 
 But how he will come, and whither he 
 
 goes. 
 There's never a scholar in England 
 
 knows. 
 
 He will suddenly stop in a cunning 
 
 nook. 
 And rings a sharp 'laruni ; but, if you 
 
 should look. 
 There's nothing to see but a cushion 
 
 of snow 
 Round as a pillow, and whiter than 
 
 milk, 
 Aiul softer than if it were covered with 
 
 silk. 
 Sometimes he'll hide in the cave of a 
 
 rock, 
 'J'lien whistle as shriU as the buzzard 
 
 eock. 
 Yet seek him, — and what shall you 
 
 find in his place ? 
 Nothing but silence and empty space ; 
 Save, in a corner, a heap of dry leaves, 
 That he's left, for a bed, to beggars 
 
 or thieves ! 
 
 As soon as 'tis d ylight, to-morrow, 
 
 with me 
 You shall go to the orcliard, and then 
 
 you will see 
 That he has been there, and made a 
 
 great rout. 
 And cracked the branches, and strewn 
 
 them about : 
 Heaven grant that he spare but that 
 
 one upright twig 
 That looked up at the sky so proud 
 
 and big. 
 All last summer, as well you know. 
 Studded with ajjples, a beautiful show I 
 
 Hark ! over the roof he makes a pause. 
 And growls as if he would fix his claws 
 Right in the slates, and with a huge 
 
 rattle 
 Drive them down, like men in a battle : 
 But let liim range round ; he does us 
 
 no harm. 
 We build up the fire, we're snug and 
 
 warm ; 
 Untouched by his breath, se • the 
 
 candle shines bright. 
 And burns with a clear and steady 
 
 Ught ; 
 
 Books have we to read, — but that half- 
 
 stiilcd knell, 
 Alas ! 'tis the sound of the eight o'clock 
 
 bell. 
 
 Come, now we'll to bed ! and when we 
 
 are there 
 He may work his own will, and what 
 
 shall we care ? 
 He may knock at the door, — we'll not 
 
 let him in ; 
 May drive at the windows, — we'll 
 
 laugh at his din : 
 Let him seek his own home, wherever 
 
 it be ; 
 Here's a cozie warm house for Edward 
 
 antl me. 
 
 Dorothy Wordsworth. 
 
 BIG AND LITTLE THINGS. 
 
 I CANNOT do the big things 
 
 That I should like to do, 
 To make the earth for ever fair. 
 
 The sky for ever blue. 
 But I can do the small things 
 
 That I.elp to make it sweet ; 
 Tho' clouds arise and fill the skies. 
 
 And tempests beat. 
 
 I cannot stay the rain-drops 
 That tumble from the skies ; 
 
 But I can wipe the tears away 
 From baby's pretty eyes. 
 
 I cannot make the sun shine, 
 Or warm the winter bleak ; 
 
 But I can make the summer come 
 On sister's rosy cheek. 
 
 I carmot stay the storm clouds. 
 Or drive them from their place ; 
 
 But I can clear the clouds away 
 From brother's troubled face. 
 
 I cannot make the com grow. 
 Or work upon the land ; 
 
 But I can put new strength and will 
 In father's busy hand. 
 
 1 cannot stay the east wind. 
 
 Or thaw its icy smart ; 
 But I can keep a corner warm 
 
 In mother's loving heart. 
 
 fe 
 
34 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 I cannot do the big things 
 
 That I should hke to do, 
 To make the earth for ever fair. 
 
 The sky for ever blue. 
 But I can do the small things 
 
 Tha" help to make it sweet ; 
 Tho' clouds arise and fill the skies 
 
 And tempests beat. 
 
 Alfred H. Miles. 
 
 THE SHADOWS. 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 The candles are lighted, the fire blazes 
 bright, 
 The curtains are drawn to keep out 
 the cold air ; 
 What makes you so grave, little dar- 
 ling to-night ? 
 And where is your smile, little quiet 
 one, where ? 
 
 Child. 
 
 Mamma, I see something so dark on 
 the wall. 
 It moves up and down, and it looks 
 very strange ; 
 Sometimes it is large, and sometimes 
 it is small ; 
 Pray, tell me what it is, and why 
 does it change ? 
 
 Mamma 
 
 It is mamma's shadow that puzzles yovi 
 so, 
 And there is your own, close beside 
 it, my love ; 
 Now run round the room, it will go 
 where you go ; 
 When you sit 'twill be still, when 
 you rise it will move. 
 
 Child. 
 
 I don't like to see it ; do please let 
 me ring 
 For Betsy to take all the shadows 
 away. 
 
 Mamma. 
 
 No ; Betsy oft carries a heavier thing. 
 But she could not lift this, should 
 she try the whole day. 
 
 These wonderful shadows are caused 
 by the hght 
 From fire, and from candles, upon 
 us that falls ; 
 Were we not sitting here, all that place 
 would be bright, 
 But the candle can't shine through 
 us, you know, on the walls. 
 
 And, when you are out some fine day 
 in the sun, 
 I'll take you where shadows of apple- 
 trees he ; 
 And houses and cottages too, — every 
 one 
 Casts a shadow when the sun's 
 shining bright in the sky. 
 
 Now hold up your mouth and give me 
 a sweet kiss ; 
 Our shadows kiss too ! don't you see 
 it quite plain ! 
 
 Child. 
 
 Oh, yes ! and I thank you for telling 
 me this ; 
 I'll not be afraid of a shadow again. 
 
 Mary Lundie Duncan. 
 
 ENVY. 
 
 This rose-tree is not made to bear 
 The violet blue, nor lily fair. 
 
 Nor the sweet mignonette. 
 And if this tree were discontent. 
 Or wished to change its natural bcTit, 
 
 It all in vain would fret. 
 
 And should it fret, you would suppose 
 It ne'er had seen its own red rose. 
 
 Nor after gentle shower 
 Had ever smelled its rose's scent. 
 Or it could ne'er be discontent 
 
 With its own pretty flower. 
 
 Like such a blind and senseless tree 
 As I've imagined this to be. 
 
 All envious persons are. 
 With care and culture all may find 
 Some pretty flower in their own mind, 
 
 Some talent that is rare. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 35 
 
 ANGER. 
 
 Anger in its time and place 
 May assume a kind of grace. 
 It must have some reason in it. 
 And not last beyond a minute. 
 If to furtlier lengtlis it go, 
 It does into malice grow. 
 'Tis the dilference that we see 
 'Twixt the serpent and the bee. 
 If the latter you provoke. 
 It inflicts a hasty stroke, 
 Puts j^ou to some httle pain. 
 But it never stings again. 
 Close in tufted bush or brake 
 Lurks the poison-swelled snake 
 Nursing up his cherished wrath ; 
 In the jDurlieus of his path, 
 In the cold, or in the warm. 
 Mean him good, or mean him harm, 
 Wheresoever fate may bring you, 
 The vile snake will aliuays sting you. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamh. 
 
 THE SLTrGGARD. 
 
 'Tis the voice of a sluggard ; I heard 
 
 him complain, 
 " You have waked me too soon ; I 
 
 must slumber again " ; 
 As the door on its hinges, so he on his 
 
 bed 
 'J'urns his sides, and his shoulders, ami 
 
 his heavy head. 
 
 " A little more sleep and a little more 
 
 slumber " ; 
 'I'liiis he wastes half his days, and his 
 
 liours without number ; 
 Ami when he gets up he sits folding 
 
 liis hands 
 Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling 
 
 he stands. 
 
 I pass'd by his garden, and saw the 
 wild brier 
 
 The thorn and the thistle grow broader 
 ;'nd higiicr ; 
 
 The clothes that hang on him are turn- 
 ing to rags ; 
 
 And his money still wastes till he 
 starves or he begs. 
 
 I made him a visit, still hoping to find. 
 
 That ho took better care for improving 
 his mind ; 
 
 He told me his dreams, talk'd of eat- 
 ing and drinking : 
 
 But he scarce reads his Bible, and never 
 loves thinking. 
 
 Said I then to my heart, " Here's a 
 lesson for me " ; 
 
 That man's but a picture of what I 
 might be ; 
 
 But thanks to my friends for their care 
 in my breeding, 
 
 Who taught me betimes to love work- 
 ing and reading. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 ^-^ITTIiE RAIN-DROPS. 
 
 Oh ! Avhere do you come from 
 You little drops of rain ; 
 
 Fitter patter, pitter patter 
 Down the window-pane ? 
 
 They won't let me walk, 
 And they won't let me play, 
 
 And they won't let me go 
 Out of doors at all to-day. 
 
 They put away my playthings 
 Because I broke them all. 
 
 And they locked up all my brick*, 
 And took away my ball. 
 
 Tell me, little rain-drops, 
 Is that the way you play, 
 
 Pitter patter, pitter patter. 
 All the rainy day ? 
 
 They say I'm very naughty, 
 But I've nothing else to do 
 
 But sit here at the window ; 
 I should like to play with you. 
 
 The little rain-drops cannot speak. 
 But " pitter, patter, pat," 
 
 Means, " A\'e can play on this side. 
 Why can't you play on that ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawt. 
 
36 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 TBY AGAIN. 
 
 'Tis a lesson you should heed. 
 
 Try again ; 
 If at first you don't succeed. 
 
 Try again ; 
 Then your courage should appear. 
 For if you will persevere. 
 You will conquer, never fear. 
 
 Try again. 
 
 Once or twice, though you should fail. 
 
 Try again ; 
 If you would at last prevail. 
 
 Try again ; 
 If we strive, 'tis no disgrace 
 Though we do not win the race ; 
 What should we do in that case ? 
 
 Try again. 
 
 If you find your task is hard. 
 
 Try again ; 
 Time will bring you your reward, 
 
 Try again ; 
 All that other folk can do. 
 Why, with patience, may not you ? 
 Only keep this rule in view. 
 
 Try again. 
 
 William Edward Hickson. 
 
 KING BKUCE AND THE 
 SPIDER. 
 
 King Brtjce of Scotland flung himself 
 down 
 1 1 . lonely mood to think ; 
 'Tis true he was monarch, and wore a 
 crown, 
 But his heart was beginn ng to sink. 
 
 For 1 e had been trying to do a great 
 de d, 
 To make his people glad ; 
 He had tried, and tried, but couldn't 
 succee 1 ; 
 And so he became quite sad. 
 
 He flnng himself down in low despair, 
 As grieved as man could be ; 
 
 And after a while as he pondered there, 
 " I'U give it all up," said he. 
 
 Now just at that moment a spider 
 dropp'd 
 With its silken cobweb clue ; 
 And the king in the midst of his think- 
 ing stopp'd 
 To see what that spider would do. 
 
 'Twas a long way up to the cei ing dome, 
 And it hung by a rope so fine ; 
 
 That how it would get to its cobweb 
 home 
 King Bruce could not divine. 
 
 It soon began to cling and crawl 
 
 Straight up with strong endeavour ; 
 
 But down it came with a slippery 
 sprawl. 
 As near the ground as ever. 
 
 Up, up it ran, not a second it stay'd 
 To litter the least complaint ; 
 
 Til it fell still lower, and there it laid, 
 A little dizzy and faint. 
 
 It ; head grew steady — again it went. 
 And travell'd a half-yard higher ; 
 
 Twas a delicate thread it had to tread, 
 A road where its feet would tire. 
 
 Again it fell and swung below. 
 But again it quickly mounted : 
 
 Till up and down, now fast, now slow. 
 Nine brave attempts were counted. 
 
 " Sure," cried the King, " that foolish 
 thing 
 W^il strive no more to climb ; 
 When it toils so hard to reach and 
 cling, 
 A d tumbles every time." 
 
 But up the insect went once more, 
 Ah me ! 'tis an anxious minute ; 
 
 He's only a foot from his cobweb door, 
 Oh, say will he lose or win it ! 
 
 Steadily, steadily, inch by inch 
 
 Higher and higher he got ; 
 And a bold httle run at the very last 
 pinch 
 
 Put him into his native cot. 
 
 " Bravo, bravo ! " the King cried out, 
 " All honour to those why tri/ ; 
 
 The spider up there defied despiir; 
 He conquei'd, and why shouldn't I ? " 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 37 
 
 And Bruce of Scotland braced his mind. 
 
 And gossips tell the tale. 
 That lie tried once more as he tried 
 before, 
 
 And that time did not fail. 
 
 Pay goodly heed, all ye who read. 
 And beware of saying, " I can't ; " 
 
 'Tis a cowardly word, and apt to !ead 
 To Idleness, Folly, nnd Want. 
 
 Whenever you find your heart despair 
 Of doing some goodly thing ; 
 
 Con over this strain, try bravely asain, 
 And remember the Spider and King 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 LITTLE THINGS. 
 Little chops of water, 
 
 IJttle grains of sand. 
 Make the mitjhty ocean 
 
 And the pleasant land. 
 
 Thus the little minutes, 
 Humble though they be. 
 
 Make the mighty ages 
 Of eternity. 
 
 Thus our little errors 
 
 Lead the soul away 
 From the path of virtue, 
 
 Far in sin to stray. 
 
 Little deeds of kindness. 
 
 Little words cf love. 
 Make our earth an Eden, 
 
 Like the heaven above. 
 
 Little eeed^ of mercy, 
 Sowna b youthful hands. 
 
 Grow to bless the nations 
 Far in heathen lands. 
 
 Dr. Ebenezer Oohlmm Brewer. 
 
 THE LITTLE SISTER LEFT IN 
 CHARGE. 
 
 Sleep, little brother, you must not 
 awaken 
 Till mother comes back to her baby 
 again : 
 Weary, nd long is the way she has 
 taken. 
 Over the common, and through the 
 green glen. 
 
 Up the steep hill by the path that is 
 nearest, 
 Thinking of you as she hurries along : 
 Sleep, then, and dream that she's 
 watching you, clearest. 
 Rocking your cradle, and singing her 
 song. 
 
 In the still room there's no sound to 
 disquiet, 
 Only I he clock tick ng even, and low. 
 Only the bird in his cage hanging by it. 
 Chirping a note as he hops toandfio. 
 Out in the sunlight the woodbine is 
 Stirling, 
 Filling the air with its fragrance so 
 sweet. 
 On the low window seat pussy sits 
 piuring. 
 Washing her face with her little white 
 feet. 
 
 Far down the lane merry voices are 
 ringing, 
 Comrades have beckoned me out to 
 their play. 
 Why did y u start ? it is I that am 
 singing ; 
 Why did you frown ? I'm not going 
 awa . 
 Could I forsake you for play, or for 
 pleasure. 
 Lying alone in your helplessness 
 here ? 
 How could I leave you, my own little 
 treasure. 
 No one tj rock you, and no one to 
 cheer ? 
 
 In the room corners I watch tl.e dark 
 shadows. 
 Deepening, and lengthening, as even- 
 ing come 3 on ; 
 Soon will the mowers return from the 
 meadows ; 
 Far to the westward the red sun is 
 gone. 
 B}' the green hedgerow I see her now 
 comin /, 
 Where the last sunbeam is just on 
 her track ; 
 Still I sit by you, love, drowsily hum- 
 ming. 
 Sleep, little baby, till mother comes 
 back. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
38 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE cow AND THE ASS. 
 
 Beside a green meadow a stream used 
 to flow. 
 
 So clear, you might see the white 
 pebbles below. 
 
 To this cooling brook the warm cattle 
 would stray, 
 
 To stand in the shade, on a hot sum- 
 mer's day. 
 
 A cow, quite oppressed by the heat of 
 
 the sun. 
 Came here to refresh, as she often had 
 
 done ; 
 And, standing quite still, stooping over 
 
 the stream. 
 Was musing, perhaps ; or perhaps she 
 
 might dream. 
 
 But soon a brown ass of respectable 
 
 look 
 Came trotting up also, to taste of the 
 
 brook. 
 And to nibble a few of the daisies and 
 
 grass : 
 " How d'ye do ? " sai i the Cow. — 
 
 " How d'ye do ? " said the Ass. 
 
 " Take a seat !" said the Cow, gently 
 waving her hand. 
 
 " By no means, dear Madam," said he, 
 " while you stand ! " 
 
 Then, stooping to drink with a com- 
 plaisant bow, 
 
 " Ma'am, your health ! " said the Ass. 
 " Thank you. Sir ! " said the Cow. 
 
 When a few of these compDments more 
 
 had been passed, 
 They laid themselves down on the 
 
 herbage at last ; 
 And waiting politely — as gentlemen 
 
 must — 
 The ass held his tongue, that the cow 
 
 might speak first. 
 
 Then with a deep sigh, she directly 
 
 began : 
 " Don't you think, ]Mr. Ass, we are 
 
 injured by man ? 
 *Tis a subject which lies with a weight 
 
 on my mind : 
 We really are greatly oppressed by 
 
 mankind. 
 
 " Pray what is the reason — I see none 
 
 at all — 
 That I always must go when Suke 
 
 chooses to call ? 
 Whatever I'm doing — 'tis certainly 
 
 hard ! — 
 I'm forced to leave off to be milked 
 
 in the yard. 
 
 " I've no will of my own, but must do 
 
 as they please. 
 And give them my milk to make butter 
 
 and cheese : 
 I've often a great mind to kick down 
 
 the pail, 
 Or give Suke a box on the ear with my 
 
 tail ! " 
 
 " But, Ma'am," said the Ass, " not 
 
 presuming to teach — 
 Oh dear ! I beg pardon — pray finish 
 
 your speech : 
 I thought you had finished, indeed," 
 
 said the Swain ; 
 " Go on, and I'll not interrupt you 
 
 again." 
 
 " Why, Sir, I was just then about to 
 
 observe, 
 I'm resolved that these tyrants no 
 
 longer I'U serve ; 
 But leave them for ever to do as they 
 
 please. 
 And look somewhere else for tlieir 
 
 butter and cheese." 
 
 Ass waited a moment to see if she'd 
 
 done. 
 And then, " Not presuming to teach," 
 
 he begun, 
 *' With submission, dear Madam, to 
 
 your better wit, 
 I own I am not quite convinced by 
 
 it yet. 
 
 " That you're of great service to them 
 
 is quite true. 
 But surely they are of some service to 
 
 you; 
 'Tis their pleasant meadow in which 
 
 you regale, 
 They feed you in winter when grass 
 
 and weeds fail. 
 
 " And tlien a warm covert they always 
 
 provide, 
 Dear Madam, to shelter your delicate 
 
 hide. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 39 
 
 For my oivn part, I know I receive much 
 
 from man, 
 And for him, in return, I do all I can." 
 
 The cow, upon this, cast her eyes on 
 
 the grass. 
 Not pleased at thus being reproved by 
 
 an ass ; 
 " Yet," thought she, " I'm determined 
 
 I'll benefit by 't ; 
 I reallv believe that the feUow is 
 
 right'l " 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 BEASTS, BIRDS AND FISHES 
 
 The Dog will come when he is called. 
 
 The Cat will walk away ; 
 The ^Monkey's cheek is very bald ; 
 
 The Goat is full of play. 
 The Parrot is a prate-apace. 
 
 Yet knows not what he says ; 
 The noble horse will win the race, 
 
 Or draw you in a chaise. 
 
 The Pig is not a feeder nice, 
 
 The Squirrel loves a nut ; 
 The Wolf would eat you in a trice. 
 
 The Buzzard's eyes are shut. 
 The Lark sings high up in the air. 
 
 The Linnet in the tree ; 
 The Swan he has a bosom fair. 
 
 And who so proud as he ? 
 
 Oh, yes, the Peacock is more proud. 
 
 Because his tail has eyes. 
 The Lion roars so very loud. 
 
 He'd 1 II you with surprise. 
 The Raven's coat is shining black. 
 
 Or, rather, raven-grey. 
 The Camel's hump is on his back. 
 
 The Owl abhors the day. 
 
 The Sparrow steals the cherry ripe. 
 
 The Elephant is wise ; 
 The Blackbird charms you with his ; ipe. 
 
 The false Hyena cries. 
 The Hen guards Avell her little chicks. 
 
 The useful Cow is meek ; 
 The Beaver builds with mud and 
 sticks ; 
 
 The Lap-win z loves to squeak. 
 
 The little Wren is very small. 
 
 The Humming-bird is less ; 
 The Lady-bird is least of all, 
 
 And beautiful in dress. 
 The Pelican, she loves her you g ; 
 
 The Stork, his father loves ; 
 The Woodcock's bill is very long. 
 
 And innocent are Doves. 
 
 The spotted Tiger's fond of blood. 
 
 The Pigeons feed on peas ; 
 The Duck will gobble in the mud, 
 
 The Mice will eat your cheese. 
 A Lobster's black, when boil'd he's 
 red ; 
 
 The harmless Lamb must bleed ; 
 The CodGsh has a clumsy head. 
 
 The Goose on grass will feed. 
 
 The lady in her gown of silk 
 
 The little Worm may thank ; 
 The rich man drinks the Ass's milk ; 
 
 The Weasel's long and lank 
 The Buck gives us a ven'son dish, 
 
 When hunted for the spoil ; 
 The Shark eats up the little fish ; 
 
 The Whale produces oil. 
 
 The Glow-worm shines the darkest 
 night. 
 
 With lantern in his tail ; 
 The Turtle is the cit's delight — 
 
 It wears a coat of mail. 
 In Germany they hunt the Boar, 
 
 The Bee brings honey home ; 
 The Ant lays up a winter store ; 
 
 The Bear loves honey-comb. 
 
 The Eagle has a crooked beak. 
 
 The Plaice has orange spots ; 
 The Starling, if he's taught, will speak ; 
 
 The Ostrich walks and trots. 
 The child that does not linow these 
 things 
 
 May yet be called a dunce ; 
 But I will up in knowledge grow, 
 
 As youth can come but once. 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 THE NEGRO. 
 
 Why should my darling quake with 
 
 fear, ^ 
 
 Because she sees a hegro here ? 
 God takes, my love, the same delight 
 In all His creatiures, black or whitj. 
 
40 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Thousands in distant foreign lands, 
 Like him who now be! ore you stands, 
 Are found as dark, and they would stare 
 To see a human being fair. 
 
 A black may yet be white within, 
 May have a conscience free from sin ; 
 Nay, 1 e may have, although a slave, 
 A heart that's faithful, kind, and brave. 
 
 I wish that all could boast the same, 
 Who his appearance fear, or blame ; 
 For those who worth and virtue lack, 
 Though white without, within are black. 
 
 Mary EUiott. 
 
 The Acorn, buried in the earth. 
 When many years are past 
 
 Becomes tLe oak of matchless worth, 
 Whose strength will ages last. 
 
 In Summer, pleasant is its s'jade. 
 
 But greater far its use ; 
 The wood which forms our ships for 
 trade 
 
 Its body can jroduce. 
 
 And many other things beside, 
 
 I cannot now explain ; 
 For where its merits l.ave been tried. 
 
 They were not tried in vain. 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 THE BIBD-CATCHER. 
 
 The cat's at the window, and Shock's 
 at the door ; 
 The pussy-cat mews, and the little 
 dog barks ; 
 For see ! such a sight as I ne'er saw 
 before — 
 A boy with a cage full of linnets and 
 larks ! 
 
 And pussy the way how to catch 
 them is seeking. 
 To kill them, and spoil all their 
 singing, poor things ! 
 For singing to them is like little boys 
 speaking. 
 But fear makes them chirrup and 
 flutter their wings. 
 
 Do not fear, pretty birds ! for puss 
 shall not eat you ; 
 Go, go, naughty pussy ! away out of 
 sight. 
 With crumbs of good bread, pretty 
 birds ! we will treat you, 
 And give you fresh water both morn- 
 ing and night. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE CROCTTS. 
 
 Matilda, cojne hither, I pray. 
 
 There is something peeps out of the 
 snow ; 
 It is yellow, and looks, I should say. 
 
 Like a bud that is ready to blow. 
 
 But surely, in weather so cold. 
 
 It could not siirvive half an hour ; 
 
 Little bud, yoii must be very bold 
 To expect at this season to flower. 
 
 Yet this bold little bud which you see. 
 Though expos'd to the keen, frosty 
 air. 
 
 Will still keep its yellow head free. 
 And bloom without trouble or care. 
 
 To our thanks it has surely a claim ; 
 
 I rejoice when I see it appear ; 
 The kind Ceocus, for that is its name. 
 
 Announces that springtime is near. 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 THE OAK. 
 
 Observe, dear George, this nut so 
 small ; 
 
 The Acorn is its name ; 
 Would 'iou suppose yon tree so tall 
 
 From such a trifle came ? 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 How fair is the Rose ! what a beautiful 
 tiower ! 
 The glory of April and May ! 
 But the leaves are beginning to fade 
 in an hour. 
 And they wither and die in a day. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 41 
 
 Yet 1 e Rose has a powerful virtue 
 to boast, 
 Above all the flowers of the field ; 
 When its leaves a e all dead, and fine 
 colours are lost. 
 Still how sweet a perfume it will 
 yield ! 
 
 So frail is the youth and the beauty 
 of men, 
 Though they bloom and look gay 
 like the Kose ; 
 But all our fond care to preserve them 
 is vain ; 
 Time kills them as fast as he goes. 
 
 Then I'll not be proud of my youth 
 or my beauty. 
 Since both of them wither and fade ; 
 But gain a good name by^ well do ng 
 my duty ; 
 This will scent like a Rose when I'm 
 dead. 
 
 Isaac Waits. 
 
 THE VIIiliAG-E GREEIT. 
 
 On the cheerful Village Green, 
 Scattered round with houses neat. 
 
 All the boys and girls are seen, 
 Playing there with busy feet. 
 
 Now they frolic hand in hand, 
 ilaking many a merry chain ; 
 
 Then they form a warlike band. 
 Marching o'er the level plain. 
 
 Now ascends the worsted ball ; 
 
 High it rises in the air ; 
 Or against the cottage wall 
 
 Up and down it bounces there. 
 
 Or the hoop, with even pace, 
 Runs before the merry crowd ; 
 
 Joy is seen iu every face, 
 
 Joy is heard in clamours loud. 
 
 For among the rich or gay. 
 
 Fine, and grand, and decked in lores. 
 None appear more glad than they. 
 
 With happier hearts or happier faces. 
 
 Then, contented with my state. 
 Let me envy not the great. 
 
 Since true pleasure may be seen 
 On a cheerful Village Green. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE FARM. 
 
 Bright glows the east with blushing 
 
 red. 
 While yet upon their -wholesome bed 
 
 The sleeping labourers rest ; 
 And the pale moon and silver star- 
 Grow paler still, and wandering far. 
 
 Sink slowly to the west. 
 
 And see behind the sloping hill. 
 The morning clouds grow brighter still, 
 
 And all the shades retire ; 
 Slowly the sun with golden ray. 
 Breaks forth above tlie horizon grey. 
 
 And gilds the distant spire. 
 
 And now, at Nature's cheerful voice. 
 The hills, and vales, and woods rejoice. 
 
 The lark ascends the skies ; 
 And soon the cock's shrill notes alarm 
 The sleeping people at the farm. 
 
 And bid them all arise. 
 
 Then at the dairy's cool retreat. 
 The busy maids together meet ; 
 
 The careful mistress sees 
 Some tend Avith skilful hand the churns. 
 While the thick cream to butter turns. 
 
 And some the curdling cheese. 
 
 And now comes Thomas from the house, 
 With well-known cry, to call the cows, 
 
 Still sleeping on the plain : 
 They quickly rising, one and all. 
 Obedient to their daily call, 
 
 Wind slowly through the lane. 
 
 And see the rosy milkmaid now. 
 Seated beside the horned cow. 
 
 With milking stool and pail ; 
 The patient cow with dappled hide 
 Stands still, unless to lash her side 
 
 With her convenient tail. 
 
 And then the poultry (Mary's charge). 
 Must all be fed and let at large. 
 
 To roam about again ; 
 Wide open swings the great barn-door. 
 And out the hungry creatures pour. 
 
 To pick the scattered grain. 
 
 Forth plodding to the heavy plough. 
 The sun-burnt labourer hastens now. 
 
 To guide with skilful arm ; 
 Thus all is industry around. 
 No idle hand is ever found 
 
 Within the busy farm. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
42 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE BEGGAR-MAIT. 
 
 Abject, stooping, old, and wan. 
 See yon wretched beggar-man ; 
 Once a father's hopeful heir. 
 Once a mother's tender care. 
 When too young to understand. 
 He but scorched his little hand 
 By the candle's flaming light 
 Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright. 
 Clasping fond her darling round, 
 A thousand kisses healed the wound. 
 Now abject, stooping, old, and wan. 
 No mother tends the beggar-man. 
 
 Then naught too good for him to wear. 
 With cherub face and flaxen hair. 
 In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed; 
 Cap of lace, with rose to aid. 
 Milk-white hat and feather blue. 
 Shoes of red, and coral too. 
 With silver bells to please his ear. 
 And charm the frequent, ready tear. 
 Now abject, stooping, old, and wan, 
 Neglected is the beggar- man. 
 
 See the boy advance in age. 
 And learning spreads her useful page ; 
 In vain ! for giddy pleasure calls 
 And shows the marbles, tops, and balls. 
 What's learning to the charms of play ? 
 The indulgent tutor must give way. 
 A heedless, wilful dunce, and wild, 
 The parent's fondness spoiled the child ; 
 The youth in vagrant courses ran. 
 Now abject, stooping, old, and wan. 
 Their fondhng is the beggar- man. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 " My eyes are weak and dim with age ; 
 
 No road, no path, can I descry ; 
 And these poor rags ill stand the rage 
 
 Of such a keen, inclement sky. 
 
 " §o faint I am, these tottering feet 
 No more my feeble frame can bear ; 
 
 My sinking heart forgets to beat. 
 And diif ting snows my tomb prepare. 
 
 " Open your hospitable door. 
 
 And shield me from the biting blast ; 
 
 Cold, cold it blows across the moor. 
 The weary moor that I have past ! " 
 
 With hasty steps the farmer ran, 
 And close beside the fire they place 
 
 The poor half-frozen beggar man. 
 With shaking limbs and pallid face. 
 
 The httle children flocking came. 
 And warmed his stifiening hands in 
 theirs ; 
 
 And busily the good old dame 
 A comfortable mess prepares. 
 
 Their kindness cheered his drooping 
 soul ; 
 And slowly down his -wTinkled cheek 
 The big round tear was seen to roll, 
 And told the thanks he could not 
 speak. 
 
 The children, too, began to sigh. 
 And all their merry chat was o'ei- ; 
 
 And yet they felt, they knew not wii\ . 
 More glad than they had done before. 
 
 Liicy Ail-in. 
 
 THE OLD BEGGAR. 
 
 AROxnfD the fire, one wintry night. 
 The farmer's rosy children sat • 
 
 The fagot lent its blazing hght ; 
 
 And jokes went round and careless 
 chat. 
 
 When, hark ! a gentle hand they hear, 
 Low tapping at the bolted door ; 
 
 And, thus to gain their willing ear, 
 A feeble voice was heard to imp. ore : 
 
 * Cold blows the blast across the moor ; 
 
 The sleet drives hissing in the wind ; 
 Yon toilsome mountain hes beftrc ; 
 
 A dreary, treeless waste behind. 
 
 THE BEGGAR'S PETITIOIST. 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! 
 Whose trembling limbs have borne 
 him to your door, 
 Whose days are dwindled to the 
 shortest space ; 
 Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will 
 bless your store. 
 
 These tattered clothes my poverty bo- 
 
 These hoary locks proclaim my 
 
 lengthened years. 
 And many a furrow in my grief-woni 
 
 cheek 
 Has been the channel to a stream 
 
 of tears. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 43 
 
 Vou house, erected on the rising ground, 
 With t mptin^ aspect drew me from 
 my road, 
 
 For plenty there a residence has found. 
 And grandeur a magnificent abode. 
 
 (Hard is the fate of the infirm and 
 poor !) 
 Here, craving for a morsel of their 
 bread, 
 A pampered menial forced me from 
 the door. 
 To seek a shelter in a humble shed. 
 
 Oh, take me to your hospitable home ! 
 Keen blows the wind, and piercing 
 is the cold ! 
 Short is my passage to the friendly 
 tomb. 
 For I am poor and miserably old. 
 
 Should I reveal the source of every 
 grief. 
 If soft humanity e'er touched your 
 br ast. 
 Your hands would not withhold the 
 ki d relief. 
 And tears of pity could not be represt. 
 
 Heaven sends misfortunes — why should 
 ■ we repine ? 
 
 'Tis Heaven has brought me to the 
 state you see ; 
 And your condition miy be soon like 
 mine, — 
 The child of sorrow and of misery. 
 
 A little farm was my paternal lot. 
 Then, Uke the lark, I sprightly hailed 
 the morn ; 
 But, ah ! oppression forced me from my 
 cot ; 
 My cattle died, and blighted was my 
 corn. 
 
 My daughter — once the comfort of my 
 age. 
 Lured by a villain from her native 
 home. 
 Is cast, abandoned, on the world's wide 
 stage. 
 And doomed in scanty poverty to 
 roam. 
 
 My tender wife, sweet soother of my 
 > are ! 
 Struck with sad anguish at the stem 
 decree. 
 
 Fell, lingering fell, a victim to despair. 
 And left the world to wretchedness 
 and me. 
 
 Pity the sorrows of a poor old man ! 
 Whoso trembling limbs h >ve borne 
 him 'o your door. 
 Whose (lays are dwindled to the 
 shortest span ; 
 Oh ! give relief, and Heaven will 
 bless your store. 
 
 Thomas Moss. 
 
 THE BlilND BOY. 
 
 SAY what is that thing called Light, 
 Which I must ne'er enjov-; 
 
 What are the blessings of the sight, 
 O tell your poor blind boy ! 
 
 You talk of wondrous things you see. 
 You say the sun shines bright ; 
 
 1 feel him warm, but how can he 
 Or make it day or night '.' 
 
 My day or night myself I make 
 
 Whene'er I sleep or play ; 
 And could I ever keep awake. 
 
 With me 'twere always day. 
 
 With heavy sighs I often hear 
 You mourn my hapless wo» ; 
 
 But sure with patience I can bear 
 A loss I ne'er can know. 
 
 Then let not what I cannot have 
 IMy cheer of mind destroy ; 
 
 Whilst thus I sing, I am a king, 
 Although a poor blind boy. 
 
 Colley Cibber. 
 
 BlilOTDNESS. 
 In a stage-coach where late I chanced 
 to be, 
 A little quiet girl my notice caught ; 
 I saw she looked at nothing by the way. 
 Her mind seemed busy en some 
 childish thought. 
 
 I, with an old man's coiu-tesy, addressed 
 The child, and called her pretty, 
 dark-ej-ed maid. 
 And bid her turn those pretty eyes and 
 see 
 The -wide extended prospect " Sir," 
 she said : 
 
44 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " I cannot see the prospect ; I am 
 blind." 
 Never did tongue of child utter a 
 sound 
 So movirnful, as her words fell on rny 
 ear. 
 Her mother tken related how she 
 found 
 
 Her child was sightless. On a fine, 
 bright day 
 She saw her lay her needlework 
 aside, 
 And as on such occasions mothers Avill, 
 For leaving off h r work began to 
 chide. 
 
 " I'll do it when 'tis daylight, if you 
 please ; 
 I cannot work, mamma, now it is 
 night." 
 The sun shone bright upon her when 
 she spoke. 
 And yet her eyes received no ray 
 of light. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE BLIND BOY AT PLAY. 
 
 The blind boy's been at play, mother ; 
 
 The merry games we had ! 
 We led him on his way, mother. 
 
 And every step was glad. 
 But when we found a starry flower, 
 
 And praised its varied hue, 
 A tear c me trembling down his cheek. 
 
 Just like a drop of dew. 
 
 We took him to the mill, mother. 
 
 Where falling waters made 
 A rainbow on the hills, mother. 
 
 As goldea sl^n-^ays play'd ; 
 But when we shouted at the scene, 
 
 And hail'd the clear blue sky. 
 He stood quite still upon the bank. 
 
 And breathed a long, long sigh. 
 
 We ask'd him why he wept, mother. 
 
 Whene'er we found the spots 
 Where periwinkles crept, mother. 
 
 O'er wild forget-me-nots. 
 " Ah. me ! " he said, while tears ran 
 down 
 
 As fast as summer showers, 
 " It is because I cannot see 
 
 The sunshine and the flowero." 
 
 Oh ! that poor, sightless boy, mother. 
 
 He tau ht me that I'm blest ; 
 For I can look with joy, mother, 
 
 On all I love the best. 
 And when I see the dancing stream, 
 
 And daisies red and white, 
 I kneel upon the meadow sod. 
 
 And thank my God for sight. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 THE MUFFIN-MAN'S BELL. 
 
 " Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle " : 'tis the 
 muffin-man you see : 
 " Tinkle, tinkle," says the muffin- 
 man's bell ; 
 " Any crumpets, any muffins, any cakes 
 tor your tea : 
 There are plenty here to sell. 
 
 " Tinkle," says the little bell, clear 
 and bri ht ; 
 " Tinkle, tinlde," says the muffin- 
 man's bell ; 
 We have had bread and milk for supper 
 to-night. 
 And some nice plum-cake as well. 
 
 " Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle," says the little 
 bell again, 
 But it sounds quite far away ; . 
 " If you don't buy my muffins and my 
 cakes, it is plain 
 I must take them home to-day." 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 ^ THE LETTER: 
 When Sarah's papa was from home a 
 
 great way. 
 She attempted to write him a letter 
 
 one day. 
 First ruling the paper — an excellent 
 
 plan. 
 In all proper order Miss Sarah began. 
 
 She said she lamented sincerely to tell 
 
 That her dearest mamma had been 
 very unwell ; 
 
 That the story was long, but when he 
 came back. 
 
 He would hear of the shocking be- 
 haviour of J ck. 
 
 Though an error or two we by chance 
 
 may detect, 
 It was better than treating papa with 
 
 neglect ; 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 45 
 
 For Sarah, when older, we know will 
 
 learn better, 
 And write single I with a capital letter. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE OliD KITCHEN CLOCK. 
 
 1.IST£N to the kitchen clock ! 
 To itself it ever talks. 
 From its place it never walks ; 
 
 " Tick-tock— tick-tock ! " 
 
 Tell me what it says. 
 
 " I'm a very patient clock. 
 
 Never moved bj' hope or fca-. 
 Though I've stood for many a year ; 
 
 " Tick-tock— tick-tock ! " 
 
 That is what it says. 
 
 " I'm a very truthful clock : 
 People say about the place. 
 Truth is written on my face ; 
 
 " Tick-tock— tick-tock ! " 
 
 That is what it says. 
 
 " I'm a very active clock. 
 
 For I go while you're asleep, 
 Though you never ta e a peep; 
 
 Tick-tock — tick-tock ! " 
 
 That is what it says. 
 
 " I'm a most obliging clock : 
 
 If you wish to hear me strike. 
 You may do it when you like ; 
 
 Tick-tock— tick-tock ! " 
 
 That is what it says. 
 
 What a talkative old clock ! 
 Let us see what it will do 
 When the pointer reaches two ; 
 
 •' Ding-ding ! "— " tick-tock ! " 
 That is what it says. 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 TheSe Bluebells and Cowslips, how 
 pleasant they look ! 
 And the Rose and the Violet, how 
 
 gay! 
 I think I must copy them into your 
 book. 
 For I'm sure you vrill like the wild 
 spray. 
 
 Here's the Hawthorn so sweet, the 
 Anemone too. 
 Which loves 'neath the Hazels to 
 grow ; 
 The Orchis, the Woodbine, the Speed- 
 well so blue. 
 And Stitchwort as white as the snow. 
 
 This bright yellow Butter-cup add to 
 the wreath ; 
 And the Daisy I'll place with the rest ; 
 Not hide it, but let it just pee ) out 
 beneath. 
 With its pretty tipped white and 
 pink crest. 
 
 And now we will tie them up tight 
 with this string : 
 Or stay — for this ribbon is neater ; 
 The pretty Wild Briar we've forgotten 
 to bring — 
 Now our nosegay we cannot make 
 sweeter. 
 
 THE DANCING LESSON. 
 *' Now, Miss Clara, point your toe — 
 Look at me, and point it so. 
 You now, my dear, I learnt to dance 
 In that graceful country, France ; 
 And having been so nicely taught, ■ 
 I move, of course, as a lady ought. 
 And only think how grand 'twill be 
 To have it said you dance like me. 
 So now, iliss Clara, point your toe — • 
 Look at me, and point it so." 
 
 Eliza Grove. 
 
 THE WILD WREATH. 
 
 OxLY look at this nosegay of pretty 
 wild flowers 
 We have pluck'd from the hedges 
 and banks ; 
 The fields are so full, we could gather 
 for hours, 
 And still see no space in their ranks. 
 
 A SWINGING SONG. 
 
 Merry it is on a summer's day. 
 All through the meadows to wend 
 
 away ; 
 To watch the brooks glide fast or slow, 
 And the little fish twinkle down below ; 
 To hear the lark in the blue sky sing, 
 Oh, sure enough, 'tis a merry thing — 
 But 'tis merrier far to swing — to swing I 
 
46 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Merry it is on a winter's night 
 To listen to tales of elf and sprite, 
 Of caves and castles so dim and old — 
 The dismallest tales that ever were 
 
 told; 
 And then to laugh, and then to sing. 
 You may take my word is a merry 
 
 thin^ — 
 But 'tis merrier far to swing — to 
 
 swing ! 
 
 Down with the hoop upon the green ; 
 Down with the ringing tambourine ; 
 Little heed for this or for that ; 
 Off with the bonnet, off with the hat ! 
 Away we go, like birds on the wing ! 
 Higher yet ! higher yet ! " Now for 
 
 the King ! " 
 This is the way we swing — we swing ! 
 
 Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so 
 
 li ht— 
 Mount up behind him — there, that is 
 
 right ! 
 Down bends the branch now ! swing 
 
 him away ; 
 Higher yet — higher yet — higher, I say ! 
 Oh, what a joy it is ! Now let us sing, 
 " A pear for the Queen — an apple for 
 
 the King ! " 
 And shake the old tree as we swing — 
 
 we swing ! 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 SILK WORMS. 
 
 Jane, do you see these little dots, 
 
 Which on this paper lie ? 
 They seem, just now, but trifling spots ; 
 
 Yet they will Uve and die. 
 
 They shortly will begin to move. 
 And silkworms is their name ; 
 
 My gown, your bonnet, too, my love, 
 From such small creatures came. 
 
 No doubt you think it very strange. 
 And yet you know not all ; 
 
 How often in their shape they change, 
 That once look'd like a ball. 
 
 Plain as the outside may appear. 
 How rich they are within ! 
 
 Who would suppose, to see them here, 
 They such gay silk could spin ? 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 SEE-SAW. 
 
 What can James and George be doing ? 
 Now up they rise, then down are 
 
 going ! 
 I wish that I could do the same ; 
 Tell me, mamma, what is their game T 
 
 That game, my dear, the see-saw call ; 
 I hope they will not get a fall ! 
 For, though 'tis nice to go so high, 
 Danger and mischief in it he. 
 
 When I was young I liked it too. 
 But now I leave these things to yo i ; 
 I have escaped unhurt, you see. 
 And wish you may as lucky be. 
 
 Some little boys whom I have seen. 
 Have in and out of temper been ; 
 Such see-saw whims are very -wTong, 
 Although they may not last them long. 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 THE AMBITIOTJS WEED. 
 
 OR, THE DANGER OF SELF-CONFIDENCE. 
 
 An idle weed that used to crawl 
 Unseen behind the garden wall, 
 
 (Its most becoming station,) 
 At last, refreshed by sun and showerc. 
 Which nourish weeds as well as flowers 
 Amused its solitary hours 
 
 With thoughts of elevation. 
 
 These thoughts encouraged day by d&y. 
 It shot forth many an upward spray. 
 
 And many a tendril band ; 
 But as it could not climb alone. 
 It uttered oft a lazy groan 
 To moss and mortar, stick and stone. 
 
 To lend a helping hand. 
 
 At length, by friendly arms sustained. 
 The aspiring vegetable gained 
 
 The object of its labours : 
 That which had cost her many a sigh. 
 And nothing else would satisfy — 
 Which was not only being high. 
 
 But higher than her neig hours. 
 
 And now this weed, though weak, and 
 
 spent 
 With climbing up the steep ascent, 
 Admired her figure tall : 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 47 
 
 And llion (for vanity ne'er ends 
 With tliat at which it first intends) 
 Bejian to laugh at those poor friends 
 Who helped her up the wall. 
 
 But by and by my lady spied 
 The garden on the otiier side : 
 
 And fallen was her crest, 
 To see, in neat array below, 
 A bed of all the flowers that blow — 
 Lily and rose — a goodly show. 
 
 In fairest colours drest. 
 
 Recovering from her first surprise, 
 She soon began to criticise : 
 
 " A dainty sight, indeed ! 
 I'd be the meanest thing that blows 
 Rather than that affected rose ; 
 ho much perfume offends my nose," 
 
 Exclaimed the vulgar weed. 
 
 " Well, 'tis enough to make one chilly, 
 To see that pale consumptive Lil}' 
 
 Among these painted folks. 
 Miss Tulip, too, looks wondrous odd. 
 She's gaping like a dying cod ; — 
 What a queer stick is Golden-Rod ! 
 
 And how the Violet pokes ! 
 
 " Not for the ga5'est tint that lingers 
 On Honeysuckle's rosy fingers. 
 
 Would I with her exchange : 
 Since this, at least, is very clear. 
 Since they are there, and I am here 
 I occupy a higher sphere — 
 
 Enjoy a wider range." 
 
 Alas ! poor envious weed ! — for lo, 
 That instant came the gardener's hoe 
 
 And lopped her from her sphere : 
 But none lamented when she fell ; 
 No passing Zephyr sighed, " Farewell ; " 
 No friendly bee would hum her knell ; 
 
 No fairy dropt a tear ; — 
 
 While those sweet flowers of genuine 
 
 worth. 
 Inclining toward the modest earth. 
 
 Adorn the vale below ; 
 Content to hide in sylvan dells 
 Their rosy buds and purple bells ; 
 Though scarce a rising Zephyr tells 
 
 The secret where they grow. 
 
 Jane, Taylor. 
 
 THE BEASTS IN THE TO"WER 
 
 Within the precincts of this yard. 
 Each in his narrow confines barred, 
 Dwells every beast that can be found 
 On Afric or on Indian ground. 
 How different was the life they led 
 In those wild haunts where they were 
 
 bred. 
 To this tame servitude and fear! 
 Enslaved bj' man, they suffer here. 
 
 In that uneasy, close recess 
 Crouches a sleeping lioness ; 
 That next den holds a bear ; the next 
 A wolf, by hunger ever vext ; 
 There, fiercer from the keeper's lashes 
 His teeth the fell hyena gnashes ; 
 That creature on whose back abound 
 Black spots upon a yellow ground 
 A panther is, the fairest beast 
 That haunteth in the spacious East. 
 He, underneath a fair outside, 
 Does cruelty and treachery hide. 
 
 That cat-like beast that to and fro 
 
 Restless as fire does ever go. 
 
 As if his courage did resent 
 
 His limbs in such confinement pent, 
 
 That should their prey in forests take. 
 
 And make the Indian jungles quake 
 
 A tiger is. Observe how sleek 
 
 And glossy smooth his coat ; no streak 
 
 On satin ever matched the pride 
 
 Of that which marks his furry hide. 
 
 How strong his muscles ! he with ease 
 
 Upon the tallest man could seize. 
 
 In his large mouth away could bear 
 
 him. 
 And into thousand pieces tear him ; 
 Yet cabined so securely here. 
 The smallest infant need not fear. 
 
 That lovely creature next to him 
 A lion is. Survey each limb. 
 Observe the texture of his claws, 
 The many thickness of those jaws : 
 His mane that sweeps the ground in 
 
 length. 
 Like Samson's locks betokening 
 
 strength. 
 In force and swiftness he excels 
 Each beast that in the forest dwells ; 
 The savage tribes him king confers 
 Throughout the howling wilderness. 
 Woe to the hapless neighbourhood 
 When he is pressed by want of food I 
 
48 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 Of man, or child, or bull, or horse 
 He makes his prey ; such is his force. 
 A waste behind him he creates, 
 Whole villages depopulates ; 
 Yet here, within appointed lines, 
 How small .. grate his rage confines ! 
 
 This place, methinks, resem' leth well 
 The world itself in which we dwell. 
 Perils and snares on every ground 
 Like those wild beasts beset us round. 
 But Providence their rage restrains ; 
 Our heavenly Keeper sets them chains ; 
 His goodness saveth every hour 
 His darlings from the lio .'s power. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 BTJNCHES OF GBAPES. 
 
 " Bunches of grapes," says Timothy ; 
 
 " Pomegranates pink," says Elaine ; 
 " A junket of cream and a cranberry 
 tart 
 
 For me," says Jane. 
 
 " Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy ; 
 
 " Pimroses pale," says Elaine ; 
 " A nosegay of pinks and mignonette 
 
 For me," says Jane. 
 
 " Chariots of gold," says Timothy ; 
 
 " Silvery wings," says Elaine ; 
 " A bumpity ride in a waggon of hay 
 
 Fur me," says Jane. 
 
 Walter Ramal. 
 
 THE BLUE BOY IN LONDOIST. 
 
 All in the morning early 
 
 The Little Boy in Blue 
 (Th? grass with rain is pearly) 
 
 Has thought of something n w. 
 
 He saddled dear old Dobbin ; 
 
 He had but half a crown ; 
 And joggin , cantering, bobbing, 
 
 He I ame to London town. 
 
 The sheep were i i the meadows, 
 The cows were n the corn 
 
 Beneath the city hadow 
 At last he stood forlorn. 
 
 He stood beneath Bow steeple, 
 Th .t is n London town ; 
 
 And tried to count the people 
 As they went up and down. 
 
 Oh ! there was not a daisy. 
 
 And not a buttercup ; 
 The air was thick and hazy. 
 
 And Blue Boy gave it up. 
 
 The houses, next, in London, 
 
 He thought that he would count ; 
 
 But still the sum was undon?. 
 So great was the amount. 
 
 He could not think of robbing — 
 He had but half a crown ; 
 
 And so he mounted Dobbin, 
 And rode b.ick from the town. 
 
 The sheep were in the meadows. 
 And the cows were in the corn ; 
 
 Amid the evening shadows 
 He stood where he was born. 
 
 William Brighty Ran a. 
 
 THE ENGLISH GIBL. 
 
 Sporting on the village green, 
 The pretty English girl is seen 
 Or, beside er cottage neat. 
 Knitting on the garcien-seat. 
 
 Now within her humble door. 
 Sweeping clean the ldtche:i floor ; 
 While upon the wall so wliite, 
 Hang her cjp^ers, polish' d bright. 
 
 Mary never idle sits. 
 She eit er sews or spins or knits ; 
 Hard she 1 hours all the week, 
 With sparkling eye and rosj' cheek. 
 
 And on Sunday Mary goes. 
 Neatly dress'd in decent clothes. 
 Says her prayers (a constant rule). 
 And hastens to the Sunday School. 
 
 Oh ! how good should we be found. 
 AVho live on E;igland's happy ground ! 
 Where rich and poo and wretched may 
 AU learn to walk in wisdom's way. 
 
 Jane Taylor, 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 49 
 
 I 
 
 THE SCOTCH LADDIE. 
 
 Cold blows the north wind o'er the 
 
 mountains so bare, 
 Poor Sawney benighted is travelling 
 
 there ; 
 His plaid cloak around him he carefully 
 
 binds, 
 And holds on his bonnet that's blown 
 
 by he winds. 
 
 Long time he has wander'd his desolate 
 
 way, 
 That wound him along by the banks of 
 
 the Tay ; 
 Now o'er this cold mountain poor 
 
 Sawney must roam, 
 Be ore he arrives at his dear little 
 
 home. 
 
 Barefooted he follows the path he 
 
 must go. 
 The point of his footsteps he leaves in 
 
 the snow ; 
 And while the white sleet patters cold 
 
 in his face. 
 He thinks of his home, and he quickens 
 
 h 3 pace. 
 
 But see ! from afar he discovers a light 
 
 That cheerfully gleams on the dark- 
 ness of nigl'.t ; 
 
 And oh ! what delights in his bosom 
 arise ! 
 
 He knows 'tis his dear little home that 
 he spies. 
 
 And now when arrived at his father's 
 
 own door, 
 His fears, his fatigues, and his dangers 
 
 aie o'er; 
 His brother-; and sisters press round 
 
 with delight. 
 And welcome him in from the storms 
 
 of the night. 
 
 THE IRISH BOY. 
 
 Young Paddy i i merry and happy, but 
 
 poor ; 
 His cabin is built in the midst of a 
 
 moor ; 
 No pretty green meadows about it are 
 
 found. 
 But bogs in the middle, and mountains 
 
 around. 
 
 This wild Irish lad — of all lads the most 
 
 frisky, 
 Enjoj-^s his spare meal of potatoes and 
 
 whisky. 
 As he merrily sits, with no care on 
 
 his mind, 
 At the door of his cabin, and sings to 
 
 the Mind. 
 
 Close down at his feet lies his shaggy 
 
 old dog. 
 Who has plunged with his master thro' 
 
 many a bog ; 
 While Paddy sings, " Liberty long 
 
 shall reign o'er us," 
 Shag catches his ardour, and barks a 
 
 loud chorus. 
 
 Young Paddy, indeed, is not polish'd 
 
 or mild. 
 But his soul is as free as his country 
 
 is wild ; 
 And tho' unacquainted with fashion or 
 
 dress, 
 His heart ever melts at the sound of 
 
 distress. 
 
 Then let us not laugh at his bulls or his 
 
 blunders. 
 His broad native brogue, or his ignorant 
 
 wonders ; 
 Nor will we by ridicule ever destroy 
 The honest content of a wild Irish by. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 1 1 vain from the north the keen winter- 
 winds blow ; 
 
 In vain are the mountain-tops cover'd 
 with snow ; 
 
 Th • cold of his country can never 
 t ontrol 
 
 The affection that glows in the High- 
 lander's soul. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE WELSH LAD. 
 
 Over the mountain and over the rock. 
 Wanders young Taffy, to follow his 
 
 flock; 
 While far above him he sees the wild 
 
 goats 
 Gallo ' about in their shaggy, warm 
 
 coats. 
 
50 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Sometimes they travel in frolicsome 
 
 crowds 
 To the mountain's high top that is 
 
 lost in the clouds ; 
 Then they descend to the vaUey again. 
 Or scale the black rocks that hang over 
 
 the main. 
 
 Now when young Taffy's day's labour 
 is o'er. 
 
 He cheerfully sits at his own cottage- 
 door ; 
 
 While all his brothers and sisters around 
 
 Sit in a circle upon the bare ground. 
 
 Then their good father, with spectacled 
 
 nose, 
 Reads his Bible aloud ere he takes his 
 
 repose ; 
 While the pale moon rises over the hill, 
 And the birds are asleep, and all ature 
 
 is sti 1. 
 
 Now with his harp old Llewellyn is 
 
 seen. 
 And joins the gay party that sits on 
 
 the green ; 
 He leans in the doorway and plays 
 
 them a tune, 
 And the children aU dance by the light 
 
 of the moon 
 
 How often the wretch in a city so gay. 
 Where pleasure and luxury foUow his 
 
 way, 
 When health quite forsakes him, and 
 
 cheerfulness fails. 
 Might envy a lad on the mountains of 
 
 Wales ! 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE LITTLE PIPEB. 
 
 Donald Macdonald's 
 
 A " braw " little lad. 
 With his woollen Glengarry, 
 
 His ki!t and his plaid ; 
 And he's iping the march 
 
 T ey have taught him to play 
 At Gaffer Macdonald's 
 
 On New Year's Day 
 
 Gaffer Macd nald's 
 
 A piper true 
 As ever yet piped 
 
 For Argyle or Buccleuch ; 
 
 He piped with the pipers 
 
 Of Havelock's line, 
 When they marched into Lucknow, 
 
 With " Auld Lang Syne." 
 
 And I know he'll look up 
 
 With a tear in hi-> eye, 
 W^hen Donald Macdonald 
 
 Comes marching by ; 
 For nothing could please him 
 
 Jlore than to see 
 The pipes in the hands 
 
 Of his " bairnie wee." 
 
 Play up. little Donald ! 
 
 Both loud and clear ; 
 Here's mother and father 
 
 To bring up the rear. 
 Play up, little Donald, 
 
 And march along 
 And cheer Gaffer's old heart 
 
 With your New Year's song ! 
 
 And when at the window 
 
 His face you see. 
 Play " The Campbells are Coming," 
 
 And so are we — 
 To partake of good cheer 
 
 In the old Scotch way, 
 At Gaffer Macdonald's 
 
 On New Year's D.iy. 
 
 Alfred H. Miles. 
 
 THE DANGEROUS TRIAL. 
 
 Fann^' now that we're alone, 
 Held ^ome paper to the iire ; 
 
 Pretty sparks will quickly come ; 
 Put it nearer, raise it higher. 
 
 See how red and bright they shine, 
 Mounting one above another ; 
 
 Fanny answers, " Yes, it's fine. 
 But take the paper, dearest brother." 
 
 The sparks had now become a flame. 
 And Fanny's frock was burning too. 
 
 Silly children, both to blame. 
 Little good your tears can do. 
 
 Their screams bring nurse ; with terror 
 wild. 
 
 In the hearthrug she rolls Fanny : 
 The prudent caution sav'd the child. 
 
 But weeks of pain she suffer'd many. 
 
 Mary EUiitt. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones 
 
 51 
 
 THE DREADFUL STORY 
 
 ABOUT HARRIET AND THE 
 
 MATCHES. 
 
 It almost makes me cry to tell 
 What foolish Harriet befell. 
 Mamma and Nurse went out one day 
 And left her all alone to play ; 
 Now, on the table close at hand 
 A box of matches chanc'd to stand ; 
 And kind Mamma and Nurse had told 
 
 her 
 That, if she touched them, they should 
 
 scold her. 
 But Harriet said : " Oh, what a pity I 
 For, when they burn, it is so pretty ; 
 They crackle so, and spit, and flame ; 
 Mamma, too, often does the same." 
 
 The pussy-cats heard this. 
 
 And they began to hiss. 
 
 And stretch their claws 
 
 And raise their paws ; 
 
 " Me-ow," they said, " me-ow, me-o. 
 
 You'll burn to death, if you do so." 
 
 But Harriet would not take advice ; 
 She lit a match — it was so nice ! 
 It crackled so, it burned so clear. 
 Because Mamma could not see her. 
 She jumped for joy and ran about 
 And was too pleased to put it out. 
 
 The puss3'-cats saw this. 
 
 And said : " Oh, naughty, naughty 
 
 IVIiss ! " 
 And stretched their claws 
 And raised their paws ; 
 " 'Tis very, very wrong, y u know, 
 Me-ow, me-o, me-ow, me-o. 
 You will be burnt, if you do so." 
 
 And then ! oh ! what a dreadful thing ! 
 The fire has caught her apron-string ! 
 Her apron burns, her arms, her hair ! 
 She burns all over, everywhere ! 
 
 Then how the pussy-cats did mew ; 
 What else, poor pussies, could they do ? 
 Tbey scream'd for help — 'twas all in 
 
 vain ! 
 So then, they said : *' We'll scream 
 
 again ; 
 Make h'lste, make haste ! meow, me-o. 
 She'll burn to death ; we told her so." 
 
 So she was burnt, with all her el th s. 
 And arms and hands, and eyes and 
 
 nose ; 
 Till she had nothing more to lose 
 Except her little scarlet shoes ; 
 And not bin,' else but t ese was found 
 Among her ashes on the ground. 
 
 And when the good cats sat beside 
 The smoking ashes, how they cried ! 
 " Me-ow, me-oo, me-ow, me-oo. 
 What will Mamma and Nursy do ? " 
 Their tears ran down their cheeks so 
 
 fast ; 
 They made a little pond at last. 
 
 Dr. Heinri h Hoffmann. 
 
 MEDDLESOME MATTY. 
 
 Oh ! how one ugly tri k has spoil'd 
 The sweetest and the best ; 
 
 Mat Ida, though a pleasant child. 
 One ugly trick possessed. 
 
 Which, like a cloud before the skies, 
 
 Hid all her better qualities. 
 
 Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid. 
 
 To peep at what was in it ; 
 Or tilt the kettle, if you did 
 
 But turn your back a minute. 
 In vain you told her not to touch. 
 Her trick of meddling grew so much. 
 
 Her grandmamma we it out one day. 
 
 And by mistake she laid 
 Her spectac es and snuff-box gay 
 
 Too near the little maid. 
 " Ah ! well," thought she, " I'U try 
 
 them on. 
 As soon as grandmamma is gone." 
 
 Forthwith she placed upon her nose 
 The glasses large and wide ; 
 
 And looking round, as I suppose. 
 The snuff-box, too, she spied ; 
 
 " Oh ! what a pretty box is this ! 
 
 I'U open it," said little Miss. 
 
 " I know that grandmamma would say 
 ' Don't medd'e with it, dear ' ; 
 
 But then, she's far enough away. 
 And no one else is near. 
 
 Besides, what can there be amiss 
 
 In op'ning such a box as this ? " 
 
 4* 
 
52 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 So thumb and finger went to work 
 
 To move the stubborn lid, 
 And pre-ently a mighty jerk 
 
 The mighty mischief did ; 
 For all at onue, ah ! woful case, 
 The snufiE came puffing in her face. 
 
 Poor eyes, and rose, and mouth, and 
 chin 
 
 A dismal sight presented ; 
 And as the snuff got further in. 
 
 Sincerely she repented. 
 In vain she ran about for ease : 
 She could do nothing else but sneeze. 
 
 She dash'd the spectacles away, 
 To wipe her tingling eyes. 
 
 And as in twenty bits they lay. 
 Her grandmamma she spies. 
 
 " Hey day, and what's the matter 
 now ? " 
 
 Cried grandmamma, with lifted b ow. 
 
 Matilda, smating with the pain, 
 And tingling still, and sore. 
 
 Made many a promise to refrain 
 From meddling eve more. 
 
 And 'tis a act, as I have heard. 
 
 She ever since has kept her word. 
 
 Ann Tat/lor. 
 
 THE BUSY CHILD, 
 
 Hannah, a busy, meddling thing, 
 Would peep in every place ; 
 
 A ■ habit which must always bring 
 Young folks into disgrace. 
 
 One day her mother put a jar 
 
 Upon a cupboard shelf ; 
 Sly Hannah view'd it from afar, 
 
 And said within herself: 
 
 " What can mamma have plac'd so 
 high ? 
 
 It must be something nice ; 
 And, if I thought she were not nigh, 
 
 I'd see it in a trice." 
 
 Quick on the table then she skipp'd. 
 
 But, feeling s ime al rm. 
 She sudden turn'd, her left foot slipp'd. 
 
 She fell — and broke her arm. 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 GOING INTO BBEECHES. 
 
 Joy to Philip ! he this day 
 
 Has his long coats cast away. 
 
 And (the childish season ^onc). 
 
 Puts the manly breeche; on. 
 
 Officer on gay parad , 
 
 Ked-coat in his first cockade. 
 
 Bridegroom in his wedding trim. 
 
 Birthday beau surpassing him. 
 
 Never did with conscious gait 
 
 Strut about in half the state. 
 
 Or the pride (yet free from sin). 
 
 Of my little Mannikin. 
 
 Never was there pride, or bliss, 
 
 Half so rational as his. 
 
 Sashes, fr cks, to those that need 'em, 
 
 Philip's limbs have ot their freedom. 
 
 He c n run, or he can ride. 
 
 And do twenty things beside. 
 
 Which his pet.icoats forbad: 
 
 Is he not a happy lad ? 
 
 Now he's under other banners. 
 
 He must leave his former manners ; 
 
 Bid adieu to female games. 
 
 And forget their very names : 
 
 Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek. 
 
 Sports for girls and punies weak ! 
 
 Baste-the-bear he now may play at. 
 
 Leap-frog, foot-ball, sport away at. 
 
 Show his sti'ength and skill at cricket, 
 
 Mark hi^ distance, pitch his wicket. 
 
 Run about in winter's snow 
 
 Till his cheeks and finger's glow. 
 
 Climb a tree, or scale a wall. 
 
 Without any fear to fall. 
 
 If he get a hurt or bruise, 
 
 To complain he must refuse. 
 
 Though the anguish and the smart 
 
 Go unto his litt.e heart. 
 
 He must have his courage ready, 
 
 Kee his voice and visage steady, 
 
 Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum. 
 
 That a tear may never come ; 
 
 And his grief must only speak 
 
 From the colour in his cheek. 
 
 This, and more, he must endure. 
 
 Hero he in miniature ! 
 
 This and more, must now be done. 
 
 Now the breeches are put on. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb, 
 
 NEW SHOES. 
 
 Rosy Martha laughs with joy ; 
 
 What has pleas'd the little maid ? 
 Has she got a fine new toy ? 
 
 No ! she says, and shakes her head. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 53 
 
 Her garments tight she holds behind, 
 And peeps at sometliing on the 
 ground ; 
 
 Her head to right then, left, incliii'd ; 
 Ah ! now the secret I have found. 
 
 She smiles her new green shoes to see, 
 With clasps of polish'd silver brig t ; 
 
 Yon shoeless girl feels no such glee. 
 Her ragged clothes give no delight. 
 
 Yet Martha, tho igh her clothes be old. 
 Her lieart is good, her manners mild ; 
 
 I'd give your slioes, were they of gold. 
 To see you half so good a child. 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 THINK BEFORE YOXT ACT. 
 
 Elizabeth her frock has torn. 
 And prick'd her finger too ; 
 
 Why did she meddle with the thorn. 
 Until its use sh,' knew ? 
 
 Because Elizabeth will touch 
 Whate'er comes in her wa • ; 
 
 I've seen er suffer quite as much, 
 A dozen times a day. 
 
 Yet, though so oft she feels the pain. 
 
 The habit is so strong, 
 That all our caution is in vain. 
 
 And seldom heeded long. 
 
 I shoulJ not wonder if, at last. 
 She meet some dreadful fate ; 
 
 And then, perhaps, regret the past, 
 When sorrow comes too late. 
 
 Mary Elliott, 
 
 THE PIN". 
 
 " Dear me ! what signifies a pin. 
 Wedged in a rotten board ? 
 
 I'm certain that I won't begin. 
 At ten years old, to hoard ; 
 
 I never will be called a miser. 
 
 That I'm determin'd," said Eliza. 
 
 So onward tript the little maid. 
 
 And left the pin behind. 
 Which very snug and quiet lay. 
 
 To its hard fate resigned ; 
 Nor did she think (a careless chii) 
 *Twas wort.i her while to stoop for it. 
 
 Next day a party was to ride. 
 
 To so- nn air b:\llooii ! 
 And all the company beside 
 
 Were drest and ready soon ; 
 But she a woful case w.is in. 
 For want of just a single pin. 
 
 In vain her eager eyes she brings, 
 To ev'ry darksome crac'v ; 
 
 There was not one, and yet her things 
 Were dropping off her back. 
 
 She cut her pincushion in two. 
 
 But no, not one had fallen through 
 
 At last, as hunting on the floor, 
 
 Over a crack she lay. 
 The carriage rattled to the door. 
 
 Then rattled fast away ; 
 But poor Eliza was not in, 
 For want of just — a single pin ! 
 
 There's hardly anything so small, 
 
 80 trifling or so mean. 
 That we may never want at all, 
 
 For service unforeseen ; 
 And wilful waste, depend upon't, 
 Brings, almost always, woful want ! 
 
 Ann Taylor. 
 
 THE SASH. 
 
 MA:\rMA had ordered Ann, the maid, 
 
 iSIiss Caroline to wash ; 
 And put on with her clean white frock. 
 
 A handsome muslin sash. 
 
 But Caroline began to cry, 
 For what you cannot think ; 
 
 She said, " Oh, that's an ugly sash ; 
 I'll have my pretty pink." 
 
 Papa, who in the parlour heard 
 Her make the noise and rout. 
 
 That instant went to Caroline, 
 To whip her, there's no doubt. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 QEORG-E AND THE CHIMNEY- 
 SWEEPEB. 
 
 His petticoats now George cast off. 
 For he was four years old ; 
 
 His trousers were nankeen so fine. 
 His buttons bright as gold. 
 
54 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " May I," said little George, " go out, 
 My pretty clothes to show ? 
 
 May I, papa ? may I, mamma ? " 
 The answer was — " No, no." 
 
 *' Go, run below, George ; in the cotirt, 
 
 But go not in the street. 
 Lest naughty boys should play some 
 trick. 
 
 Or gijjsies you should meet." 
 Yet, tho' forbad, George went unseen. 
 
 That other boys might spy ; 
 And all admir'd him when he lisp'd — 
 
 " Now, who so fine as I ? " 
 
 But whilst he strutted to and fro, 
 
 So proud, as I've heard tell, 
 A sweep-boy pass'd, whom to avoid 
 
 He slipp'd, and down he fell. 
 The sooty lad was kind and good. 
 
 To Georgy boy he ran. 
 He rais'd him up, and kissing, said, 
 
 " Hush, hush, my little man ! " 
 
 He rubb'd and wip'd his clothes with 
 care. 
 
 And hugging, said, " Don't cry ! 
 Go home as quick as you can goj 
 
 Sweet little boy, good bye." 
 Poor George look'd down, and lo ! his 
 dress 
 
 Was blacker than before ; 
 AU over soot, and mud, and dirt. 
 
 He reach'd his father's door. 
 
 He sobb'd, and wept, and look'd 
 asham'd. 
 
 His fault he did not hide ; 
 And since so sorry for his fault. 
 
 Mamma forbore to chide. 
 That night, when he was gone to bed, 
 
 He jump'd up in his sleep. 
 And cried and sobb'd, and cried again, 
 
 " I thou-ht I saw the sweep ! " 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeff'e, 
 
 NEATNESS IN APPAKEL. 
 
 In your garb and outward clothing 
 
 A reserved plainness use ; 
 By their neatness more distinguisl.cd, 
 
 Than the briglitness of their hues. 
 
 ^11 the colours in ihe rainbow 
 Serve to spread the peacock's train ; 
 
 Half the lustre of his feathers 
 
 Would turn twenty coxcombs vain. 
 
 Yet the swan that swims in rivers, 
 
 leases the judicious sight ; 
 
 Who, of brighter colours heedless. 
 
 Turns alone to simple white. 
 
 Yet all other hues com ared 
 With his whiteness show amiss ; 
 
 And the peacock's coat of colours 
 Like a fool's coat looks by his. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 SliTJTTISHNESS. 
 
 Ah ! Mary, my Mary, why, where is 
 your Dolly ? 
 Look here, I protest, on the floor ; 
 To leave her about in the dirt so is 
 folly. 
 You ought to be trusted no more 
 
 I thought you were ^ leased, and re- 
 ceived quite gladlv, 
 When on your birthday she came 
 home ; 
 Did I ever suppose you would use her 
 s ) sadly. 
 And strew her things over the room ? 
 
 Her bonnet of straw you once thought 
 a great matter. 
 And tied it so pretty and neat ; 
 Now, see how 'tis crumpled ; no trencher 
 is flatter. 
 It grieves your mamma thus to 
 see't. 
 
 Suppose (you're my Dolly, you know, 
 little daughter. 
 Whom I love to dress neat and see 
 good). 
 Suppose in my case of you I were to 
 falter. 
 And let you get dirty and rude ! 
 
 But Dolly's mere wood ; you are flesh 
 and blood living. 
 And deserve better treatment and 
 care ; 
 That is true, my sweet girl ; 'tis the 
 reason I'm giving 
 'J'his lesson so sharp and severe. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 55 
 
 I 
 
 'Tis not for the Dolly I'm anxious and 
 fearful. 
 Though she cost too much to be 
 spoiled ; 
 I'm afraid lest yourself should get 
 sluttish, not careful. 
 And that were a sad thing, my child. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 DIBTY JIM. 
 
 There was one little Jim, 
 'Tis reported of him, 
 
 And must be to his la ting disgrace, 
 That he never was seen 
 With hands at all clean. 
 
 Nor yet ever clean was his face. 
 
 His friends were much hurt 
 To see so much dirt. 
 
 And often they made him quite clean ; 
 But aU was in vain. 
 He was dirty again. 
 
 And not at all fit to be seen 
 
 Then to wash he was ^ ent. 
 He re'uctantly went 
 
 With water to splash himself o'er ; 
 But ho seldom was seen 
 To have wash'd him elf clean. 
 
 And o ten loo .'d worse than before. 
 
 Th idle and bad 
 Like thi? li tie lad. 
 
 May be dirty, and black, to be sure ; 
 But goo 1 boys are seen 
 To be decent and clean, 
 
 Altho' Shey ase e\/er hO poor. 
 
 Jane J'aylor. 
 
 OLEANIilNESS. 
 
 CoM'^, my little Robert, near — 
 Fie ! what filthy hands a e here — 
 Who that e'er could unlerstand 
 The rare structure of a 1 and, 
 With its ranching fingers fine. 
 Work itself of hands divine. 
 Strong yet delicately knit, 
 Fur ten thousand uses fit. 
 Overlaid with so clear skin. 
 And the curious palm, disposed 
 In such lines, some have supposed 
 
 You may read the fortunes the e 
 By the fii'ures that appeir; 
 Who this hand would choose o cover 
 With a crust of dirt all over, 
 Till it looked in hue and shape 
 Like the fore-foot of an ape 't 
 Man or boy that works or play 
 In the fields or the highways. 
 May, without offence or hut. 
 From the soil contract a dir , 
 Which the next clear spring or . iver 
 Washes out and out for ever ; 
 But to che ish stains impure. 
 Soil deliberate to endure. 
 On the skin to fix a stain 
 Till it works into the grain, 
 Argues a df generate mind, 
 Sordid, slothful, ill-inchned. 
 Wanting in that self-r spect 
 Which does virtue best prot ct. 
 
 Ail-cndearing cleanliness, 
 
 Virtue next to godliness. 
 
 Easiest, cheapest, necd'ul'st duty. 
 
 To the body health and beauty. 
 
 Who that's human would refuse it, 
 
 When a little water does it ? 
 
 Charles and Marij Lamb. 
 
 THE NEW liOOKINQ-GLASS. 
 
 In the watertub William h id found 
 Two tish, who were swimming with 
 glee; 
 Robert begg'd to be rais'd from the 
 ground, 
 That their sports he might easily see 
 
 Then he mounted an old broken chair. 
 And peep'd into the tub with delight : 
 
 *' Ah ! William," he cried, " I declare 
 I have found out another fine ight ; 
 
 *• Each part of my face I can view. 
 As plain as I do in a glass ; 
 
 Let me see if my hands will show too." 
 A:.d he quitted his hold — wi en, alas ! 
 
 Righ into the water, he fell ; 
 
 William saved him, or he had been 
 drowned. 
 Let children who hear thi-;, th'nk well, 
 Bi'fore they seek sight-) from the 
 giound. 
 
 Mary EUloU. 
 
56 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 WASPS IN A GARDEN. 
 
 The wall-trees are laden with fruit : 
 The grape, and the p um, and the 
 pear, 
 
 The peach and the nectarine, to suit 
 Every taste, in abundance are there. 
 
 Yet all are not welcome to taste 
 These kind bounties of Nature ; for 
 one 
 From her open-spread table must 
 haste. 
 To make room for a more-favoured 
 son. 
 
 As that wasp will soon sadly perceive. 
 Who has feasted awhile on a plum ; 
 
 And, his thirst thinking now to relieve, 
 For a sweet liquid draught he is come. 
 
 He peeps in the narrow-mouthed glass, 
 Which depends from a branch of the 
 tree ; 
 
 He ventures to creep down, — alas ! 
 To be drowned in that delicate sea. 
 
 "Ah ! ^ay, my d ar friend, is it right 
 These glass bottles are hung upon 
 trees ? 
 'Midst a scene of inviting delight. 
 Should we find such mementoes as 
 these ? " 
 
 " From such sights," said my friend, 
 " we may draw 
 A lesson, for look at that bee ; 
 Compared with the wasp which you 
 saw. 
 He will teach us what we ought to be. 
 
 " He in safety industriously plies 
 His sweet honest work all the day ; 
 
 Then home with his earnings he flies ; 
 Nor in thieving his time wastes 
 away." 
 
 " Oh, hush ! nor with fables deceive," 
 I replied, " which, though pretty, 
 can ne'er 
 
 Make me cease or that insect to grieve. 
 Who in ajony stiU does appear. 
 
 " If a aimile ever you need 
 
 You are welcome to make a wasp do. 
 But you ne'er should mix fiction indeed 
 
 With things that are ferious and 
 t ue." 
 
 Cliarles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THOUGHTLESS CBXJELTY. 
 
 There, Robert, you have killed that fly. 
 And should you thousand ages try 
 The life you've taken to su ply. 
 You could not do it. 
 
 You surely must have been devoid 
 Of thought and sense to have des . , 03'ed 
 A thing which no way you annoyed — 
 You'U one day rue it. 
 
 'Twas but a fly, perhaps you'll say. 
 That's born in April, dies in May ; 
 That does ' ut just learn to display 
 His wings one minute. 
 
 And in the nest is vanished quite ; 
 A bird devours it in his flight, 
 Or come a cold blast n the night 
 There's no breath in it. 
 
 The bird but seeks its proper food. 
 And Providence, whose powe ■ endued 
 That fly with life, when it thinks good. 
 May justly take it. 
 
 But you have no excuses for 't ; 
 A ife by Nature made so short. 
 Less reason is that you for sport 
 Should shorter make it. 
 
 A fly a little thing you rate : 
 But, Robert, do not estimate 
 A creature's pain by small or great ; 
 Ti.e greatest being 
 
 Can have but fibres, nerves, and flesh. 
 And these the smallest ones possess. 
 Although their f ame and structure less 
 Escape our seeing. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE SKYLARK. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 " A WICKED action fear to do. 
 
 When you are by yourself ; for thougli 
 
 You thin you can conceal it, 
 A little bird that's in the air 
 The hidden tresp ss shall declare. 
 
 And openly reveal it." 
 
 Richard the saying oft had he rd. 
 Until the sight of any bird 
 Would set his heart a-quaking ; 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 57 
 
 He saw a host of winged spies 
 
 Vo: ever o !• him in the skies, 
 
 Note of his actions ta! ing. 
 
 This pious precept, while t stood 
 In his remembrance, kept him good 
 
 When nobody was by him ; 
 For though no human eye was near. 
 Yet Richard still did wisely fear 
 
 The little bird should spy him. 
 
 But best resolves will sometimes sleep ; 
 Poor frailty will not always keep 
 
 From th it which is forbidden ; 
 And Richard one day left alone. 
 Laid hands on s metliing not his own. 
 
 And hoped e theft w s hidden. 
 
 His conscience s'ept a day or two. 
 As it is very apt to do 
 
 When we with pains suppress it ; 
 And though at times a slight remorse 
 Would raise a pang, it had not force 
 
 To make him yet confess it. 
 
 When on a day, as he abroad 
 Walked by his mother, in the road 
 
 He h ard a skyl rk singing ; 
 Smit with the sound, a flood of tears 
 Proclaimed the superstitious fears 
 
 His inmost bosom wi-inging. 
 
 His mother, wondering, saw him cry, 
 And fondly asked the reason why ; 
 
 Then Richard made confession. 
 And said, he feared the little bird 
 He singing in the air had heard 
 
 Was telliiig his transgression. 
 
 The words which Richard spoke below* 
 As sounds by nature upwards go. 
 
 Were to the skylark carried ; 
 The airy traveller with smrprise 
 To hear is sayings, in the skies 
 
 On his mid jomney tarried. 
 
 His anger then the bird exprest: 
 " Sure, since the day I left the est 
 
 1 ne'er heard foUy uttered 
 So fit to move a skylark's mirth. 
 As what this little son of earth 
 
 Hath in his crossness muttered. 
 
 " Dull fool ! to think we sons of air 
 On mans low actions waste a care. 
 
 His V irtues or is ices ; 
 Or soaring on the summer gales. 
 That we should stop to carr tales 
 
 Of him or his devices I 
 
 " Our songs are all of the deli jhts 
 We find in our wild airy fli hts. 
 
 And heavenly exaltation ; 
 The earth you mortals have at heart 
 Is all too gross to have a part 
 
 In skylarks' conversation." 
 
 Cliarlea and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE REPROOF. 
 
 Mam.ma heard me with scorn and pride 
 
 A wretched beggar-boy deride. 
 
 " Do you not know," said I, " how 
 
 mean 
 It is to be thus beggin r seen ? 
 If for a week I were not fe , 
 I'm sure I would not beg my br> ad " 
 And then away she saw me stalk 
 With a most self-important walk. 
 But meeting 1 er upon the stairs. 
 All these my consequential airs 
 Were changed to an entreating look. 
 " Give me," said I, " the pocket-book, 
 JIamma, you promised I should have." 
 The pocket-book t > me she gave ; 
 After reproof and counsel sao;,' 
 She bade me write in the first page 
 This naughty action all in rh5'me ; 
 No food to have until the time. 
 In writing fair and neatly worded. 
 The unfeeli g fact I had recorded. 
 Slow I compose, an 1 slow I write ; 
 And now I feel keen hunger-bite. 
 yiy mother's pardon I entreat. 
 And beg she'll give me food to eat. 
 Dry bread would be received with joy 
 By her repentant beggar-boy. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 MARY AND HER DOG BEATT. 
 
 *' Oh, Mary ! fie to teaze your dog. 
 And call him but a living log. 
 Because he's tired, an fain would 
 
 sleep ; 
 Mary, I wish you'd quiet keep" 
 
 " Why, dear mamma, he cannot feel ; 
 I pinched his ear — 'tis 1 ard as steel ; 
 He (lid not wince, he did not cry. 
 He's stupid — so again I'll try." 
 
58 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Take care, my child ! nor go too far ; 
 He's kind and gentle — do not dare 
 His anger to provoke ; he'll bite, 
 And truly, Mary, serve you right." 
 
 *' Not he, mamma ; he loves me so, 
 Whate'er I do, he's gentle Beau." 
 " Then which is kindest of the two. 
 The loving, patient Beau, or you ? 
 
 " You pull his ears, your hand he licks. 
 You tweak his nose, and other tricks. 
 And yet when yesterday you slept, 
 A faithful watch he near you kept. 
 
 " Silent and quiet — did not move. 
 But guarded you with fondest love." 
 " Did he indeed ? Oh, dearest Beau, 
 W 11, this before I did not know. 
 
 '■ Sleep, th?n, my dog, a calm and 
 
 peaceful sleep. 
 Whilst I a faithful watch will near you 
 
 keep." 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 LITTLE ROSE AND HER 
 BOOT-LACE. 
 
 " Miss Rose, do let me lace your boot, 
 Or you ma chance to fall : 
 
 Here on my knee, miss, place your foot." 
 '• Not I ; : 11 play at ball ! " 
 
 " But first your boot pray let me lace. 
 Or fall you will, I'm sure." 
 
 " Suppose I should — 'tis no bad case. 
 Such falls I can endure : 
 
 " See I down I go, and now I rise. 
 And am as brisk as ever." 
 
 " Not such a fall," her maid replies ; 
 " You'll take advice — no, never I " 
 
 Rose played at ball with right good wiU, 
 And laugh'd with childish glee ; 
 
 With two and three balls tried her skill, 
 Still calUng, " Look at me 1 " 
 
 Just then the fend f aught her boot 
 
 She trod upon the lace, 
 And loudly shriek'd, " Oh, Jan© my 
 foot ! " 
 
 Then fell upon her face. 
 
 An ankle sprain d — a tedious cure. 
 And what th ■ cause of all ? 
 
 Advice, which Rose could not endure, 
 An unlaced boot, and game at ball 1 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 MEMORY, 
 
 " Fob gold could Memory be bought. 
 What treasures would she not be 
 worth ? 
 If from afar she could be brought, 
 I'd travel for her through the 
 earth 1 " 
 
 This exclamation once was made 
 
 By one who had obtained the name ^ 
 
 Of young forgetful Adelaide ; ■} 
 
 And while she spoke, lo ! Memory 
 
 If Memory indeed it were. 
 
 Or such it only feigned to be — 
 
 A female figure came to her. 
 
 Who said, " My name is Memory. 
 
 " Gold purchases in me no share. 
 Nor do I dwell in distant land ; 
 
 Study, and thou;5ht, and watch ul care. 
 In every place may we command. 
 
 " I am not lightly to be won ; 
 
 A visit only now I make : 
 And much must by yourself be done, 
 
 Ere me for you an inmate take. 
 
 *' The only substitute for me 
 Was ever found, is called a pen ; 
 
 The frequent use of that wi 1 be 
 The wav to make me come a ain." 
 
 Charles and Mar/ Lamb. 
 
 DAINTY FRANCES. :,, 
 
 That I did not see Frances just now I ■ 
 
 am glad. 
 For Winifred says she look'd su'len and 
 
 sad ; 
 When I ask her the reason, I know 
 
 very well 
 Tha' Frances will blush the true 
 
 reason to tell, 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 59 
 
 And I never again shall expect to hear 
 
 said, 
 That she pouts; at her milk with a toast 
 
 of white bread ; 
 U'hen both are as good as can possibly 
 
 be, 
 Tlioiigh Betsy, for breakfast, perhaps 
 
 may have tea. 
 
 Mra. Elizabeth Turmr. 
 
 THE MIMIC HABLEQtriN. 
 
 " I'll malce believe, and fancy some- 
 thing strange : 
 I will suppose I have the power to 
 
 change 
 And make things all unlike to what they 
 
 were, 
 'i'o jump through windows and fly 
 
 t' roiioh the air. 
 And quite confound all places and all 
 
 times. 
 I.ike harlequins we see in pantomimes. 
 These thread-papers my wooden sword 
 
 must be, 
 N'o hing more like one I at present see, 
 Xrnl now all round this drawing-room 
 
 I'll range. 
 And everything I look at I will change. 
 Here's Mopsa, our old cat, sliall be a 
 
 bird ; 
 To a Poll-parrot s' e is now transferred. 
 Here's m mma's work- ag, now I \\'\\\ 
 
 engage 
 To whisk this little bag into a cage ; 
 And now, my pretty parrot, get you 
 
 in it. 
 Another change I'll show you in a 
 
 minute. 
 " Oh, fie ! you naughty child, what 
 
 have you done ? 
 There never was so mischievous a son. 
 You've put the cat among my work, 
 
 and torn 
 A fine laced cap that I but once have 
 
 worn." 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 FOOIilSH EMILY AND HER 
 
 KITTEN. 
 
 " Why not open your eyes, 
 And 1 ok with surprise 
 Around, up and down, and on us 7 
 
 And Avhy won't you ate. 
 And look upon me ? 
 Come, open your eyes, little puss 1 
 
 " I know you can peep, 
 
 For you're not asleep. 
 You cry after mother so loud ; 
 
 Your eyes I've not seen. 
 
 Are they blue, red, or green T 
 I fear you are sullcy a d proud 1 
 
 " And if you will not 
 
 On this very spot 
 Lift your •yelids and look upon me, 
 
 I'll open them quick. 
 
 Whilst my hand on may lick, 
 And soon then my kitten will see ! " 
 
 But her brother cried, " Hold ! " 
 
 And must you be told 
 That kittens, hke pups, are born blind 
 
 You silly young child," 
 
 He said as he smiled, 
 " Be patient, and if you are kind, 
 
 " Not many days hence 
 
 That precious dear sense 
 Of siirht will your kitten enjoy,— 
 
 Then let it alone, 
 
 Altho' 'tis your own. 
 Or its eyes you will surely destroy." 
 
 Altho' 'twas her own 
 
 She let it alone. 
 But watch'd every day if 'twas true. 
 
 And often she sighed, 
 
 But one morning she cried, 
 '' Oh, look at its eyes of bright blue ! " 
 
 Adelaide G'Keeffe. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA. 
 
 JIiss Sophy, one fine sunny day. 
 Left her work and ran away ; 
 When soon she reach'd the garden-gate. 
 Which finding lock'd, she would not wait. 
 But tried to climb and scramble o'er 
 A gate as higli as any door. 
 
 But little girls should never climb. 
 And Sophy won't another time ; 
 For when upon the highest rail, 
 Her frock was caught upon a nail. 
 She lost her head, and, sad to tell. 
 Was hurt and bruised — for down she 
 feU. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
60 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 NIMBIiE DICK. 
 
 My boy, be cool, do things by rule, 
 And then you'll do them right ; 
 
 A story true I'll teU to you 
 'Tis of a luckless wight. 
 
 He'd never wait, was ever late. 
 
 Because he was so quick. 
 This shatter-brain did thus obtain 
 
 The name of Nimble Dick. 
 
 All in his best young Dick was drest. 
 Cries he, "I'm very dry ! " 
 
 Though s'lass and jug, and china mug, 
 On sideboard stood hard by — 
 
 With skip and jump unto the pump. 
 With open mouth he goes ; 
 
 The water out ran from the spout^ 
 And wetted aU his clothes. 
 
 AU in dispatch he made a match 
 
 To run a race with Bill ; 
 " My boy," said he, " I'll win, you'll 
 see ; 
 
 I'U beat you, that I will." 
 
 With merry heart, now off they start. 
 Like ponies in fuU speed ; 
 
 Soon Bill he pass'd, for very fast 
 This Dicky ran indeed. 
 
 But hurry all, Dick got a fall. 
 And whilst he sprawUng lay, 
 
 BiU reached the post, and Dicky lost. 
 And BiUy won the day. 
 
 " Bring here my pad," now cries the 
 lad 
 
 Unto the servant John ; 
 " I'll mount astride, this day I'll ride. 
 
 So put the saddle on." 
 
 No time to waste, 'twas brought in 
 haste, 
 
 Dick long'd to have it back'd ; 
 With spur and boot on leg and foot. 
 
 His whip he loudly cracked. 
 
 The mane he grasped, the crupper 
 clasped. 
 
 And leaped up from the ground, 
 All smart and spruce : the girt was loose. 
 
 He turned the saddle round. 
 
 Then down he came, the scofiE and 
 shame 
 
 Of all the standers by ; 
 Poor Dick, alack ! upon his back. 
 
 Beneath the horse did lie. 
 
 Still slow and sure, success secure. 
 
 And be not over quick ; 
 For method's sake, a warning take 
 
 From hasty Nimble Dick. 
 
 Addaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 THE STOBT OP ATJGtTSTTJS 
 
 WHO WOULD NOT HAVE 
 
 ANY SOUP. 
 
 Atjgusttts was a chubby lad ; 
 Fat ruddy cheeks Augustus had | 
 And every body saw with joy. 
 The plump and hearty healthy boy. 
 He ate and drank as he was told, 
 And never let his soup get cold. 
 But one day, one cold winter's day. 
 He scream'd out — " Take the soup 
 away ! 
 
 take the nasty soup away ! 
 
 1 won't have any soup to-day ! " 
 
 How lank and lean Augustus grows ! 
 Next day he scarcely fills his clothes, 
 Yet, though he feels so weak and ill. 
 The naughty fellow cries out still — 
 *' Not any soup for me, I say : 
 
 take the nasty soup away ! 
 
 1 won't have any soup to-day ! " 
 
 The third day comes ; oh ! what a sin ! 
 To make himself so pale and thin. 
 Yet, when the soup is put on table, 
 He screams, as loud as he is able, 
 " Not any soup for me, I say : 
 
 take the nasty soup away ! 
 
 1 won't have any soup to-day ! " 
 
 Look at him, now the fourth day's 
 
 come ! 
 He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum ; 
 He's like a little bit of thread. 
 And on the fifth day he was — dead ! 
 
 Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 61 
 
 GREEDY RICHARD. 
 
 " I THINK I want some pies this 
 
 morning," 
 Said Dicii, stretching himself and 
 
 yawning ; 
 So down he threw his slate and books. 
 And saunter' d to the pastry-cook's. 
 
 And there he cast his greedy eyes 
 Ki)und on the jellies and the pies, 
 So to select, M'ith anxious care, 
 The very nicest that was there. 
 
 At last the point was thus decided. 
 As his opinion was divided 
 L'wixt pie and jelly, he was loath 
 llither to leave, so took them both. 
 
 Xow Richard never could be pleased 
 I'o stop when hunger was appeased. 
 Hut would go on to eat and stuff 
 Long after he had had enough. 
 
 " I shan't take any more," said Dick : 
 " Dear me, I feel extremely sick: 
 I cannot eat this other bit ; 
 I wish I had not tasted it." 
 
 Tiien slowly rising from his seat, 
 He threw the cheesecake in the street, 
 And left the tempting pastry-cook's 
 \\'ith very discontented looks. 
 
 Just then a man with wooden leg 
 Met Dick, and held his hat to beg ; 
 And while he told his mournful case 
 Look'd at. him with imploring face. 
 
 Dick, wishing to relieve his pain. 
 
 His pockets search'd, but search'd in 
 
 vain ; 
 And so at last he did declare, 
 He had not got a farthing there. 
 
 The beggar turn'd with face of grief, 
 And look of patient unbehef, 
 While Richard, now completely tamed. 
 Felt inconceivably ashamed. 
 
 " I wish," said he (but wishing's vain), 
 " I had my money back again. 
 And had not spent my last to pay 
 For what I only threw away. 
 
 " Another time I'll take advice, 
 And not buy things because they're 
 
 nice ; 
 But rather save my little store. 
 To give poor folks, who want it more. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE PTJRLOINER. 
 
 As Joe was at play, 
 
 Near the cubpoard one day. 
 When he thought no one saw but him- 
 self. 
 
 How sorry I am. 
 
 He ate raspberry jam. 
 And currants that stood on the shelf. 
 
 His mother and John 
 
 To the garden had gone. 
 To gather ripe pears and ripe plums ; 
 
 What Joe was about 
 
 His mother found out. 
 When she looked at his fingers and 
 thumbs : 
 
 And when they had dined 
 
 Said to Joe, " You will tind. 
 It is better to leave things alone ; 
 
 These plums and these pears 
 
 No naughty boy shares 
 Who meddles with fruit not his own." 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 JAMES AND THE SHOULDER 
 OF MUTTON". 
 
 Young Jem at noon return'd from 
 school. 
 
 As hungry as could be ; 
 He cried to Sue, the servant maid, 
 
 " My dinner give to me." 
 
 Said Sue, " It is not yet come home ; 
 
 Besides, it is not late " ; 
 " No matter that," cries little Jem, 
 
 "I do not like to wait." 
 
 Quick to the baker's Jemmy went. 
 And ask'd, " Is dinner done ? " 
 
 *' It is," replied the baker's man. 
 " Then home I'll with it run." 
 
 " Nay, Sir," replied he prudently, 
 
 " I tell you 'tis too hot. 
 And much too heavy 'tis for you." 
 
 " I I ell you it is not. 
 
62 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Papa, mamma, are both gone out. 
 
 And I for dinner long ; 
 yo give it me — it is all mine. 
 
 And, baker, hold your tongue I 
 
 "A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice I 
 
 And batter-pudding too ; 
 I'm glad of that, it is so good ; 
 
 How clever is our Sue ! " 
 
 Xow near his door young Jem was 
 come. 
 
 He round the corner turn'd ; 
 But oh, sad fate ! unlucky chance ! 
 
 The dish his fingers burn'd. 
 
 Low in the kennel down fell dish. 
 And down fell aU the meat ; 
 
 Swift went the pudding in the stream, 
 And sail'd along the street. 
 
 The people laugh'd, and rude boys 
 grinn'd, 
 At mutton's hapless fall ; 
 But though asham'd, young Jemmy 
 cri3d — 
 " Better lose part than all." 
 
 The shoulder by the knuckle seiz'd, 
 His hands both grasp'd it fast, 
 
 And deaf to all their gibes and cries, 
 He gain'd his home at last. 
 
 " Impatience is a fault," cries Jem ; 
 
 " I'he baker told me true ; 
 In future I will patient be. 
 
 And mind what says our Sue." 
 
 Adelaide O'KeejSe. 
 
 THE GREEDY BOY. 
 
 Sammy ^ mith would drink and eat 
 From morning unto night ; 
 
 He filled his mouth so full of meat, 
 It was a shameful sight. 
 
 Sometimes he gave a book or toy 
 For apples, cake, or plum ; 
 
 And grudged if any other boy 
 Should taste a single crumb. 
 
 Indeed, he ate and drank so fast. 
 And used to stuff and cram, 
 
 The name they call'd him by at last. 
 Was often Greedy Sam. 
 
 Mfs. Elizabeth 7 urner. 
 
 POISONOUS FBUIT. 
 
 As Tommy and his sister Jane 
 Were walking down a shady lane. 
 They saw some berries, bright and red. 
 That hung around and overhead. 
 
 And soon the bough they bended down, 
 To make the scarlet fruit their own ; 
 And part they ate, and part in play 
 They threw about and flung away. 
 
 But long they had not been at home 
 Before poor Jane and little Tom 
 Were taken, sick and iU, to bed. 
 And since, I've heard, they both are 
 dead. 
 
 Alas ! had Tommy understood 
 That fruit in lanes is seldom gool, 
 He might have walked with little Jane 
 Again along the shady lane. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 MISCHIEF. 
 
 Let those who're fond of idle tricks. 
 Of throwing stones, and breaking 
 bricks, 
 
 And all that sort of fun. 
 Now hear a tale of idle Jim, 
 That they may warning take by him, 
 
 Nor do as he has done. 
 
 In harmless sport or healthful play. 
 He never passed his time away. 
 
 He took no pleasure in it ; 
 For mischief was his only joy ; 
 Nor book, nor work, nor even toy 
 
 Could please him for a minute. 
 
 A neighbour's house he'd slily pass, 
 And throw a stone to break the glass. 
 
 And then enjoy the joke ; 
 Or, if a window open stood. 
 He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood. 
 
 To frighten all the folk. 
 
 If travellers passing chanced to st«y 
 Of idle Jim to ask the way. 
 
 He never told them right ; 
 And then quite hardened in his sin. 
 Rejoiced to see them taken in. 
 
 And laughed with all his might. 
 
 I 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 63 
 
 ](("'(1 tie a string across the street, 
 'J'liat it might catch the people's feet. 
 
 And make tlicm tumble down ; 
 Indeed, he was disliked so much. 
 That no good boy would play with such 
 
 A nuisance in the town. 
 
 At last the neighbours, in despair, 
 
 ( ould all these tricks no longer bear : 
 
 [n short (to end the tale), 
 I'lie lad was cured of all his ways, 
 One time by spending a few days 
 
 Inside the county jail. 
 
 Jane. Taylor. 
 
 THE LITTLE FISHERMAN. 
 
 TiiKRE was a little fellow once. 
 
 And Harry was his name ; 
 And many a naughty trick had he — 
 
 I tell it to his shame. 
 
 He minded not his friends' advice. 
 But follow'd his own wishes ; 
 
 And one most cruel trick of his, 
 Was that of catching fishes. 
 
 His father had a little pond, 
 \Vhere often Harry went ; 
 
 And in this most inhuman sport. 
 He many an ev'ning spent. 
 
 THE STORY OF CRTJEL 
 FREDERICK. 
 
 I ! ERE is cruel Frederick, see 1 
 
 .\ horrid wicked boy was he : 
 
 lie caught the flies, poor little things, 
 
 .\nd then tore off their tiny wings ; 
 
 lie killed the birds, and broke the 
 
 chairs. 
 And threw the kitten down the stairs ; 
 .\nd oh ! far worse than all beside. 
 He whipp'd his Mary till she cried. 
 
 The trough was full, and faithful Tray 
 Came out to dr-ink one sultry day; 
 He wagged his tail, and wet his hp, 
 When cruel Fred snatched up a whij), 
 \nd whipped poor Tray till he was sore. 
 And kicked and whipped liim more and 
 
 more : 
 At this good Tray grew very red. 
 And growled and bit him till he bled ; 
 Then you should only iiave been by 
 To see how Fred did scream and cr\- ! 
 So Frederick had to go to bed ; 
 His leg was very sore and red ! 
 The doctor came and shook his head 
 And made a very great to-do. 
 And gave him nasty p ysic too. 
 
 But good dog Tray is happy now ; 
 Ke has no time to say " bow-wow ! ' 
 He seats himself in Frederick's chair 
 And laughs to see the nice things there : 
 'i'he soup he swallows, sup by sup — 
 And eats the pies and puddings up. 
 
 ZV. Heinrie'i Hoffinann. 
 
 One day he took his hook and bait. 
 
 And hurried to the pond, 
 And there began the cruel game, 
 
 Of which he was so fond. 
 
 And many a little fish he cauglit. 
 And pleas'd was he to look, 
 
 To see them writhe in agony, 
 And struggle on the hook. 
 
 At last, when having caught enough. 
 
 And tired, too, himself. 
 He hasten'd home, intending there 
 
 To put them on a shelf. 
 
 But as he jump'd to reach a dish. 
 
 To put his fishes in, 
 A large meat hook, that hung close by. 
 
 Did catch him by the chin. 
 
 Poor Harry kick'd and call'd aloud, 
 And screara'd and cried, and roar'd. 
 
 While from his wound the crimson blood 
 In dreadful torrents pour'd. 
 
 Tlu' miids came running, frightened 
 much 
 To see him hanging there. 
 And soon they took him from the 
 hook. 
 And .sat him in chair. 
 
 Tiic 3U"i:eon came and stopp'd the 
 blood. 
 
 And up he bound his head ; 
 And then they carried him up stairs, 
 
 And laid him on his bed. 
 
64 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Conviction darted on his mind, 
 
 As groaning there he lay, 
 He with remorse and pity thought 
 
 About his cruel play. 
 
 " And oh ! " said he, " poor Uttle fish, 
 What tortures you have borne ; 
 
 While I, well pleas'd, have stood to see 
 Their tender bodies torn ; 
 
 While Lucy was young, had she bridled 
 her tongue, 
 With a httle good sense and exertion. 
 Who knows but she might now have 
 been our delight. 
 Instead of our jest and aversion ? 
 
 Jam Taylor. 
 
 " ! what a wicked boy I've been. 
 Such torments to bestow ; 
 
 Well I deserve the pain I feel, 
 Since 1 cou'd serve them so: 
 
 " But now I know how great the smart, 
 
 How terrible the pain ! 
 As long as I can ]td myself, 
 
 I'll never fish again." 
 
 Jane. Taylor. 
 
 THE CHATTEBBOX. 
 
 From morning till night it was Lucy's 
 delight, 
 To chatter and talk without stopping ; 
 There was not a day but she rattled 
 away. 
 Like water for ever a dropping ! 
 
 No matter at all if the subject were 
 
 small. 
 
 Or not worth the trouble of saying, 
 
 'Twas equal to her, she would talking 
 
 prefer, 
 
 To working, or reading, or playing. 
 
 You'll think now, perhaps, that there 
 would have been gaps 
 If she had not l:een wonderfully 
 clever ; 
 That her sense was so great, and so 
 witty her pate 
 It would be forthcoming for ever. 
 
 But that's quite absurd, for, have you 
 not heard. 
 That much tongue and few brain-; are 
 connected ; 
 That they are su posed to think least 
 wlio ta k most 
 And their wisdom is always sus- 
 pected ? 
 
 THE WOEM. 
 
 As Sally sat upon the ground, 
 A little crawling worm she found 
 
 A mo g the garden dirt ; 
 And when she saw the worm she 
 
 scream' d. 
 And ran away and cried, and seem'd 
 
 As if she had been hurt. 
 
 Mamma, afraid some serious harm 
 Made Sally scream, was in alarm. 
 
 And left the parlour then ; 
 But when the cause she came to learn, 
 She bade her daughter back return. 
 
 To see the worm again. 
 
 The worm they found kept writhing 
 
 round, 
 Until it sank beneath the ground ; 
 
 And Sally learned that day. 
 That worms are very harmless things, 
 With neither teeth, nor claws, nor 
 stings 
 To frighten her away. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth 2'urner. 
 
 THROWING STONES. 
 
 Little Tom Jones 
 
 Would often throw stones. 
 And often he had a good waining ; 
 
 And now I will tell 
 
 What Tommy befell, 
 From his rudeness one fine summer's 
 
 He was taking the air 
 
 Upon Trinity Square, 
 And, aa usual, lar e stones he was 
 jerkins ; 
 
 Till ; t length a hard, cinder 
 
 Went plump through a window 
 Where a party of ladies were working. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 65 
 
 Tom's aunt, when in to^vn, 
 Had left h If a crovm 
 For her nephew (her name was Mi33 
 Frazier), 
 WTiich he thought to have spent. 
 But now it all \\cnt 
 (And it served him quite riglit to tlie 
 glazier. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 And tlien they skip and then they run I 
 The black-a-moor enjoys the fun. 
 They have been made as black as crows. 
 Quite black all over, eyes nd nose. 
 And legs and arms and heads and toes. 
 And trousers, pinafores and toys, — 
 The silly little inky boys ! 
 Because they set up su h a roar. 
 And teas'd the harmless black-a-moor. 
 
 Dr. Heinrich Ho/Jmtnn. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE INKY 
 BOYS. 
 
 As he had often done before, 
 The Woolly-headed black-a-moor 
 One nice fine summer's day w.nt out 
 To see the shops and walk about ; 
 And as he found it hot, poor fellow. 
 He took with him his gi'een umbrella. 
 Then Edward, little noisy wag, 
 Ran out and laughed, and waved his 
 
 flag; 
 And William came in jacket trim 
 And brought his wooden hoop with 
 
 him ; 
 And Arthur, too, snatched up his toys 
 And joined the other naughty boys ; 
 So, one and aU set up a roar 
 And laughed and hooted more and 
 
 more. 
 And kept on singing — only think ! — 
 " Oh ! Blacky, you're as black as ink." 
 
 Now tall Agrippa lived close by — 
 
 So taU he almost reached the sky ; 
 
 He had a mighty inkstand too. 
 
 In which a great goose-feather grew ; 
 
 He call'd out in an angry tone: 
 
 " Boys, leave the black-a-moor alone ! 
 
 For if he tries with all his might. 
 
 He cannot change from black to white." 
 
 But ah ! they did not mind a bit 
 
 What great Agrippa said of it ; 
 
 But went on laughing as before. 
 
 And hooting at the black-a-moor. 
 
 Then gre t Agrippa foams with rage, 
 (Oh ! could I draw him on this page ! ) 
 He seizes Arthur, seizes Ned, 
 Takes William by his little head ; 
 And they may scream and kick and call. 
 Into the ink he dips them all ; 
 Into the inkstand, one, two, three, 
 Till they are black as black can be ; 
 
 I WILL. 
 
 " I WILL go out," Louisa cried, 
 " No matter for the rain ; 
 
 I will not always be denied, 
 I tell you so again." 
 
 "Wait till to-morrow," Patty said, 
 " And then the sun may shine ; " 
 
 Louisa heeded not the maid, 
 But 3 id " It then was fine." 
 
 Away she went, a shower came on, 
 And wet her hat all o'er ; 
 
 It was not fit to look upon. 
 Though new the day before 
 
 Mamma no other will allow ; 
 
 And, when her child complains. 
 Answers, " You had your will, and 
 
 Must wear this for your pains." 
 
 Mary Elliott. 
 
 THE TEITANT. 
 
 Children who delight to ramble 
 
 When it is not holiday. 
 And o'er hedge and ditch to scramble 
 
 All for love of truant play ; 
 
 Must have tasks and lessons doublo 
 To make up for time misspent ; 
 
 And, besides this double trouble. 
 Must have proper punishment. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 DANGEROUS SPORT. 
 
 Poor Peter was burnt by a poker one 
 day. 
 When he made it look pretty and red ; 
 
66 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 or the beautiful sparks made him 
 
 thin it fine play, 
 To lift it as high as his head. 
 
 But somehow it happen'd; his finger 
 and thumb 
 Were terribly scorched by the heat ; 
 Anl he scream'd out aloud for his 
 mother to come, 
 And stamp'd on the floor with his 
 feet. 
 
 Now, if Peter had minded his mother's 
 command. 
 His fingers would not have been sore : 
 And he promised again, as she bound 
 up his hand, 
 To play with hot pokers no more. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE CBUEL BOY. 
 
 Jack Parker was a cruel boy, 
 For mischief was his sole employ ; 
 And much it grieved his friends to find 
 His thoughts so wickedly inclined. 
 
 He thought it clever to deceive. 
 And often rambled without leave ; 
 And ev'ry animal he met 
 He dearly loved to plague and fret. 
 
 But all such boys, unless they mend, 
 May come to an unhappy end. 
 Like Jack, who got a fracture 1 skull 
 Whilst bellowing at a furious bull. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE STOBY OF LITTLE SUCK- 
 A-THUMB. 
 
 One day. Mamma said, " Conrad, dear, 
 I must go out and leave y u here. 
 But mi .d now, Conrad, hat I say. 
 Don't suck your thumb while I'm away. 
 The great tall tailor always comes 
 To little boys that suck their thumbs ; 
 And ere they dream what he's about, 
 He takes his great sharp scissors out 
 And cuts their thumbs clean off, and 
 
 then 
 You know, thev never grow again." 
 
 Mamma had scarcely turned her back 
 The thumb was in, Alack, Alack ! 
 
 The door flew open, in he ran, 
 The great, long, red-legged scissor-man. 
 Oh ! children, see ! the tailor's come 
 And caught out little Suck-a-Thumb. 
 Knip ! Snap ! Snip the scissors go ; 
 And Conrad cries out, Oh ! oh ! oh ! 
 Snip ! Snap ! Snip ! They go so fast 
 'I'hat both his thumbs are off at last. 
 
 Mamma comes home ; there Conrad 
 
 stands, 
 And looks quite sad, and shows his 
 
 hands — 
 " Ah ! " said Mamma, " I knew he'd 
 
 come 
 To naughty Httle Suck-a-Thumb." 
 
 Dr Heinrich Hoffmann. 
 
 LITTLE BOY AND HOOP. 
 
 One time I knew a little Boj^, 
 
 So very fond of play. 
 He woukl not leave a new-seen toy 
 
 For all that Nurse could say. 
 
 One day a Hoop, quite new and nice. 
 Was brought him from the fair ; 
 
 Away he scampered in a trice. 
 Forgetting how and where. 
 
 Now Nurse had dress'd him very neat; 
 
 His shoes quite new he wore ; 
 His trousers white, his dress complete. 
 
 With buckled belt before. 
 
 He struck his hoop ; away it went — 
 He struck it round and round, — 
 
 To watch the hoop his eyes were bent. 
 Nor saw the sloping ground. 
 
 How lucky for that idle child. 
 The Gardener near the stream 
 
 Marked how this play his steps be- 
 guiled. 
 And heard his plunging scream. 
 
 With hasty steps the Gardener ran, 
 And snatched the sinking boj-. 
 
 Who soon had perished, but tbe .Man 
 Knew well the treacherous toy. 
 
 Hoops, in their proper time and place. 
 
 Are V cod and fit for play ; 
 But 'tis not safe, in any case. 
 Near water's brink to sta 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 G' 
 
 THE liAST NEW DOLL. 
 
 Sophia begg'd her sister, Grace, 
 The last new doll to bring ; 
 
 And show'd a pretty bit of lace. 
 To dress the little thing. 
 
 It would, she thought, go round its cap ; 
 
 Indeed, for that 'twas bought ; 
 Careful she laid it in her lap. 
 
 Till Grace the baby brought. 
 
 Grace soon came back, and in her arms 
 A doll that once was new ; 
 
 But ah ! quite faded were its charms, 
 Quite frightful to the view. 
 
 • 
 " This your new doll ? " Sophia cries, 
 
 " You make me blush, dear Grace ; 
 More careful must you be, and wise, 
 
 Before I give my lace." 
 
 Mary Elliot. 
 
 FEIGNED COURAGE. 
 
 IToRATio, of ideal courage vain, 
 \Vas fiourishing in air his father's cane. 
 And, as the fumes of valour swelled his 
 
 pate, 
 X<,)w thought himself this hero, and 
 
 now that : 
 '■ And now," he cried, " I will Achilles 
 
 be; 
 My sword I brandish ; see, the Trojans 
 
 "flee ! 
 Now I'll be Hector, when his angry 
 
 i)lade 
 A lane thi'ough heaps of slaughtered 
 
 (Jrecians made ! 
 And now by deeds still braver I'll 
 
 evince 
 I am no less than Edward the Black 
 
 Prince. 
 Give way, ye coward French ! " As 
 
 thus he spoke. 
 And aimed in fancy a sufficient stroke 
 To fi.x the fate of Cressy or Poictiers 
 (The Muse relates the hero's fate with 
 
 tears) ; 
 He struck his milk-white hand against 
 
 a nail, 
 Sees his own blood, and feela his courage 
 
 fail. 
 
 Ah ! where is now that boasted valour 
 
 flown. 
 That in the tented field so late was 
 
 shown ! 
 Achilles weeps. Great Hector hangs his 
 
 liead. 
 And the Black Prince goes whimper^ 
 
 to bed. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb 
 
 DEAWING TEETH. 
 
 Miss Lucy Wright, though not so tall, 
 ^JAS just the age of Sophy Ball ; 
 Wft I have always understood. 
 Miss Sophy was not half so good ; 
 For as they both had faded teeth, 
 Their teacher sent for Doctor Heath ; 
 But Sophy made a dreadful rout. 
 And would not have hers taken out ; 
 But Lucy Wright endur'd the pain, 
 Nor did she ever once complain ; 
 Her teeth returned quite sound and 
 
 white. 
 While Sophy's ached both day and 
 
 night. 
 
 Mrs Elizaheth Turner. 
 
 GOING TO BED. 
 
 The babe was in the cradle laid. 
 And Tom had said his prayers. 
 
 When Frances told the nursery-maid 
 She would not go upstairs. 
 
 She cried so loud, her mother came 
 
 To ask the reason w hy ; 
 And said, " Oh, Frances, fie ! for 
 shame ! 
 
 Oh, fie ! oh, fie ! oh, fie ! " 
 
 But Frances was more naughty still. 
 
 And Betty sadly nipp'd ; 
 Until her Mother said, " I will — ■ 
 
 I must have Frances whipp'd." 
 
 For, oh ! how naughty 'tis to cry. 
 But worse, much ^^orse to fight, 
 
 Instead of running readily. 
 And calling out. Good-night ! 
 
 Airs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 5* 
 
68 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 bancl'n 
 
 BEEAKFAST. 
 
 A DINNER party, coffee, tea, 
 Sandwich, or supper — all may be 
 ,eir way pteBSant. B-ut to me 
 ne of these deserves the praise 
 it wel comer of new-bom days, 
 breakfast, merits ; ever giving 
 Cheerful notice we are living 
 Another day refreshed by sleep 
 When its festival we keep. 
 Now altliough I would not slight 
 Those kindly words we use, " Good- 
 night," 
 Yet parting words are words of sorrow. 
 And may not vie with sweet " Good- 
 morrow," 
 With which again our friends we g 
 When in the breakfast-room we m et. 
 At the social table round. 
 Listening to the lively sound 
 Of those notes which never tire. 
 Of urn, or kettle on the fire. 
 
 Sleepy Robert never hears 
 Of urn or kettle ; he appears 
 When all have finished, one by one 
 Dropping off, and breakfast done. 
 Yet has he, too, his own pleasure. 
 His breakfast hour's his hour of 
 
 leisnre ; 
 And, left alone, he reads or muses. 
 Or else in idle mood he uses 
 To sit and watch the venturous fly. 
 Where the sugar's piled high. 
 Clambering o'er the humps so white. 
 Rocky cliffs of sweet delight. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE TWO BOYS. 
 
 I SAW a boy with eager eye 
 Open a book upon a stall, 
 And read as he'd devour it aU ; 
 Wliich, when the stall-man did espj'. 
 Soon to the boy I heard him call : 
 " You, sir, you never buy a book, 
 Therefore in one you shall not look." 
 The boy passed slowly on, and with a 
 
 sigh 
 He wished he never had been taught 
 
 to read. 
 Then of the old churl's books he should 
 
 have had no need. 
 
 Of sufferings the poor have many, 
 Which never can the rich annoy. 
 I soon perceived another boy 
 Who looked as if he'd not had any 
 Food for that day at least, enjoy 
 The sight of cold meat in a tavern- 
 larder. 
 This boy's case, thought I, is surely 
 
 harder. 
 Thus hungry longing, thus without a 
 
 penny. 
 Beholding choice of dainty dressed 
 
 meat : 
 No wonder if he wish he ne'er had 
 learned to eat. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamh. 
 
 NE AND ElilZA. 
 
 There were two little girls neither 
 
 handsome nor plain, 
 One's name was Eliza, the other's was 
 
 Jane ; |||^ 
 They were both of one height, as I've 
 
 heard people say, , 
 
 And both of one^J|6»^I believe, to a 
 
 day. 
 
 'Twas thought by some people who 
 
 slightly had seen them. 
 There was not a pin to be chosen 
 
 between them ; 
 But no one for long in this notion 
 
 persisted. 
 So great a distinction there really 
 
 existed. 
 
 Eliza knew well that she could not be 
 pleasing, 
 
 Wiile fretting and fuming, while sulk- 
 ing or teasing ; 
 
 And therefore in company artfully 
 tried, 
 
 Not to break her bad habits, but onlj' 
 to hide. 
 
 So, when she was out, with much 
 labour and pain. 
 
 She contrived to look almost as pleas- 
 ing as JaTie ; 
 
 But then you might see that, in forcing 
 a smile. 
 
 Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all 
 the while. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 69 
 
 But in spite of her care it would some- 
 times befall 
 
 That some cross event happened to 
 ruin it all ; 
 
 And because it might chance that her 
 share was the ^vor3t, 
 
 Her temper broke loose, and her 
 dimples dispersed. 
 
 But Jane, who had nothing she wanted 
 
 to hide. 
 And tlierefore these troublesome arts 
 
 never tried, 
 Had none of the care and fatigue of 
 
 concealing, 
 But her face always showed what her 
 
 bosom was feeling. 
 
 The smiles that upon her sweet coun- 
 tenance were. 
 
 At home or abroad they were constantly 
 there ; 
 
 And Eliza worked hard, but could never 
 obtain 
 
 The affection that freely was given to 
 Jane. 
 
 Ann Taylor. 
 
 THE DESSEBT. 
 
 With the apples ^Bnd the plums. 
 
 Little Carolina comes ; 
 
 At the time of the dessert she 
 
 Comes and drops her last new curtsey ; 
 
 Graceful curtsey, practised o'er 
 
 In the nursery before. 
 
 WTiat shall we compare her to ? 
 
 The dessert itself will do. 
 
 Like 4jrc3erves, she's kept with care. 
 
 Like bIanCl»«4^almonds, she is fair. 
 
 Soft as down on peach her hair. 
 
 And so soft, so smooth is each 
 
 Pretty cheek as that same peach. 
 
 Yet more like in hue to cherries ; 
 
 Then her lips, the sweet strawberries, 
 
 Caroline herself shall try them 
 
 If they are not like when nigh them ; 
 
 Her bright eyes are black as sloes, 
 
 But I think we've none of those 
 
 Common fruit here ; and her chin 
 
 From a round point does begin. 
 
 Like the small end of a pear ; 
 
 Whiter drapery she does wear 
 
 Than the frost on cake ; and sweeter 
 Than the cake itself, and neater. 
 Though bedecked with emblems fine. 
 Is our little Caroline. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE LITTLE BIRD'S COM- 
 PLAINT TO HIS MISTRESS 
 
 Here in this wiry prison where I sing, 
 
 And think of sweet green woods, and 
 
 long to fly. 
 
 Unable once to stretch my feeble wing. 
 
 Or wave my feathers in the clear 
 
 blue sky : 
 
 Day after day the self-same things I 
 see — 
 The cold white ceiling, and this 
 wiry house ; 
 Ah I how unlike my healthy native 
 tree, 
 Rock'd by the winds that whistled 
 thro' the boughs. 
 
 Mild spring returning strews the ground 
 with flowers. 
 And hangs sweet May-buds on the 
 hedges gay ; 
 But no kind sunshine cheers my gloomy 
 hours. 
 Nor kind companion twitters on the 
 spray 1 
 
 Oh ! how I long to stretch my weary 
 wings. 
 And fly away as far as eye can see ; 
 And from the topmost bough, when 
 Robin sings. 
 Pour my wild songs, and be aa blithe 
 as he. 
 
 Why was I taken from the waving nest,* 
 From flowery fields, wide woods and 
 hedges green ; 
 Torn from my tender mother's do.\ny 
 breast, 
 In this sad prison-house to die un- 
 seen ? 
 
 Why must I hear, in summer evenings 
 fine, 
 A thousand happier birds in many 
 choirs ? 
 And I, poor lonely I, forbid to join. 
 
 by these wooden walls and 
 wires ! 
 
70 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Kind mistress, come, with gentle, pity- 
 ing hand, 
 Unbar my prison-door, and set me 
 free ; 
 Then on the whitethorn bush I'll take 
 my stand. 
 And sing sweet songs to freedom and 
 to thee. 
 
 Aiin Taylor. 
 
 THE GLEANER. 
 
 Before the bright sun rises over the 
 hill. 
 In the corn-field poor Mary is seen. 
 Impatient her little blue apron to fill. 
 With the few scatter'd ears she can 
 glean. 
 
 She never leaves off to run out of her 
 place. 
 To play or to idle or chat ; 
 Except now and then, just to wipe her 
 hot face. 
 And fan herself with her broad hat. 
 
 " Poor girl, hard at work in the heat 
 of the sun, 
 How tir'd and warm you must be ; 
 Why don't you leave off, as the others 
 have done. 
 And sit with them ulider the tree ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! for my mother lies ill in her 
 bed. 
 Too feeble to spin or to knit ; 
 And my poor little brothers are crying 
 for bread, 
 And yet we can't give them a bit. 
 
 " Then could I be merry, and idle and 
 play. 
 While they are so hungry and ill ? 
 Oh, no ! I would rather work hard all the 
 day. 
 My fittle blue apron to fill." 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 WEEDING. 
 
 As busy Aurelia, 'twixt work and 'twixt 
 play. 
 Was labouring industriously hard 
 To cull the vile weeds from the flowerets 
 away. 
 Which grew in her father's coui't- 
 yai d ; 
 
 In her juvenile anger, wherever she 
 found, 
 She plucked, and she pulled, and she 
 tore ; 
 The poor passive sufferers bestrewed all 
 the ground ; 
 Not a Aveed of them all she forbore. 
 
 At length 'twas her chance on some 
 nettles to light 
 (Things, tiU then, she had scarcely 
 heard named) ; 
 The vulgar intruders called forth all 
 her spite ; 
 In a transport of rage she exclaimed : 
 
 " Shall briars so unsightly and worth- 
 less as those 
 Their great sprawling leaves thus 
 presume 
 To mix with the pink, the jonquil, and 
 the rose. 
 And take up a flower's sweet room ? " 
 
 On the odious offenders enraged she 
 flew. 
 But she presently found to her cost 
 A tingling unlooked for, a pain that 
 was new. 
 And rage was in agony lost. 
 
 To her father she hastily fled for relief, 
 And told him her pain and her 
 smart ; 
 With kindly caresses he soothed her 
 grief. 
 Then smiling, he took the weed's 
 part. 
 
 " The world, my Aurelia, this garden 
 of ours 
 Resembles ; too apt we're to deem 
 In the world's large garden ourselves as 
 the flowers, 
 And the poor but as weeds to 
 esteem. 
 
 " But them if we rate, or with rude- 
 ness repel. 
 Though some will be passive enough. 
 From others wlio're more independent 
 'tis well 
 If we meet not a stinging rebuff." 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 71 
 
 THE OFFEB. 
 
 " Tell nie, would you rather be 
 Changed by a fairy to the fine 
 Young orplian heiress Cieraldiue, 
 
 Or still be Emily ? 
 
 " Consider, ere you answer me. 
 How many blessings ^re procured 
 By riches, and how much endured 
 
 By chilling poverty." 
 
 After a pause, said Emily : 
 '■ In the words orphan heiress I 
 l<'iud many a solid reason why 
 
 1 would not changed be. 
 
 " What though I live in poverty, 
 And have of sisters eight — so many 
 'I'luxt few indulgences, if any, 
 
 Fail to the share of me ; 
 
 " Think you that for wealth I'd be 
 Of even the least of them bereft. 
 Or lose my parent, and be left 
 
 An orphaned Emily ? 
 
 " Still should I be Emily, 
 Although I looked like Geraldine ; 
 I feel within this heart of mine 
 
 No change could worked be." 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE GOOD-NATURED GIRLS. 
 
 Two good little ladies, named Mary 
 
 and Ann, 
 Both happily live, as good girls always 
 
 can ; 
 And tho' they are not either sullen or 
 
 mute, 
 They seldom or never are heard to 
 
 dispute. 
 
 If one wants a thing that the other can 
 
 get. 
 They don't go to fighting and crying 
 
 for it ; 
 But each one is willing to give up her 
 
 right. 
 For they'd rather have nothing thaa 
 
 quarrel and fight. 
 
 If one of them happens to have somi - 
 
 thing nice. 
 Directly she offers her sister ■ slice ; 
 And not like to some greedy children 
 
 I've known. 
 Who would go in a corner to eat it 
 
 alone. 
 
 When papa or mamma has a job to 
 
 be done. 
 These good little girls will immediately 
 
 run ; 
 And not stand disputing which of them 
 
 should go ; 
 They would be ashamed to behave 
 
 themselves so. 
 
 Whatever occurs, in their work or their 
 ^ play. 
 They are willing to yield and give up 
 
 their own way ; 
 Then let us all try their example to 
 
 mind. 
 And always, like them, be obliging and 
 kind. 
 
 Jarie Taylor. 
 
 THE BOY AND SNAKE. 
 
 Henry was every morning fed 
 With a full mess of milk and broad. 
 One day the boy his breakfast took. 
 And ate it by a purling brook 
 Which through his mother's orchard 
 
 ran. 
 From that time ever when he can 
 Escape his mother's eye, he there 
 Takes his food in th' open air. 
 Finding the chUd delight to eat 
 Abroad, and make the grass his seat. 
 His mother lets him have his way. 
 With free leave Henry every day 
 Thither repairs, until she heard 
 Him talking of a fine grey bird. 
 This pretty bird, he said, indeed. 
 Came every day with him to feed. 
 And it loved him, and loved his milk. 
 And it was smooth and soft like silk. 
 His mother thought she' i go and see 
 What sort of bird this same might be. 
 So the next mom she follows Harry, 
 And carefully she sees him carry 
 Through the long grass his heaped-up 
 
 mess. 
 What was her terror ar.d distiess. 
 
72 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 When she saw the infant take 
 
 His bread and milk close to a snake ! 
 
 Upon the grass he spreads his fe st, 
 
 And sits down by his frightful guest, 
 
 Who had waited for the treat ; 
 
 And now they both begin to eat. 
 
 Fond mother ! shriek not, O beware 
 
 The least small noise ; O h ve a care — 
 
 The least small noise that may be made. 
 
 The wily snake will be afraid — 
 
 If he hear the lightest sound. 
 
 He wiU inflict th' envenomed wound. 
 
 She speaks not, moves not, scarce does 
 
 breathe, 
 As she stands the trees beneath ; 
 No sound she utters ; and she soon 
 Sees the child lift up its spoon. 
 And tap the snake upon the hea ', 
 Fearless of harm ; and then he said. 
 As speaking to familiar mate, 
 " Keep on your own side, do. Grey 
 
 Pate." 
 The snake then to the other side, 
 As one rebuked, seems to glide ; 
 And now again advancing nigh. 
 Again she hears the infant cry. 
 Tapping the snake : " Keep further, 
 
 do ; 
 Mind, Grey Pate, what I say to you." 
 The danger's o'er — she sees the boy 
 (O what a change from fear to joy !) 
 Pise and bid the snake " Good-bye ; " 
 Says he : " Our breakfast's done, and I 
 Will come again to-morrow day ; " 
 Then, hghtly tripping, ran away. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 CHOOSING A PBOFESSION". 
 
 A Creole boy from the West Indies 
 
 brought, 
 To be in European learning taught, 
 Some years before to Westminster he 
 
 went. 
 To a preparatory school was sent. 
 When from his artless tale the mistress 
 
 found 
 The child had not one friend on English 
 
 ! round. 
 She, even as if he his own mother were. 
 Made the dark Indian her peculiar care. 
 Oft on her favourite's future lot she 
 
 thought ; 
 To know the bent of his young mind 
 
 she soui^ht. 
 
 For much the kind preceptress wished 
 
 to find 
 To what profession he was most in- 
 
 chned. 
 That where his genius led they might 
 
 him train ; 
 For nature's kindly bent she held not 
 
 vain. 
 But vain her efforts to < xplor.^ his will. 
 Till on a day at le'ngth he to her came, 
 Joy sparkling in his eyes ; And said, 
 
 the same 
 Trade he would be those boys of 
 
 colour were, 
 Who danced so happy in the open air. 
 It was a troop of chimney-sweeping 
 
 boys. 
 With wooden music and obstreperous 
 
 noise. 
 In tarnished finery and grotesque array. 
 Were dancing in the street the first of 
 
 May. 
 
 Charles and Marj Lamb. 
 
 FREDDIE AND THE CHERRY 
 
 TREE. 
 
 Fkeddie saw some fine ripe cherries 
 
 Hanging on a cherry tree. 
 And he said, " You pretty cherries. 
 
 Will you not come down to me ? " 
 
 " Thank you kindly," said a cherry, 
 " We would rather stay up here ; 
 
 If we ventured down this morning, 
 You would eat us up, I fear." 
 
 One, the finest of the cherries, 
 Dangled from a slender twig. 
 
 " You are beautiful," said Freddie, 
 " Red and ripe, and oh, how big ! " 
 
 " Catch me," said the cherry, " catch 
 me, 
 
 Littl master, if you can." 
 " I would catch you soon," said Freddie, 
 
 " If I were a grown-up man." 
 
 Freddie jumped, and tried to reach it. 
 Standing high upon his toes ; 
 
 But the cherry bobbed about. 
 And laughed, and tickled Freddie's 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 I 
 
 " Npvor mind," paid Utile Freddie, 
 " I shall have them when it's right. 
 
 But a blackbird whistled boldly, 
 " I Bhall eat them all to-night." 
 
 Mrs. Hawkshawe. 
 
 WBITTEN" IN" THE FIRST 
 LEAF OF A CHILD'S 
 MEMOS ANDUM-BOOK. 
 
 My neat and pretty book, when 1 thy 
 
 small lines see. 
 They seem for any use to be unfit for 
 
 me. 
 My writing, all misshaped, uneven to 
 
 my mind, 
 Within this narrow space can hardly 
 
 be confined. 
 Yet I will strive to make my hand 
 
 less awkward look ; 
 1 would not willingly disgrace thee, my 
 
 neat book. 
 The finest pens I'll use, and wondrous 
 
 pains I'll take. 
 And I these perfect lines my monitors 
 
 will make. 
 And every day I will set down in order 
 
 due. 
 How that day wasted is ; and should 
 
 there be a few 
 At the year's end that show more 
 
 goodly to the sight, 
 If haply here I find some days not 
 
 wasted quite. 
 If a small portion of them I have 
 
 passed aright. 
 Then shall I think the year not whollj- 
 
 was misspent, 
 And that ray Diary has been by some 
 
 good angel sent. 
 
 Cliarles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 WHICH IS THE FAVOTJEITE? 
 
 Brotheks and sisters I have many ; 
 Though I know there is not any 
 Of them but I love, yet I 
 Will just name them all ; and try 
 If there be one a little more 
 Loved by me than all the rest. 
 Yes ; I do think, that I love best 
 Mj' brother Henry, because he 
 Ua-i always been most fond of me. 
 
 Yet, to be sure, there's Isabel ; 
 
 I think I love her quite as well. 
 
 And, I assure you, Uttle Ann, 
 
 No brother nor no sister can 
 
 Be more dear to me than she. 
 
 Only I must say, Emily, 
 
 Being the eldest, it's right her 
 
 To aU the rest I should prefe . 
 
 Yet after all I've said, suppose 
 
 My greatest favourite should be Rose ? 
 
 No ; John and Paul are both more dear 
 
 To me than Rose, that's always here, 
 
 While they are half the year at school ; 
 
 And yet that neither is no rule. 
 
 I see them all — there's only seven ; 
 
 I find my love to all so even. 
 
 To every sister, every brother, 
 
 I love not one more than another. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 " WHY NOT DO IT, SIR, TO- 
 DAY ? " 
 
 " Why so I will, you noisy bird, 
 This very day I'U advertise you, 
 Perhaps some busy one may buy you. 
 A fine-tongued parrot as was ever 
 
 heard, 
 I'll word it thus — set forth all charms 
 
 about you, 
 And say no family should be without 
 
 you." 
 
 Thus far a gentleman addressed a bird. 
 Then to his friend : " An old procraa- 
 
 tinator. 
 Sir, I am ; do you wonder that I hate 
 
 her ? 
 Though she but seven words can say. 
 Twenty and twenty times a day. 
 She interferes with all my dreams. 
 My projects, plans, and airy schemes. 
 Mocking my foible to my sorrow : 
 I'll advertise this bird to-morrow." 
 
 To this the bird seven words did say : 
 " Why not do it, sir, to-day ? " 
 
 Charles atid Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE TWO BEES. 
 
 But a few words could William say. 
 And those few could not speak plain ; 
 
 Yet thought he was a man one day ; 
 Never saw I boy so vain. 
 
74 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 From what could vanity proiececl 
 In such a little lispmg lad 'i 
 
 Or was it vanity indeed ? 
 Or was he onlj'^ very 
 
 For he without his maid may go 
 To the heath with elder boys. 
 
 And pluck ripe berries where they grow ; 
 Well may William then rejoice. 
 
 Be careful of your little charge ; 
 
 Elder boys, let him not rove ; 
 The heath is wide, the heath is large, 
 
 From your sight he must not move. 
 
 But rove he did, they had not been 
 
 One short hour the heath upon, 
 When he was nowhere to be seen ; 
 " Where," said they, " is William 
 gone ? " 
 
 Mind not the elder boys' distress ; 
 
 Let them run, and let them fly. 
 Their own neglect and giddiness 
 
 They are justly suffering by. 
 
 William his little basket filled 
 With his berries ripe and red ; 
 
 Then, naughty boy, two bees he killed, 
 Under foot he stamped them dead. 
 
 William had coursed them o'e; the 
 heath, 
 
 After them his steps did wander ; 
 When he was nearly out of breath. 
 
 The last bee his foot was under. 
 
 A cruel triumph which did not 
 Last but a moment's space, 
 
 For now he finds that he has got 
 Out of sight of every face 
 
 What are the berries now to him ? 
 
 What the bees which he has slain ? 
 Fear now possesses every limb. 
 
 He cannot trace his steps again. 
 
 The poor bees William had affrighted 
 In more teri'or did not haste 
 
 Than he fi'om bush to bush, benighted 
 And alone amid the waste. 
 
 Late in the night the child was found. 
 
 He who these two bees had cruslied 
 Was lying on the cold damp ground. 
 
 Sleep had then his sorrows hushed. 
 
 A fever followed from the fright. 
 And from sleeping iu the dew ; 
 
 He many a day, and many a night 
 Suffered, ere he better grew. 
 
 His aching limbs while sick he lay 
 Made him learn the crushed bees' 
 pain ; 
 
 Oft would he to his mother say, 
 " I ne'er will kill a bee again." 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE PEACH. 
 
 Mamma gave us a single peach. 
 She shared it among seven ; 
 
 Now you may think that unto each 
 But a small piece was given. 
 
 Yet though each share was very small, 
 We owned when it was eaten, 
 
 Being so little for us all 
 
 Did its fine flavour heighten. 
 
 The tear was in our parents' eye. 
 It seemed quite out of season ; 
 
 When we asked wherefore did she crj^ 
 She thus explained the reason : 
 
 " The cause, my children, I may say. 
 Was joy and not dejection ; 
 
 The peach which made you aU so gay. 
 Gave rise to this reflection : 
 
 " It's many a mother's lot to share. 
 Seven hungry children viewing, 
 
 A morsel of the coarsest fare. 
 As I this peach was doing." 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE ORANQE. 
 
 The month was June, the day was hot, 
 And Philip had an orange got ; 
 The fruit was fragrant, tempting, 
 
 bright, 
 Refreshing to the smell and sight ; 
 Not of that puny size \\'hich calls 
 Poor customers to common stalls. 
 But large and massy, full of juice, 
 As any Lima can protiuce. 
 The liquor would, if squeezed out. 
 Have filled a tumbler — thereabout. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 'I'lic happy boy with greedy eye;. 
 Surveys and re-surveys his prize. 
 He turns it round, and longs to drain. 
 And with the juice his lips to stain. 
 His throat and lips were parched witii 
 
 heat; 
 The orange seemed to cry, " Gome, eat." 
 He from his pocket draws a knife. 
 When in his thoughts there rose a 
 
 strife. 
 Which folks experience wlieii they wish, 
 Yet scruple, to begin a dish. 
 And by their hesitation own 
 It is too good to eat alone. 
 But appetite o'er indecision 
 Prevails, and Philip makes incision. 
 
 The melting fruit in quarters came, — 
 Just then there passed by a dame. 
 One of the poorer sort she seemed, 
 As by her garb you would have deemed. 
 Who in her toil-woi'n arms did hold 
 A sickly infant ten months old ; 
 That from a fever caugiit in spring, 
 Was slowly then recovering. 
 The child, attract<?d by the view 
 Of that fair orange, feebly threw 
 A languid look — perhaps the smell 
 Convinced it that there sure must 
 
 dweU 
 A corresponding sweetness there, 
 Where lodged a scent so good and rare — 
 Perhaps the smell the fruit did give 
 Felt heaUng and restorative — 
 For never had the child been graced 
 To know such dainties by their taste. 
 
 \^Tien Philip, saw the infant crave. 
 He straightway to the mother gave 
 His quartered orange ; nor would stay 
 To hear her thanks, but tripped away. 
 Then to the next clear spring he ran 
 To quench his drought, a happy man. 
 
 Charles atid Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE TTSB or SI&HT. 
 
 " What, Charles returned ! " Papa ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " How short your walk has been ! 
 But Thomas — JuUa — where are they ? 
 
 Come, tell me what you've seen." 
 
 " So tfdioii3, stupid, dull a walk ! " 
 Said Charles ; " I'll go no more ; 
 
 Fii-st stopping here, then lagging thcrf, 
 O'er this and that to pore. 
 
 *' I crossed the fields near Woodland 
 House, 
 
 And just went up the hill ; 
 Then by the river-side came down, 
 
 Near Mr. Fairplay's mill." 
 
 Xow Tom and Julia both ran in ; 
 " Oh, dear papa ! " said they, 
 •' The sweetest walk we both have had ! 
 Oh, what a pleasant day ! 
 
 " Nt'ai- Woodland House we crossed 
 tlie fields, 
 And by the mill we came." 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed Papa, " how's 
 this ? 
 Your brother did the same ; 
 
 " But very dull he found the walk. 
 
 What have you there ? let's see : 
 Come, Charles, enjoy this charming 
 treat, 
 
 As new to you as me." 
 
 " First look, papa, at tliis small branch, 
 
 Which on a tall oak grew. 
 And by its slimy berries white 
 
 The mistletoe we knew. 
 
 " A bird all green ran up a tree, 
 
 A woodpecker we call. 
 Who, with his strong bill, wounds the 
 bark, 
 
 To feed on insects small. 
 
 " And many lapwings cried pee-wit ; 
 
 And one among the rest 
 Pretended lameness to decoy 
 
 Us from her lonely nest. 
 
 " Young starlings, martins, swallows, 
 all 
 
 Such lovely flocks so gay ; 
 A iieron, too, which caught a fish, 
 
 And with it flew away. 
 
 " This bird we found, a kingfisher. 
 Though dead, his plumes how bright ! 
 
 Do have him stuS'd, my dear papa, 
 'Twill be a charming sight. 
 
76 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " When reached the heath, how wide 
 the space ! 
 The air, how fresh and sweet ! 
 We plucked these flowers and different 
 heaths. 
 The fairest we could meet. 
 
 " The distant prospect we admired, 
 The moxmtains far and blue ; 
 
 A mansion here, a cottage there ; 
 See, here's the sketch we drew. 
 
 " A splendid sight we next beheld. 
 
 The glorious setting sun, 
 In clouds of crimson, purple, gold ; 
 
 His daily race was done." 
 
 " True taste with knowledge," said 
 Papa, 
 
 By obserTation's gained ; 
 You've both well used the gift of sight. 
 
 And thus reward obtained. 
 
 " My Julia in this desk will find 
 A drawing-box quite new ; 
 
 This spy-glass, Tom, you oft desired, 
 I think it now your due. 
 
 " And pretty toys and pretty gifts 
 For Charles, too, shall be bought. 
 
 When he can see the works of God, 
 And prize them as he ought 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 THE BROKEN DOLL. 
 
 An infant is a selfish sprite ; 
 
 But what of that ? the sweet delight 
 
 Which from participation springs 
 
 Is quite unknown to these young 
 
 things. 
 We elder children then will smile. 
 At our dear little John awhile. 
 And bear with him, until he see 
 There is a sweet felicity 
 In pleasing more than only one. 
 Dear little craving selfish John. 
 
 He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke, 
 That he our new wax doll has broke. 
 A nger will never teach him better ; 
 We will the spirit and the letter 
 Of courtesy to him display. 
 By taking in a friendly way 
 These baby froUcs ; till he learn 
 True spoit from mischief to discern. 
 
 Reproof a parent's province is ; 
 A sister's discipline is this : 
 By studied kindness to effect 
 A little brother's young respect. 
 What is a doU ? a fragile toy. 
 What is its loss ? if the dear boy, 
 Who half perceives he's done amiss, 
 Retain impression of the kiss 
 That followed instant on his cheek ; 
 If the kind loving words we speak 
 Of " never mind it," " We forgive," — 
 If these in his short memory live 
 Only, perchance, for half a day — 
 Who minds a doU — if that should lay 
 The first impression in his mind 
 That sisters are to brothers kind ? 
 For thus the broken doU may prove 
 Foundation to fi-aternal love. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE WOODEITDOLL AND THE 
 "WAX DOLL. 
 
 There were two friends, a charming 
 pair ! 
 
 Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine 
 the fair ; 
 
 This child to love Brunette did still 
 inchne. 
 
 And much Brunette loved sweet Blan- 
 chidine. 
 
 Brunette in dress was neat, yet won- 
 drous plain. 
 
 But Blanchidine of finery was vain. 
 
 Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance 
 made, 
 
 A little IMiss, most splendidly array'd : 
 
 Feathers and laces beauteous to behold, 
 
 And Indian frock, with spots of shining 
 gold. 
 
 Said Blanchidine, "a Miss so richly 
 dress' d. 
 
 Surely deserves by all to be caress'd ; 
 
 To play with me if she will condescend. 
 
 Henceforward she shall be my only 
 friend." 
 
 For this new Miss, so dress'd and so 
 adorn'd. 
 
 Her poor Brunette was sUghted, left 
 and scorn' d. 
 
 Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty 
 
 toys, 
 A wooden DoU her ev'ry thought 
 
 employs : 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks 
 
 so red. 
 She'd kiss, she'd hug, she'd take it to 
 
 her ed. 
 
 Mamma now brought her home a doll 
 
 of wax, 
 Its hair in ringlets white, and soft as 
 
 flax ; 
 Its eyes could open, and its eyes could 
 
 shut, 
 And on it with much taste its clothes 
 
 ■\^ere put. 
 " My dear wax doll," sweet Blanchidine 
 
 would cry. 
 Her doll of wood was thrown neglected 
 
 by. 
 
 One summer's day, 'twas in the month 
 
 of June, 
 Tlie sun blazed out in all the heat of 
 
 noon ; 
 " My waxen doll ! " she cried, " my 
 
 dear, my charm ! 
 You feel quite cold, but you shall soon 
 
 be warm." 
 She placed it in the sun — misfortune 
 
 dire ! 
 The wax ran down as if before the 
 
 fire ! 
 Each beauteous feature quicldy dis- 
 appeared. 
 And melting left a blank all soil'd and 
 
 smear'd. 
 
 She stared, she scream'd with horror 
 
 and dismay ; 
 " You odious fright I " she then was 
 
 heard to say ; 
 " For you my silly heart I have 
 
 estranged 
 From my sweet wooden doU that never 
 
 changed ! 
 Just so may change my new acquaint- 
 ance fine. 
 For whom I left Brunette, that friend 
 
 of mine. 
 'o more by outside show will I be 
 
 lured, 
 Of such capricious whims I think I'm 
 
 cured ; 
 To plain old friends my heart shall still 
 
 be true. 
 Nor change for every face because 'tis 
 
 new." 
 
 Her slighted wooden doll resumed its 
 
 charms. 
 And wrong'd Brunette she clasp'd 
 
 within her arms. 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 A NEW YEAR'S GIFT. 
 
 A CHARMING present comes from town, 
 
 A baby-house quite neat : 
 With kitchen, parlours, dining room. 
 
 And chambers all complete. 
 
 A gift to Emma and to Rose, 
 From grandpapa it came ; 
 
 The little Rosa smiled delight. 
 And Emma did the same. 
 
 They eagerly examined all : 
 
 The furniture was gay ; 
 And in the rooms they placed their 
 dolls. 
 
 When dressed in fine array. 
 
 At night, their little candles lit, 
 
 And as they must be fed, 
 To supper down the dolls were placed. 
 
 And then were put to bed. 
 
 Thus Rose and Emma passed each hour, 
 
 Devoted to their play ; 
 And long were cheerful, happy, kind — 
 
 No cross disputes had they. 
 
 Till Rose in baby-house would change 
 The chairs that were below ; 
 
 " This carpet they would better suit ; 
 I think rU have it so." 
 
 " No, no, indeed," her sister said, 
 " I'm older, Rose, than you ; 
 
 And I'm the pet — the house is mine ; 
 Miss, what I say is true." 
 
 The quarrel grew to such a height. 
 Mamma she heard the noise. 
 
 And coming in, beheld the floor 
 All strewed with broken toys. 
 
 " Oh, fie, my Emma ! naughty Rose ! 
 
 Say, why thus sulk and pout ? 
 Remember, this is New Year's Day, 
 
 And both are going out." 
 
78 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Now Betty calls tlie little girlg 
 To come upstairs and dress ; 
 
 They still revile, Tvith threats 
 taunts, 
 And angry rage express. 
 
 and 
 
 But just prepared to leave their room, 
 
 Persisting yet in strife, 
 Rose sickening fell on Betty's lap. 
 
 As void of sense or life. 
 
 Mamma appeared at Betty's call, 
 
 John for the doctor goes ; 
 The measles, he begins to think. 
 
 Dread symptoms all disclose. 
 
 *' But though I stay, my Emma, you 
 May go and spend the day." 
 
 " Oh, no, mamma," replied the child, 
 " Do suffer me to stay. 
 
 " Beside my sister's bed I'll sit. 
 And watch her with such care ; 
 
 No pleasure can I e'er enjoy. 
 Till she my pleasure share 
 
 " How silly now seems our dispute. 
 
 Not one of us she knows ; 
 How pale she looks, how hard she 
 breathes : 
 
 Poor, pretty little Rose." 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 THE DOIili'S HOUSE. 
 
 Dear Agatha, I give you joy. 
 And much admire your pretty toy ; 
 A mansion in itself comple e. 
 And fitted to give guests a treat ; 
 With couch and table, chest and chair. 
 The bed or supper to prepare ; 
 We almost wish to change ourselves 
 To fairy forms of tripping elves, 
 To press the velvet couch and eat 
 From liny cups the sugared meat. 
 I much suspect that many a sprite 
 Inhabits it at dead of night ; 
 That, as they dance, the listening ear 
 The pat of fairy feet might hear ; 
 That just as you have said your prayers, 
 They hurry-scurry down the stairs ; 
 And you'll do well to try to find 
 Some little thing they've left behind. 
 
 Mrs. Barhauld. 
 
 THE GOOD GIBIi. 
 
 Miss Lydia Ba>.ks, though very young, 
 Will never do what's rude or wrong ; 
 When spoken to, she always tries 
 To give the most polite replies. 
 
 Observing what at school she's taught, 
 iShe turns her toes as children ought ; 
 And when return'd at night from school 
 8he never lolls on chair or stool. 
 
 Some children, when they write, we 
 
 know. 
 Their ink about them heedless throw ; 
 But she, though young, has leam'd to 
 
 think, 
 That clothes look spoil'd with spots of 
 
 ink. 
 
 Perhaps some little girl may ask. 
 If Lydia always learns her task ; 
 With pleasure I can answer this. 
 Because with truth I answer, " Yes " 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 FRANCES KEEPS HEB 
 PBOMISE. 
 My Fanny, I have news to tell, 
 
 Your diligence quite pleases me ; 
 You've worked so neatly, read so well. 
 With cousin Jaue you may drink tea. 
 
 But pray, my dear, remember this, 
 Al hough to stay you should incline. 
 
 Though warmly pressed by each kind 
 miss, 
 I wish you to return by nine. 
 
 With many thanks th' attentive child 
 Assured mamma she would obey ; 
 
 When washed and dressed she Idssed 
 and smiled. 
 And with the maid she went away. 
 
 When reached her cousin's, she was 
 shown 
 
 To where her little friends were met ; 
 And when her coming was made known. 
 
 Around her flocked the cheerful set. 
 
 They dance, they play, they sweetly 
 sing. 
 
 In every sport each child partakes. 
 And now the servants sweetmeats bring. 
 
 With wine and jellies, fiuit and cakes. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 70 
 
 111 rornos papa, and saj\s, " My dears, 
 The inagic lantern if you'd see, 
 
 And that which on the wall appears. 
 Leave off your play and follow me." 
 
 While Frances, too, enjoyed the sight, 
 Where moving figures all combine 
 
 To raise her wonder and delight, 
 She hears the parlour clock strike 
 nine. 
 
 The boy walks in ; " Miss, Ann is come." 
 " Oh dear, how soon ! " the children 
 cry ; 
 
 They press, but Fanny will go home. 
 And bids her little friends good-bye. 
 
 " My dear mamma, am I not good ? " 
 " You are, indeed," mamma replies ; 
 
 " But when you said, I thought you 
 would 
 Return, and thus you've won a prize. 
 
 " This way, my love, and see the man 
 Whom I desired at nine to call." 
 
 Down stairs young Frances quickly ran. 
 And found him waiting in the hall. 
 
 " Here, Miss, are pretty birds to buy, 
 A parrot, or macaw so gay ; 
 
 A speckled dove with scarlet eye ; 
 But quickly choose, I cannot stay. 
 
 " Would you a Java sparrow love ? " 
 " No, no, I thank you," said the child ; 
 
 " I'll have a beauteous cooing dove. 
 So harmless, innocent, and mild " 
 
 " Your choice, my Fanny, I commend ; 
 
 Few birds can with the dove com- 
 pare ; 
 But, lest it pine without a friend. 
 
 You may, my dear, choose out a pair." 
 
 Adelaide O^Keeffe. 
 
 liTJCY-S CANARY. 
 
 BEFORE AND AFTER BREAKFAST. 
 
 " Sing sweet, my bird ; oh ! sing, I 
 pray, 
 
 My pretty yellow bird ! 
 This is the lovely month of May, 
 
 \A'hen songs of birds are heard. 
 
 " You droop your head — you fold your 
 wing, 
 
 Tho' surely you are well ; 
 Then, dear Canary, why not sing ? 
 
 Your sorrow to me tell." 
 
 Jliss Lucy question'd still her pet ; 
 
 Her elder sister came. 
 And said, " Dear Lucy, do not fret. 
 
 If ill, you're not to blame ; 
 
 " For constantly I've seen you give 
 Your bird his drink and food 
 
 Ajter your breakfast, I believe ; — 
 My Lucy's kind and good." 
 
 Then Lucy gave a bitter cry. 
 And quick the cage took down. 
 
 No seed ! no water ! — all w as dry ; 
 His life had nearly flown ! 
 
 Her sister took the drooping bird. 
 And gently water gave him. 
 
 And long she watch' d — and greatly 
 fear'd 
 That she could never save him! 
 
 Poor Lucy wept with grief and shame, — 
 
 But, oh ! what joy to see 
 The bird revive — and look the same, 
 
 And perch most merrily ! 
 
 *' Thanks, dearest sister ; from this 
 day. 
 
 Before my breakfast, I'll attend 
 My precious bird ! and you will say. 
 
 No longer I'm his careless friend." 
 
 Adelaide O'KeefJe. 
 
 TO A LITTLE GIRL GATHEB- 
 ING FLOWERS. 
 
 Sweetest ! if thy fairy hand 
 Culls for me the latest flow'rs. 
 
 Smiling, hear me thus demand 
 Blessings for thy early hours 
 
 Be thy promis'd spring as bright 
 As its opening charms foretell ; 
 
 Graced with Beauty's lovely light, 
 Modest Virtue's dearer spell. 
 
 Be thy Summer's matron bloom 
 
 Bless'd with blossoms sweet like thee ; 
 
 May no tempest's sudden doom 
 Blast thy hope's fair nursery 1 
 
80 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 May thine Autumn, calm, serene. 
 Never xvant some ling'ring flow'r, 
 
 Which affection's hand may glean, 
 Though the darkling mists may 
 low'r ! 
 
 Sunshine cheer thy wintry day. 
 Tranquil conscience, peace, and love ; 
 
 And thy wintry nights display 
 Streams of glorious light above. 
 
 Mrs. Tighe. 
 
 A TBXTE STORY. 
 
 Little Ann and her mother were walk- 
 ing one day 
 Through London's wide city so fair, 
 And business obliged them to go by 
 the way 
 That led them through Cavendish 
 Square. 
 
 And as they passed by the great house 
 of a Lord, 
 A beautiful chariot there came, 
 To take some most elegant ladies 
 abroad, 
 Who straightway got into the same. 
 
 The ladies in feathers and jewels were 
 
 seen, 
 
 The chariot was painted all o'er ; 
 
 The footmen behind were in silver and 
 
 green. 
 
 The horses were prancing before. 
 
 Little Ann by her mother walk'd silent 
 
 and sad, 
 
 A tear triclded down from her eye ; 
 
 Till her mother said, " Ann, I should 
 
 be very glad 
 
 To know what it is makes you cry." 
 
 " Mamma," said the child, " see that 
 
 carriage so fair, 
 
 All cover'd with varnish and gold, 
 
 Those ladies are riding so charmingly 
 
 there, 
 
 While we have to walk in the cold : 
 
 " You say God is kind to the folks that 
 are good. 
 But surely it cannot be true ; 
 Or else I am certain, almost, that He 
 would 
 Give such a fine carriage to you." 
 
 " Look there, little girl," said her 
 mother, " and see, 
 "What stands at that very coach door ; 
 A poor ragged beggar, and listen how 
 she 
 A halfpeimy stands to implore. 
 
 " All pale is her face, and deep sunk is 
 her eye. 
 Her hands look like skeleton's bones ; 
 She lias got a few rags just about her 
 to tie ; 
 And her naked feet bleed on the 
 stones. 
 
 *' * Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears 
 trickle down, 
 " ' Relieve a poor beggar, I pray ; 
 I've wandered all hungry about this 
 wide town 
 And not eaten a morsel to-day. 
 
 " ' My father and mother are long ago 
 dead, 
 
 My brother sails over the sea ; 
 And I've not a rag, or a morsel of bread, 
 
 As plainly, I'm sure, you may see. 
 
 " ' A fever I caught, which was terribly 
 bad, 
 But no nurse or physic had I ; 
 An old dirty shed was the house that 
 I had. 
 And only on straw could I lie. 
 
 " ' And now that I'm better, yet feeble, 
 and faint. 
 And famish'd, and naked, and cold 
 I wander about with my grievous com- 
 plaint. 
 And seldom get aught but a scold. 
 
 " ' Some will not attend to my pitiful 
 call. 
 Some think me a vagabond cheat ; 
 And scarcely a creature relieves me at 
 aU, 
 The thousands that traverse the 
 street. 
 
 " ' Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity 
 
 bestow ; ' " 
 
 Just then a tall footman came round. 
 
 And asking the ladies which way they 
 
 would go, 
 
 The chariot turn'd off with a bound. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 
 
 81 
 
 " Ah ! see, little girl," then her mother 
 replied, 
 " How foolish it was to complain ; 
 If you would have look'd on the contrary 
 side, 
 Your teara would have dried up 
 again. 
 
 " Your house, and your friends, and 
 
 your victuals and bed, 
 
 'Twas God in His mercy that gave ; 
 
 You did not deserve to be cover'd and 
 
 fed. 
 
 Yet all of these blessings you have. 
 
 " This poor little beggar is hungry and 
 cold. 
 No father or mother has she ; 
 And while such an object as this you 
 behold. 
 Contented indeed you should be. 
 
 " A coach, and a footman, and gaudy 
 attire. 
 Give little true joy to the breast ; 
 To be good is the thing you should 
 chiefly desire. 
 And then leave to God all the rest." 
 
 Ann Taylor, 
 
 Sister. 
 
 That is not half the way to tell 
 
 What fancy is about ; 
 
 Ho pray now tell me more. 
 
 Bbotheb. 
 
 Sister, I think 'twere quite as well 
 That you should find it out ; 
 So think the matter o'er. 
 
 SiSTEE. 
 
 It's what comes in our lieads when we 
 Play at " Lets-make-believe," 
 And when we play at " Guessing." 
 
 Brother. 
 
 And I have heard it said to be 
 A talent often makes us grieve. 
 And sometimes proves a blessing. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 BEADIWO, 
 
 "And so you do not like to spell, 
 Mary, my dear ; oh, very well : 
 'Tis dull and troublesome, you say, 
 And you would rather be at play. 
 
 WHAT IS FANCY? 
 
 Sister. 
 
 I AM to write three lines, and you 
 Tliree others that will rhyme. 
 There — now I've done my task. 
 
 Brother. 
 
 Three stupid lines as e'er I knew. 
 When you've the pen next time. 
 Some question of me ask. 
 
 Sister. 
 
 Then teU me, brother, and pray mind. 
 Brother, you teU me true : 
 What sort of thing is fancy ? 
 
 Brother. 
 
 By all that I can ever find, 
 'Tis something that is very new. 
 And what no dunces can see. 
 
 " Then bring me all your books again. 
 Nay, Mary, why do you complain ? 
 For as you do not choose to read. 
 You shall not have your books, indeed. 
 
 " So as you wish to be a dunce. 
 Pray go and fetch me them at once ; 
 For if you will not learn to spell, 
 'Tis vain to think of reading well. 
 
 " Now, don't you think you'll blush to 
 
 own, 
 When you become a woman grown, 
 Without one good excuse to plead. 
 That you have never learn'd to read ? " 
 
 " 0, dear mamma," said Mary, then, 
 " Do let me have my books again ; 
 I'll not fret any more, indeed, 
 If you will let me learn to read." 
 
 Jane Taylor, 
 6 
 
82 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE NEW BOOK. 
 
 A NEAT little book, full of pictures, was 
 
 bought 
 For a good little girl that was glad to 
 
 be taught. 
 Si'.e read all the tales, and then said 
 
 to her mother, 
 III lend this new book to my dear little 
 
 brother. 
 
 He shall look at the pictures and find 
 
 O and I, 
 I'm sure he won't tear it, he's such a 
 
 good boy ! 
 Oh, no ! brother Henry knows better 
 
 indeed. 
 Although he's too young, yet, to spell 
 
 or to read. 
 
 Airs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 HOW TO WRITE A LETTEB. 
 Maria intended a letter to write. 
 But could not begin (as she thought) 
 
 to indite ; 
 So went to her mother with pencil and 
 
 slate. 
 Containing " Dear Sister," and also a 
 
 date. 
 
 " With nothing to say, my dear girl, 
 do not think 
 
 Of wasting your time over paper and 
 ink ; 
 
 But certainly this is an excellent way, 
 
 To try with your slate to find some- 
 thing to say. 
 
 " I will give you a rule," said her 
 Mother ; "' my dear, 
 
 Just think for a moment your sister 
 is here. 
 
 And what would you tell her ? con- 
 sider, and then. 
 
 Though silent your tongue, you can 
 speak with your Pen." 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Turner. 
 
 THE CHILD IN THE STORY 
 GOES TO BED. 
 
 I PRYTHEE, Nurse, come smooth my 
 hair • 
 And prythee, Nmse, unloose my 
 shoe. 
 
 And trimly turn my silken sheet 
 Upon my quilt of gentle blue. 
 
 My pillow sweet of lavender 
 Smooth with an amiable hand. 
 
 And may the dark pass peacefull}' by 
 As in the i our-glass droops the sand. 
 
 Prepare my cornered manchet sweet, 
 And in my little crystal cup 
 
 Pour out the blithe and flowing mead 
 That forthwith I may sup. 
 
 Withdraw my curtains from the night. 
 And let the crisped crescent shine 
 
 Upon my eyelids while I sleep, 
 And soothe me with her beams 
 benign. 
 
 From far-away there streams the singing 
 Of the mellifluent nightingale — 
 
 Surely if goblins hear her lay. 
 
 They shall not o'er my peace prevail. 
 
 Now quench my silver lamp, prythee. 
 And bid the harpers harp that tune, 
 
 Fairies which haunt the meadow lands 
 Sing clearly to the stars of June. 
 
 And bid them play, though I in dreams 
 No longer heed their pining strains. 
 For I would not to silence wake. 
 When slumber o'er my senses wanes. 
 
 You Angels bright who me defend, 
 Enshadow me with curved wing. 
 
 And keep me in the darksome night 
 TiU dawn another day do bring. 
 
 Walter Bamal. 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY'S GOOD- 
 NIGHT. 
 
 The sun is hidden f^om our sight, 
 
 The birds are sleeping sound ; , 
 
 'Tis time to say to all, " Good-night ! " m 
 
 And give a kiss all round. " 
 
 Good-night ! my father, mother dear, 
 
 Now kiss yoiu" little son ; 
 Good-night ! my friends, both far and 
 near. 
 
 Good-night to every one. 
 
Rhymes for Little Ones. 83 
 
 Good-night I ye merry, merry birds, qqING TO BED AT NIGHT. 
 
 Sleep well till mornmg light ; 
 
 Perhaps if you could sing in words. Receive ray body, pretty lu'd ; 
 
 You would have said " Good-night ! " Soft pillow, O receive my hcarl. 
 
 And thanks, my parents kind, 
 
 „ „ Lj. a „j ,• u* I These comforts who for me provide ; 
 
 To aU my pretty flowers good-n.ght 1 . ^ ^^.,j ^,^^jj ^^ ^ ^.^ ' 
 
 You blossom while I sl^ep ; Your love I'll keep in mind 
 
 And all the stars that shine so bright, ^ 
 
 With you their watches keep. ^^^ ^^^^ misspent this day I rue, 
 
 My good things done, how very few ! 
 The moon is lighting up the skies, Forgive my faults, Lord ; 
 
 The stars are sparkling there ; This night, if in thy grace I rest, 
 
 'Tis time to shut our weary eyes. To-morrow I may rise refre.sh'd. 
 
 And say our evening prayer. To keep Thy holy Word 
 
 £liza Lee Follen. Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
CRADLE SONGS. 
 
 Bye, baby bunting, 
 Daddy's gone a hunting 
 To get a little rabbit-slcin 
 To wrap a baby bunting in. 
 
 Dance my baby diddy. 
 
 What sbaU thy mother do with tliee ? 
 
 But sit in her lap 
 
 And give it some pap. 
 And dance a baby diddy. 
 
 Smile, my baby bonny, 
 
 What shall time bring on thee ? 
 
 Sorrow and care, 
 
 Frowns and grey hair. 
 So smile my baby bonny. 
 
 Laugh, my baby beauty, 
 What will time do to thee ? 
 
 Fixrrow your cheek. 
 
 Wrinkle your neck. 
 So laugh, my baby beauty. 
 
 Dance, my baby deary. 
 
 Thy mother will never be weary, 
 
 Frohc and play 
 
 Now while you may. 
 And dance, my baby deary. 
 
 HusH-A-BYE baby, on the tree top. 
 When the wind blows, the cradle will 
 
 rock ; 
 When the bough bends, the cradle will 
 
 faU, 
 Down will come baby, bough, cradle 
 
 and all 
 
 Johnny shall have a new bonnet. 
 
 And Johnny shall go to the fair, 
 And Johnny shall have a blue ribbon 
 
 To tie up his bonny brown hair, 
 And why may I not love Johnny ? 
 
 And why may not Johnny love me ? 
 And why may I not love Johnny, 
 
 As well as another body ? 
 And here's a leg for a stocking, 
 
 And here's a leg for a shoe. 
 And he has a kiss for his daddy. 
 
 And two for his mammy, I trow. 
 And why may I not love Johnny ? 
 
 And why may not Johnny love me ? 
 And why may I not love Johnny, 
 
 As well as another body ? 
 
 SWEET AND LOW. 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low. 
 
 Wind of the western sea, 
 Low, low, breathe and blow. 
 
 Wind of the western sea I 
 Over the rolling waters go. 
 Come from the dropping moon and 
 blow, 
 
 Blow him again to me ; 
 While my Uttle one, while my pretty 
 one sleeps. 
 
 Sleep and rest, sleep and rest. 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 
 Rest, rest, on mother's breast. 
 Father will come to thee soon ; 
 
 Father will come to his babe in the 
 nest. 
 
 Silver sails all out of the west 
 Under the silver moon : 
 
 Sleep, my httle one, sleep, my pretty 
 one. sleep. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
Cradle Songs 
 
 85 
 
 SLEEP, SLEEP, BEAUTY 
 BRIGHT. 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright. 
 Dreaming ia the joy3 of night ; 
 Sleep, sleep ; in thy sleep 
 Little sorrows sit and weep. 
 
 Sweet babe, in thy face 
 Soft desires I can trace, 
 Secret joys and secret smiles. 
 Little pretty infant wiles. 
 
 As thy softest limbs I feel, 
 Smiles as of the morning steal 
 O'er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast 
 Where thy little heart doth rest. 
 
 Oh the cunning wiles that creep 
 In thy little heart asleep ! 
 When thy little heart doth wake 
 Then the dreadful hght shall break. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 SWEET DREAMS FORM A 
 SHADE. 
 
 PwEET dreams, form a shade 
 O'er my lovely infant's head ; 
 Sweet dreams of pleasant streams 
 By happy, silent, moony beams. 
 
 Sweet sleep, with soft down 
 Weave thy brows an infant crown. 
 Sweet sleep, angel mild, 
 Hover o'er my happy child. 
 
 Sweet smiles in the night 
 Hover o'er my delight ; 
 Sweet smiles, mother's smiles. 
 All the live-long night beguiles. 
 
 Sweet moans, dove-like sighs. 
 Chase not slumbers from thy eyes. 
 Sweet moans, sweeter smiles. 
 All the dove-Uke moans beguiles. 
 
 Sleep, sleep, happy child. 
 All creation slept and smiled ; 
 Sleep, sleep, happy sleep. 
 While o'er thee thy mother weep. 
 
 Sweet babe, in tiiy face 
 Holy image I can trace. 
 Sweet babe, once like thee. 
 Thy Maker lay and wept for me. 
 
 Wept for me, for thee, for all. 
 When he was an infant small ; 
 Thou his image ever sec. 
 Heavenly face that smiles on thee. 
 
 Smiles on thee, on me, on all ; 
 Who became an infant small ; 
 Infant smiles are his own smiles ; 
 Heaven and earth to peace beguiles. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 liTJLIiABY, O liTJIiliABY. 
 
 Lullaby ! O lullaby ! 
 Baby, hush that httle cry ! 
 
 Light is dying. 
 
 Bats are flying. 
 Bees to-day with work have done ; 
 So, till comes the morrow's sun. 
 Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry ! 
 
 Lullaby ! O luUaby. 
 
 Lullaby ! O lullaby ! 
 
 Hush'd are all things far and nigh ; 
 
 Flowers are closing. 
 
 Birds reposing. 
 All sweet things with life are done. 
 Sweet, till dawns the morning sun, 
 Sleep then kiss those blue eyes dry 
 
 LuUaby I luUaby ! 
 
 IF. C. Bennett. 
 
 THE MOTHER TO HER 
 
 INFANT. 
 
 Slumber my darling, no danger is near. 
 Thy mother sits by thee to guard 
 
 thy repose ; 
 Though the wind roars aloud, not a 
 
 breath reaches here. 
 To shake the white curtains which 
 
 round thee do close : 
 Then slumber, my darling, and sleep 
 
 without fear. 
 Thou art safe from all danger, my 
 
 dearest, while here. 
 
86 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 What is it the angels do unto thee say^ 
 When thou dost he smihng so sweet 
 
 in thy sleep ? 
 Are they trying, my sweetest, to lure 
 
 thee a\Aay, 
 And leave me alone in my sorrow 
 
 to weep ? 
 Oh ! sometimes I fancy they whisper 
 
 thy name, 
 And would fain bear thee back to the 
 
 land whence they came. 
 
 Then never, my darling, when thou 
 growest old, 
 Forget her who on thy sweet infancy 
 smiled, 
 To whom thou wert dearer than jewels 
 and gold, 
 Who studied thy looks and thy 
 wishes, my child. 
 Who, Mhen thou didst need her, was 
 
 never away. 
 In health or in sickness, by night or 
 by day. 
 
 Tlwmas MiUer. 
 
 MY DEAEEST BABY, GO TO 
 
 SLEEP. 
 
 My dearest baby, go to sleep, 
 
 For now the bright round moon doth 
 
 peep 
 On thy little snow-white bed. 
 And upon thy pretty head. 
 
 The silver stars are shining bright, 
 And bid my baby dear good-niglit ; 
 And every bird has gone to rest 
 Long since in its little nest. 
 
 The lambs no longer run and leap. 
 
 But by the dasies lie asleep ; 
 
 The flowers have closed their pretty 
 
 eyes 
 Until the sun again shall rise. 
 
 AU things are wrapp'd in sweet repose, 
 The dew falls noiseless on the rose ; 
 So thou must like an angel lie 
 Till golden morning streaks the sky. 
 
 Soon will I gently steal to bed. 
 And rest beside thy pretty head. 
 And all night keep thee snug and 
 
 warm, 
 Nestling fondly on my arm. 
 
 Then, dearest baby, go to sleep. 
 While the moon doth on thee peep, 
 Shining on thy little bed, 
 And around thy pretty head. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 A CEADLE SONG. 
 
 Hush ! ray dear, lie still and slumber ; 
 
 Holy angels guard thy bed ! 
 Heavenl}' blessings without number 
 
 Gently falling on thy head. 
 
 Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment, 
 House and home, thy friends provide ; 
 
 All without thy care or payment 
 All thy wants are well supplied. 
 
 How much better thou'rt attended 
 Than the Son of God could be. 
 
 When from Heaven He descended. 
 And became a child like thee I 
 
 Soft and easy is thy cradle : 
 
 Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : 
 
 When His birth-place was a stable. 
 And His softest bed was hay. 
 
 See the kindly sheplierds round Him, 
 Telling wonders from the sky ! 
 
 Where they sought Him, there they 
 found Him, 
 With His Virgin-Mother by. 
 
 See the lovely Babe a-dressing : 
 Lovely Infant, how He smiled ! 
 
 When He wept, the mother's blessing 
 Soothed and hush'd the Holy Child. 
 
 Lo, He slumbers in His manger. 
 Where the horned oxen fed ; — 
 
 Peace, my darling ! here's no danger I 
 Here's no ox a-near thy bed ! — 
 
 May'st thou live to know and fear 
 Him, 
 
 Trust and love Him aU thy days : 
 Then go dwell for ever near Him ; 
 
 See His face, and sing His praise. 
 
 I could give thee thousand kisses. 
 Hoping what I most desire : 
 
 Not a mother's fondest wishes 
 Can to greater joys aspire. 
 
 Isaac Waita. 
 
Cradle Songs. 
 
 87 
 
 SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! what ails my dear. 
 What ails my darling thus to cry ? 
 
 Be still, my child, and lend thine ear. 
 To hear me sing thy lullaby. 
 
 My pretty lamb, forbear to weep ; 
 
 Be still, my dear ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep, and nothing fear ; 
 
 For whosoever thee offends 
 By thy protector threatened are, 
 
 And God and angels are thj' friends. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 George Wither. 
 
 liXTLLABY OF AN INFANT 
 CHIEF. 
 
 Oh, hush thee, my baby ! thy sire 
 
 was a knight, 
 Thy mother a lady, both lovelj^ and 
 
 bright ; 
 The woods and the glen", from the 
 
 towers which we see. 
 They all are belonging, dear baby, 
 
 to thee. 
 
 Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudlv 
 
 it blows ! 
 It calls but the warders that guard 
 
 thy repose ; 
 
 Their bows would be bended, their 
 
 blades would be red. 
 Ere the step of a foeman draws near 
 
 to thy bed. 
 
 Oh, hush thee, my baby ! the time 
 
 will soon come 
 When thy sleep shall be broken by 
 
 trumpet and drum ; 
 Then hush thee, my darling ! take 
 
 rest while you may ; 
 For strife comes with manhood, and 
 
 waking with day. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 
 Baby, baby, lay your head 
 On your pretty cradle bed ; 
 Shut your eye-peeps, now the day 
 And the light are gone away ; 
 All the clothes are tuck'd in tight ; 
 Little baby, dear, good night. 
 
 Yes, my darling, well I know 
 How the bitter wind doth blow ; 
 And the winter's snow and rain 
 Patter on the window-pane ; 
 But they cannot come in here. 
 To my little baby dear. 
 
 For the window shutteth fast, 
 Till the stormy night is past. 
 And the curtains warm are spread 
 Roundabout her cradle bed ; 
 So till morning shineth bright. 
 Little baby, dear, good night. 
 
 Jaiie J'aylor. 
 
NURSERY RHYMES. 
 
 One, two, 
 Buckle my shoe ; 
 Three, four. 
 Shut the door ; 
 Five, six. 
 Pick up sticks ; 
 Seven, eight, 
 Lay them straight ; 
 Nine, ten, 
 A good fat hen ; 
 Eleven, twelve. 
 Who will delve ? 
 Thirteen, fourteen. 
 Maids a courting ; 
 Fifteen, sixteen. 
 Maids a kissing ; 
 Seventeen, eighteen. 
 Maids a waiting ; 
 Nineteen, twenty. 
 My stomach's empty. 
 
 A WAS an apple-pie: 
 
 B bit it; 
 
 C cut it ; 
 
 D dealt it ; 
 
 E ate it ; 
 
 F fought for it ; 
 
 G got it ; 
 
 H had it ; 
 
 J joined it ; 
 
 K kept it ; 
 
 L longed for it ; 
 
 M mourned for it ; 
 
 N nodded at it; 
 
 O opened it ; 
 
 P peeped in it ; 
 
 Q quartered it ; 
 
 R ran for it ; 
 
 S stole it ; 
 
 T took it 
 
 V viewed it ; 
 
 W wanted it ; 
 
 X, Y, Z, and amperse — and 
 
 All wish'd for a piece in hand. 
 
 TOM THUMB'S AI.PHABET. 
 
 A WAS an archer, who shot at a frog ; 
 
 B was a butcher, he had a great dog ; 
 
 C was a captain, all covered with lace ; 
 
 D was a drunkard, and had a red face ; 
 
 E was an esquire, with pride on his 
 brow ; 
 
 F was a farmer, and followed the 
 plough ; 
 
 G was a gamester, who had but ill 
 luck ; 
 
 I was an innkeeper, who loved to bouse : 
 
 J was a joiner, and built up a house ; 
 
 K is King Edward, who governs Eng- 
 land ; 
 
 L was a lady, who had a white hand 
 
 M was a miser, and hoarded up gold 
 
 N was a nobleman, gallant and bold 
 
 O was an oyster girl, and went about 
 to^Ti ; 
 
 P was a parson, and wore a black gown ; 
 
 Q was a queen, who wore a silk sli]) ; 
 
 R was a robber, who wanted a whip ; 
 
 S was a sailor, and spent all he got ; 
 
 T was a tinker, and mended a pot ; 
 
 U was an usurer, a miserable elf ; 
 
 V was a vintner, who drank all him- 
 self ; 
 
 W was a watchman, and guarded the 
 door ; 
 
 X was expensive, and so became poor ; 
 
 y was a youth, that did not love 
 school ; 
 
 Z was a zany, a poor harmless fool. 
 
 One old Oxford ox opening oysters ; 
 Two tee-totums totally tired of trying 
 
 to trot to Tad bury ; 
 Three tall tigers tippling tenpcnny tea ; 
 Four fat friars fanning fainting Heas ; 
 Five frippy Frenchmen foolishly lishing 
 
 for iliea ; 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 89 
 
 Six sportsmen shooting snipes ; 
 
 Seven Severn salmons swallowing 
 shrimps ; 
 
 Eight Englishmen eagerly examining 
 Europe ; 
 
 Nine nimble noblemen nibbling non- 
 pareils ; 
 
 Ten tinkers tinkling upon ten tin 
 tinder-boxes with ten tenpenny 
 tacks ; 
 
 Eleven elephants eFegantly equipt ; 
 
 Twelve topographical topographers 
 typically translating types. 
 
 BIRTHDAYS. 
 
 MoNnAY's child is fair of face, 
 Tuesday's child is full of grace, 
 Wednesday's child is full of woe, 
 Thursday's child has far to go, 
 Friday's child is loving and giving, 
 Saturday's child works hard for its 
 
 living. 
 And a child that's born on the Sabbath 
 
 day 
 Is fair and wise and good and gay. 
 
 Thirty days hath September, 
 April, June, and November ; 
 February has twenty-eight alone. 
 All the rest have thirty-one. 
 Excepting Icap-j'car, that's the time 
 When February's days are twenty-nine. 
 
 Mi M-T I PLICATION is vexation, 
 
 Division is as bad ; 
 The Rule of Three perplexes me 
 
 And Practice drives me mad. 
 
 There was a monkey cUmb'd up a tree, 
 When he fell down, then do^vn fell he. 
 
 There was a crow sat on a stone. 
 When he was gone, then there was none. 
 
 There was an old wife did cat an apple. 
 When she had eat two, she had eat a 
 couple. 
 
 There was a horse going to a mill, 
 When he went on, he stood not still. 
 
 There was a butcher cut his thumb. 
 When It did bleed, then blood did come. 
 
 There was a jockey ran a race. 
 When he ran fast, he ran apace. 
 
 There was a cobbler clouting shoon. 
 When they were mended, they were 
 done. 
 
 There was a navy went into Spain, 
 When it return'd, it came again. 
 
 Sing a song of sixpence, 
 
 A pocket full of rye ; 
 Four and twenty blackbirds 
 
 Baked in a pie ; 
 
 When the pie was opened 
 
 The birds began to sing ; 
 Was not that a dainty dish 
 
 To set before the king ? 
 
 The king was in his counting-house 
 
 Counting out his money ; 
 The queen was in the parlour 
 
 Eating bread and honey ; 
 
 The maid was in the garden 
 
 Hanging out the clothes. 
 There came a little blackbird 
 
 And snapt oS her nose. 
 
 When good King Arthur ruled this land. 
 
 He was a goodly king ; 
 He stole three peclvs of barley meal. 
 
 To make a bag-pudding. 
 
 A bag-pudding the King did make. 
 And stuif'd it well witli plums ; 
 
 And in it put great lumps of fat. 
 As big as my two thumbs. 
 
 ^ 
 
90 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The king and queen did eat thereof, 
 
 And noblemen beside ; 
 And what they could not eat that night, 
 
 The queen next morning fried. 
 
 Poor old Robinson Crusoe ! 
 Poor old Robinson Crusoe ! 
 They made him a coat 
 Of an old nanny goat, 
 I wonder how they could do so ! 
 With a ring a ting tang, 
 And a ring a ting tang, 
 Poor old Robinson Crusoe i 
 
 A bowful of nuts we sat down to crack, 
 Sat down to crack, sat down to crack ; 
 A bowful of nuts we sat down to crack 
 Around about merry ma TaiLsy. 
 
 What will you give us to tell his name. 
 To tell his name, to tell his name, 
 What will you give us to tell his name 
 Around about merry ma Tansy. 
 
 The last time is the catching time, 
 The catching time, the catching time, 
 The last time is the catching time. 
 Around about merry ma Tansy. 
 
 Doctor Faustus was a good man. 
 He whipt his scholars now and then ; 
 When he whip'd them he made them 
 
 dance 
 Out of Scotland into France, 
 Out of France into Spain, 
 And then he whipp'd them back again ! 
 
 Old King Cole 
 
 Was a merry old soul. 
 
 And a merry old soul was he ; 
 
 He called for his pipe. 
 
 And he called for his bowl. 
 
 And he called for his fiddlers three. 
 
 Every fiddler, he had a fiddle. 
 
 And a very fine fiddle had he ; 
 
 Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, 
 
 Went the fiddlers. 
 
 Oh, there's none so rare. 
 
 As can compare 
 
 With King Cole and his fiddlers three ! 
 
 JENNY WREN'S COURTSHIP. 
 
 'TwAS once upon a time 
 
 When Jenny Wren was young. 
 So dantily she danced. 
 
 And so prettily she sung ; 
 Robin Redbreast lost his heart. 
 
 For he was a gallant bird ; 
 So he doffed his hat to Jenny Wren, 
 
 Requesting to be heard. 
 
 O dearest Jenny Wren, 
 
 If you wiU but be mine. 
 You shall feed on cherry-pie, you shall. 
 
 And drink new currant wine ; 
 I'll dress you like a goldfinch. 
 
 Or any peacock gay ; 
 So, dearest Jen, if you'll be mine, 
 
 Let U3 appoint the day. 
 
 Jenny blushed behind her fan. 
 
 And thus declared her mind 
 Since, dearest Bob, I love you well, 
 
 I'U take your offer kind ; 
 Cherry-pie is very nice, 
 
 And so is currant wine ; 
 But I must wear my plain brown gown. 
 
 And never go too fiiie. 
 
 JIN»ER RING-. 
 
 Here we go round a jinger ring, 
 A jinger ring, a jinger ring ; 
 Here we go round a jinger ring. 
 Around about merry ma Tansy. 
 
 Robin Redbreast rose up early 
 
 AU at the break of day. 
 And he flew to Jenny Wren's house, 
 
 And sung a roundelay ; 
 He sang of Robin Redbreast, 
 
 And little Jenny Wren, 
 And when he came to the end 
 
 He then began again. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 91 
 
 » 
 
 JENNY WBEN. 
 
 Jenny Whkn fell sick 
 
 Upon a merry time; 
 In came Robin Redbreast, 
 
 And brought her sops and wine. 
 
 Eat well of the sop, Jenny, 
 Drink well of the wine ; 
 
 Thank you, Robin, kindly. 
 You shall be mine. 
 
 Jenny, she got well. 
 
 And stood upon her feet. 
 
 And told Robin plainly. 
 She lov'd him not a bit. 
 
 Robin being angry, 
 
 Hopped upon a twig, 
 Saying, Out upon you, Jenny ! 
 
 Fy upon you, bold faced jig ! 
 
 A SONG SET TO FIVE 
 FINGERS 
 
 1. This little pig went to market. 
 2 This little pig stayed at home. 
 
 3. Tliis little pig got roast beef. 
 
 4. This little pig got none. 
 
 5. This little pig cried wee, wee, all the 
 way home. 
 
 And when lie ran, as I am told. 
 Ho ne'er stood still for young or old. 
 Tho' ne'er instructed by a cat. 
 He knew a mouse was not a rat : 
 One day, as I am certified. 
 He took a whim and fairly died ; 
 And, as I'm told, by men of sense, 
 He never has been walking since. 
 
 Sing, sing, what shall I sing ? 
 The cat has oaten the pudding-string 
 I)o, do, what shall I do ? 
 The cat has bitten it quite in two 
 
 A CAT came fiddling out of a barn, • 
 
 With a pair of bagpipes under her arm ; 
 
 She coidd sing nothing but fiddle cum 
 fee. 
 
 The mouse has married the bumble- 
 bee. 
 
 Pipe, cat — dance, mouse, 
 
 We'll have a wedding at our good 
 house. 
 
 There were two blackbirds, 
 
 Sitting on a hill. 
 The one named Jack, 
 
 The other named Jill ; 
 Fly away. Jack ! 
 Fly away, Jill ! 
 Come again. Jack 1 
 Come again, Jill I 
 
 There was a little Rabbit sprig, 
 Which being little was not big ; 
 He always walked upon his feet. 
 And never fasted when he eat. 
 When from a place he ran away. 
 He never at that place did stay ; 
 
 A Fro(! he would a wooing go 
 
 Sing hcigho says Roidey, 
 Whether his mother would let him or no, 
 With a rmdcy foivlcy gammon 
 
 and spinach, 
 Heiglio says Anthony Rowley. 
 
 So off he marched with his opera hat, 
 
 Hcigho says Roivley, 
 And on the way he met with a rat, 
 
 With a rowley powlcy, etc. 
 
 And when they came to the mouse's hall, 
 
 Heigho says Rowley, 
 They gave a loud knock, and they 
 gave a loud call 
 
 With a rowley powley, etc. 
 
 Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you witliin ? 
 
 Jleigho mys Roidey, 
 Yes, kind sir, I am sitting to spin, 
 
 With a rowley powley, etc 
 
92 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Pray, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us 
 some beer, 
 
 Heigho says Rowley, 
 For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer. 
 With a rowley poivley, etc. 
 
 Now while they were all a merry- 
 making, 
 
 Heiglvo says Rowley, 
 The cat and her kittens came tumbling 
 in. 
 
 With a rowley fowley, etc. 
 
 The cat she seized the rat by the crown, 
 
 HeigJio says Rowley, 
 The kittens they pulled the little mouse 
 down. 
 
 With a rowley powley, etc. 
 
 This put poor Frog in a terrible fright, 
 
 Heiglu) says Rouiey, 
 So he took up his hat, and he wished 
 them good night. 
 
 With a rowley powley, etc. 
 
 But as Froggy was crossing over a brook, 
 
 Heigho says Rowley, 
 A lily-white duck came and gobbled 
 him up. 
 
 With a rowley powley, etc. 
 
 So there was an end of one, two and 
 three, 
 
 Heiglio says Rowley, 
 The rat, the mouse, and the little 
 Froggie ! 
 
 With a rowley powley gammon 
 
 and spinach, 
 Heigho says Anthony Rowley. 
 
 A CARRION crow sat on an oak, 
 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. 
 
 Watching a tailor shape his cloak ; 
 Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. 
 
 Wife bring me my old bent bow, 
 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, 
 
 That I may shoot yon carrion crow ; 
 Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. 
 
 The tailor he shot and missed his mark, 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do ; 
 
 And shot his own sow quite through the 
 heart ; 
 Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. 
 
 Wife bring brandy in a spoon ; 
 
 Fol (le riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do, 
 
 For our old sow is in a swoon ; 
 Sing heigh ho, the carrion crow, 
 Fol de riddle, lol de riddle, hi ding do. 
 
 Ba, ba, black sheep. 
 
 Have you any wool f 
 Yes sir, no sir. 
 
 Three bags full. 
 One for my master. 
 
 And one for my dame, 
 But none for the little boy 
 
 Who cries in the lane. 
 
 A LITTLE cock-sparrow sat on a green 
 
 tree, 
 And he cherruped he cherruped so 
 
 merry was he ; 
 A naughty boy came with his wee 
 
 bow and arrow. 
 Determined to shoot this little cock- 
 sparrow. 
 This Uttle cock-sparrow shall make 
 
 me a stew. 
 And his giblets shall make me a little 
 
 pie, too ; 
 Oh, no ! said the sparrow, I won't 
 
 make a stew. 
 So he flapped his wings and away he 
 
 flew ! 
 
 Bat, bat, come under my hat. 
 And I'll give you a slice of bacon ; 
 
 And when I bake, 
 
 I'll give you a cake. 
 If I am not mistaken. 
 
 4 
 
 Cook a doodle doo ! 
 
 My dame has lost her shoe ; 
 
 ]My master's lost his fiddling stick. 
 
 And don't know what to do 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 93 
 
 Cock a doodle doo ! 
 
 What is my dame to do ? 
 
 Till master finds hia fiddling stick, 
 
 She'll dance without her shoe. 
 
 Cock a doodle doo ! 
 
 My dame has lost her shoo. 
 
 And master's found his fiddling stick 
 
 Sing doodle doodle doo ! 
 
 Cock a doodle doo ! 
 
 IVIy dame will dance with yon. 
 
 While master fiddles his liddling stick. 
 
 For dame and doodle doo. 
 
 There I met an old man 
 
 That would not say his prayers, 
 I took him by the left leg, 
 
 And threw him down stairs. 
 
 Hark, hark 
 
 The dogs do bark. 
 Beggars are coming to town ; 
 
 Some in jags 
 
 Some in rags 
 And some in velvet gowns. 
 
 The Cuckoo is a fine bird. 
 Ho sings as ho fiies, 
 
 He brings us good tidings, 
 He tells us no hes. 
 
 Ho suelvS little birds' eggs 
 To make his voice clear. 
 
 And when he sings " Cuckoo,' 
 The summer is near. 
 
 DiDDLEDY, diddledy, dumpty; 
 The cat ran up the plum-tree. 
 
 I lay you a crown 
 
 I'll fetch you down ; 
 So diddledy, diddledy, dumpty. 
 
 Hi! diddle diddle. 
 
 The cat and the fiddle. 
 The cow jumped over tho moon ; 
 
 The little dog laughed 
 
 To see such sport, 
 While tho dish ran after the spoon. 
 
 Higglepy, Piggleby, 
 
 My black hen. 
 She lays eggs 
 
 For gentlemen ; 
 Sometimes nine, 
 
 And sometimes ten, 
 Higglepy, Piggleby, 
 
 My black hen. 
 
 UiNG, dong, bell, 
 
 Pussy's in the well I 
 
 Who put her in ? 
 
 Little Tommy Lin. 
 
 Who pulled her out ? 
 
 Dog with long snout. 
 
 What a naughty boy was that 
 
 To drown poor pussy-cat, 
 
 Who never did any harm, 
 
 But kill'd the mice in his master's barn. 
 
 I HAD a little pony, 
 
 His name was dapjilo gray, 
 I sent him to a lady. 
 
 To ride a mile away. 
 
 She whipped him, she slashed him, 
 She rode hiin through the mire ; 
 
 I would not lend my pony now 
 For the lady's hire. 
 
 Goosey, goosey gander. 
 Whither shall I wander ? 
 
 Up stairs, down stairs. 
 
 And in my lady's chamber : 
 
 Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away home. 
 Thy house is on fire, thy children all 
 
 gone. 
 All but one that lies under a stone. 
 Fly thee home, lady-bird, ere it is 
 
 gon-. 
 
94 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 POOR COCK ROBIN. 
 
 Who killed Cock Robin ? 
 I said the Sparrow, 
 With my bow and arrow, 
 
 I kiDed Cock Robin. 
 
 Who saw him die ? 
 
 I, said the Magpie, 
 
 With my httle eye, 
 I saw him die. 
 
 Who caught his blood ? 
 
 I, said the Fish, 
 
 With my httle dish, 
 I caught his blood. 
 
 Who made his shioud ? 
 
 I, said the Eagle, 
 
 With my thread and needle, 
 I made his shroud. 
 
 Who'll dig his grave ? 
 The Owl, with aid 
 Of mattock and spade 
 
 Will dig Robin's grave. 
 
 Who'll be the parson ? 
 
 I, said the Rook, 
 
 With my little book, 
 I'll be the parson. 
 
 Who'll be the clerk ? 
 
 I, said the Lark, 
 
 If not in the dark, 
 I'll be the clerk. 
 
 Who'll carry him to the grave ? 
 
 I, said the Kite, 
 
 If not in the night, 
 I'll carry him to his grave. 
 
 Who'll be chief mourner ? 
 
 I, said the Swan, 
 
 I'm sorry he's gone, 
 I'll be chief mourner. 
 
 Who'll lead the way ? 
 I, said the Martin, 
 When ready for starting 
 
 And I'll lead the way. 
 
 All the birds in the air 
 Began sighing and sobbing. 
 
 When they heard the bell toll 
 For poor Cock Robin. 
 
 To all it concerns. 
 This notice apprises. 
 
 The sparrow's for trial 
 At next bird assizes. 
 
 Why is Pussy in bed ? 
 She is sick, says the fly. 
 And I fear she will die ; 
 
 And that's why she's in bed. 
 
 Pray what's her disorder ? 
 A lock'd-jaw is come on. 
 Said the fine downy swan ; 
 
 And that's her disorder. 
 
 Who makes her nice gruel ? 
 That she might not get worse. 
 Dog Tray is her nurse, 
 
 And makes her nice gruel. 
 
 Pray who is her doctor ? 
 
 I, said famed Mister Punch, 
 At my back a great hunch ; 
 
 But I am her doctor. 
 
 Who think's she'll recover ? 
 I do, sir, said the Deer, 
 And I thought so last year ; 
 
 I think she'll recover. 
 
 And when Puss is quite well. 
 All shall have noble fare ; 
 Beasts, and fowls of the air. 
 
 And we'll ring the great bell. 
 
 Who'll bear his pall ? 
 We, said the Wren, 
 Both the cock and the hen, 
 
 We'll bear the pall. 
 
 Who'll toll the hoM ? 
 
 I, said the Bull, 
 
 Because I can pull. 
 And I'll pull the bull. 
 
 Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you 
 
 been ? 
 I've been to London to look at the 
 
 queen. 
 Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you 
 
 there ? 
 I frighten'd a little mouse under the 
 
 chair. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 95 
 
 Sneel, snaul. 
 Robbers are coming to pull down your 
 wall ; 
 
 Sneel, snaul. 
 
 Put out your horn. 
 Robbers are coining to steal your corn, 
 Coming at four o'clock in the mom. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! " said the Farmer, " I think 
 
 you're quite dead. 
 And no more you'll trouble the town, 
 
 e'oh ! " 
 
 The Fox jumped up on a moonlight 
 
 night. 
 The stars were shining and all things 
 
 bright ; 
 " Oh, oh ! " said the Fox, " its a very 
 
 fine night 
 For me to go through the town, 
 
 e'oh ! " 
 
 The Fox when ho came to yonder stile. 
 He hfted his ears and he listened a 
 
 while ; 
 " Oh, oh ! " said the Fox, " it is but 
 
 a short mile 
 From this to yonder town, e'oh ! " 
 
 The Fox, when he came to the J^'armer's 
 
 gate. 
 Who should he see but the Farmer's 
 
 Drake, 
 " I love you well for your master's 
 
 sake. 
 And I long to be picking your bones 
 
 e'oh ! " 
 
 The grey Goose, she ran round the hay- 
 stack, 
 
 " Oh, oh ! " said the Fox, you are very 
 fat, ^ 
 
 And you'll do very well to ride on 
 my back 
 
 From this to yonder town, e'oh ! " 
 
 The Farmer's wife she jumped out 
 
 of bed. 
 And out of the window she popped 
 
 her head, 
 " Oh husband ! oh husband ! the Oeese 
 
 are all dead. 
 For the Fox has been through the town, 
 
 e'oh ! " 
 
 The Farmer he loaded his pistol with 
 
 lead. 
 And shot the old rogue of a Fox through 
 
 the head, 
 
 The Hart he loves the high wood. 
 The Hare she loves the hill, 
 
 The Knight he loves his bright sword, 
 The Lady loves her will. 
 
 The Lion and the Unicorn 
 
 Were fighting for the crown ; 
 The Lion beat the Unicorn 
 
 All round about the town. 
 Some gave them white bread. 
 
 And some gave them brown ; 
 Some gave them plum-cake. 
 
 And sent them out of town. 
 
 There was a frog lived in a well, 
 
 Kitty alone, Kitty alone ; 
 There was a frog lived in a well 
 
 Kitty alone, and I ! 
 
 There was a frog lived in a well, 
 And a gay mouse in a mill. 
 
 Cock me cary, Kitty alone, 
 Kitty alone and I 
 
 This frog he would a wooing ride, 
 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 This frog he would a wooing ride 
 And on a snail he got astride. 
 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 He rode till he came to my Lady 
 Mouse hall, 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 He rode till he came to my Laiiy 
 
 Mouse hall. 
 And here he did both knock and call. 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 Quoth he. Miss Mouse, I'm come to 
 thee, 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 Quoth he, Miss Mouse, I'm come to 
 
 thee. 
 To see if thou canst fancy me, 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
96 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Quoth she, answer, I'll give you none, 
 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 Quoth she, answer, I'll give you none. 
 Until my Uncle Rat come home. 
 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 And when her Uncle Rat came home, 
 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 And when her Uncle Rat came home. 
 Who's been here since I've been gone ? 
 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 Sir, there's been a worthy gentleman, 
 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 Sir, there's been a worthy gentleman, 
 That's been here since you've been gone. 
 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 The frog he came whistling through 
 the brook, 
 Kitty alone, etc. 
 The frog he came whistling through 
 
 the brook, 
 And there he met with a dainty duck. 
 Cock me cary, etc. 
 
 This duck she swallowed him up with 
 a pluck, 
 Kitty alone, Kitty alone ; 
 This duck she swallowed him up with 
 
 a pluck. 
 So there's an end of my history. 
 Cock me cary, Kitty alone, 
 Kitty alone, and I. 
 
 Here we go up, up, up, 
 
 And here we go down, down, downy ; 
 And here we go backwards and forwards 
 
 And here we go round, round, roundy. 
 
 FiDDLE-DE-DEB, fiddle-dc-dee, 
 
 The fly has married the humble-bee ; 
 
 They went to church, and married was 
 
 she 
 The fly has married the humble-bee. 
 
 Pussycat Mole 
 Jumped over a coal. 
 And in her best petticoat burnt a great 
 
 hole. 
 Poor Pussy's weeping, she'll have no 
 
 more milk. 
 Until her best petticoat's mended with 
 Bilk. 
 
 1 
 
 YoTTNG lambs to sell ! 
 
 Young lambs to sell ! 
 If I'd as much money as I could tell. 
 I never would cry — Young lambs to 
 seUl 
 
 Four and twenty tailors went to kill 
 
 a snail. 
 The best man among them durst not 
 
 touch her tail ; 
 She put out her horns like a little 
 
 Kyloe cow. 
 Run, tailors, run, or she'll kill you 
 
 all e'en now. 
 
 To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. 
 Home again, homo again, dancing 
 a jig; 
 
 To market, to market, to buy a fat hog, 
 Home again, home again, jiggety-jog. 
 
 Hey, my kitten, my kitten, 
 And hey, my kitten, my deary 
 
 Such a sweet pet as this 
 Was neither fat nor weary. 
 
 Please to remember 
 The fifth of November, 
 
 Gunpowder treason and plot ; 
 I know no reason 
 Why gunpowder treason 
 
 Should ever be forgot. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 97 
 
 Pease-pudt)ino hot, 
 
 Peasc-i)uclding coKl, 
 Pease-pudding in the pot. 
 
 Nine days old. 
 Some like it hot, 
 
 Soino like it cold, 
 Some like it in the pot. 
 
 Nine days old. 
 
 If all the world were apple pie, 
 
 And all the sea were ink, 
 And all the trees were bread and cheese. 
 
 What should we have to drink ? 
 
 I SAW a ship a-sailing 
 
 A-sailing on the sea ; 
 And, oh ! it was all laden 
 
 With pretty things for thee I 
 
 There were comfits in the cabin, 
 
 And apples in the hold ; 
 The sails were made of silk, 
 
 And the masts were made of gold. 
 
 The four-and-twenty sailors 
 That stood between the declcs. 
 
 Were four-and-twenty white mice. 
 With chains about their necks, 
 
 The captain was a duck. 
 With a packet on his back. 
 
 And when the ship began to move. 
 The captain said, " Quack, quack ! 
 
 I HAD a little nut tree, 
 
 Nothing would it bear. 
 But a silver nutmeg. 
 
 And a golden pear. 
 The King of Spain's daughter 
 
 Came to visit me. 
 And all was because of 
 
 iMy little nut tree. 
 I s!<i|)i)ed over water 
 
 I danced over sea, 
 And all the birds in the air 
 Could not catch me. 
 
 Hot-cross buns I 
 
 Hot-cross buns ! 
 
 One a penny, two a penny. 
 
 Hot-cross buns ! 
 
 Hot-cross buns ! 
 Hot-cross buns ! 
 If you have no daughters, 
 Give them to your sons. 
 
 Is John Smith within ? 
 Yes, that he is. 
 Can he set a shoe ? 
 Ay, marry, two, 
 Here a nail, there a nail 
 Tick, tack, too. 
 
 Mr. East gave a feast ; 
 Mr. North laid the cloth ; 
 Mr. West did his best ; 
 Mr. South burnt his mouth 
 With eating a cold potato. 
 
 Pat-a-oake, pat-a-cake, baker's man ! 
 So I will, master, as fast as I can : 
 Pat it and prick it and mark it with T, 
 Put in the oven for Tommy and me. 
 
 I'll tell you a story. 
 
 About Jack a Nory, — 
 And now my story's begun : 
 
 I'll tell you another 
 
 About Jack and his brother, — 
 And now mj' story's done. 
 
 As I walked by myself, 
 And talked to myself. 
 
 Myself said unto me, 
 Look to thyself. 
 Take care of thyself, 
 
 For nobody cares for thee. 
 
98 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 I answer'd myself, 
 And said to myself, 
 
 In the self-same repartee, 
 Look to thyself. 
 Or not look to thyself, 
 
 The self-same thing will be. 
 
 If I had as much money as I conld 
 
 spend, 
 I never would cry old chairs to mend ; 
 Old chairs to mend, old chairs to 
 
 mend ; 
 I never would cry old chairs to mend. 
 
 If I had as much money as I could tell, 
 I never would cry old clothes to sell ; 
 Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell ; 
 I never would cry old clothes to sell. 
 
 I spent a penny of it, I gave a penny of 
 it. 
 And I took nothing home to my wife. 
 
 Oh! my little nothing, pretty little 
 nothing. 
 
 What will nothing buy for my wife ; 
 I have nothing, I spend nothing, 
 
 I love nothing better than my wife. 
 
 There was an old woman who lived in a 
 
 shoe. 
 She had so many children she didn't 
 
 know what to do ; 
 She gave them some broth without any 
 
 bread. 
 She whipped them all round, and put 
 
 them to bed. 
 
 One misty, moiaty morning. 
 
 When cloudy was the weather, 
 There I met an old man 
 
 Clothed all in leather ; 
 Clothed all in leather. 
 
 With cap under his chin, — 
 How do you do, and how do you do. 
 
 And how do you do again ? 
 
 I LOVE sixpence, pretty little sixpence, 
 
 I love sixpence, better than my life ; 
 
 I spent a penny of it, I gave a penny 
 
 of it. 
 
 And I took fourpence home to my 
 
 wife. 
 
 Oh! my little fourpence, pretty little 
 fourpence, 
 I love fourpence better than my life ; 
 I spent a penny of it, I gave a penny 
 of it. 
 And I took twopence home to my 
 wife. 
 
 Oh ! my little twopence, pretty little 
 twopence, 
 I love twopence better than my 
 Ufo; 
 
 There was an old woman toss'd \ip in 
 
 a basket 
 
 Nineteen times as high as the moon; 
 
 Where she was 2oing I couldn't but ask 
 
 it, 
 
 For in her hand she carried a broom. 
 
 "Old woman, old woman, old woman," 
 quoth T, 
 " O whither, O whither, O whither, 
 so high ? " 
 "To brush the cobwebs off the sky! " 
 " Shall I go with thee ? " " Ay, by- 
 and-bv." 
 
 There was an old woman 
 Lived under a hill ; 
 
 And if she's not gone. 
 She lives there still. 
 
 There was an old woman, and what do 
 
 you think? 
 She lived upon nothing but victuals 
 
 and drink : 
 Victuals and drink were the chief of her 
 
 diet : 
 Tliis tiresome old woman could never 
 
 be quiet. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 99 
 
 She went to the baker to buy her some 
 bread, 
 
 And when she came home her old luis- 
 hand was dead ; 
 
 She went to tlie clerk to toll the bell. 
 
 And when she came back her old hus- 
 band was welL 
 
 Here's a poor widow from Babylon 
 With six poor children all alone : 
 One can bake and one can brew. 
 One can shape, and one can sew, 
 One can sit at the fire and spin 
 One can bake a cake for the king. 
 Come choose you east, come choose you 
 
 west 
 Come choose you the one that you love 
 
 the best. 
 
 There was a little man, 
 And he liad a little gun, 
 And his bullets were made of lead, lead, 
 lead ; 
 He wliot Johnny King 
 'i'liroMgli tlie middki of his wig, 
 And kuoiked it right off his head, head, 
 head. 
 
 Old Mother Hubbard 
 Went to the cupboard. 
 
 To get her poor dog a bone : 
 But when she came there 
 The cupboard was bare, 
 
 And so the poor dog had none. 
 
 She went to the baker's 
 To buy him some bread. 
 
 But Avhen she came back 
 The poor dog was dead. 
 
 She went to the joiner's 
 To buy him a coffin, 
 
 When she came back 
 The dog was laughing. 
 
 She took a clean dish 
 To get him some tripe, 
 
 But when she came back 
 He was smoking his pipe. 
 
 She went to the fishmonger's 
 
 To buy him some fisli, 
 And when slie came back 
 
 He was licking the dish. 
 
 She went to the ale-house 
 To get liim some beer, 
 
 But when she came back 
 The dog sat in a chair. 
 
 She went to the tavern 
 For white wine and red, 
 
 But when she came back 
 The dog stood on his iieod. 
 
 She went to the hatter's 
 
 To buy him a hat, 
 And when she came back 
 
 He was feeding the cat. 
 
 She went to the barber's 
 
 To buy him a wig. 
 But when she came l)ack 
 
 He was dancing a jig. 
 
 She went to the fruiterer's 
 To buy him some fruit, 
 
 But when she came l)aok 
 He was playing the flute. 
 
 She went to the tailor's 
 
 To buy him a coat. 
 But when she came back 
 
 He was riding a goat. 
 
 She went to the cobbler's 
 To buy him some shoes. 
 
 But when she came back 
 He was reading the news. 
 
 Slie went to the sempstress 
 To buy him some linen. 
 
 But Avhen she came hack 
 The dog was spinning. 
 
 She went to the hosier's 
 To buy him some hose, 
 
 But when she came back 
 
 Ho was dress'd in his clothes. 
 
 The dame made a curtsey, 
 The dog made a bow. 
 
 The dame said, " your servant,' 
 The dog said, " bow-wow." 
 
100 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 There was a little man, 
 And he woo'd a L'ttle maid, 
 And he said, " Little maid, -will you 
 ■wed, wed, wed ? 
 I have little more to say, 
 Then will you, yea or nay, 
 For least said is soonest mended, ded, 
 ded, ded." 
 
 The little maid rephed, 
 Some say a little sighed, 
 " But what shall we have for to eat, 
 eat, eat ? 
 Will the love that you're so rich in. 
 Make a fire in the kitchen ? 
 Or the little god of Love turn the spit, 
 spit, spit ? " 
 
 He began to bark, so she began to 
 
 cry, 
 " Oh ! deary, deary me, this is none 
 
 of I ; " 
 
 "Old woman, old woman, shall we go 
 
 shearing ? " 
 '■ Speak a little louder, sir, I am very 
 
 thick of hearing." 
 " Old woman, old woman, shall T love 
 
 you dearly ? " 
 "Thank you, kind sir, I hear you very 
 
 clearly." 
 
 There was an old woman, as I've 
 
 heard tell, 
 She went to the market, her eggs to 
 
 sell ; 
 She went to the market all on a market 
 
 day, 
 And she fell asleep on the King's 
 
 highway. 
 
 There came by a pedlar, whose name 
 
 wa'' Stout, 
 He cut her petticoats all round about ; 
 He cut her petticoats up to the knees. 
 Which made the old ^^oman to shiver 
 
 and freeze. 
 
 When the little woman first did wake. 
 She began to shiver and she began to 
 
 shake. 
 She began to wonder and she began 
 
 to cry, 
 " Oh ! deary, deary me, this is none 
 
 of I! 
 
 " But if it be I, as I do hope it be, 
 I've a little dog at home and he'll 
 
 know me ; 
 [f it be I, he'll wag his little tail. 
 And if it be not I, he'll loudly bark 
 
 and wail." 
 
 Home went the little woman all in 
 
 the dark, 
 Up got the little dog, and he began 
 
 to bark ; 
 
 Old Mother Goose, when 
 She wanted to wander. 
 
 Would ride through the air 
 On a very fine gander. 
 
 Mother Goose had a house, 
 'Twas built in a wood 
 
 Wlierc an owl at the door 
 For sentinel stood. 
 
 This is her son Jack, 
 
 A plain looking lad. 
 He is not very good. 
 
 Nor yet very bad. 
 
 She sent him to market, 
 A live goose he bought : 
 
 " Here, mother,"" says he, 
 "It will not go for nought." 
 
 Jack's goose and her gander 
 
 (<rew very fond ; 
 They'd both eat together, 
 
 Or swim in the pond. 
 
 Jack found one morning, 
 As I have been told. 
 
 His goose had laid him 
 An egg of pure gold. 
 
 Jack rode to his mother. 
 
 The news for to tell ; 
 She call'd him a good boy, 
 
 And said it was well. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 101 
 
 Jack sold his gold egg 
 
 To a rogue of a Jew, 
 Who cheated him out of 
 
 The half of his due. 
 
 Then Jack went a-courting 
 
 A lady so gay, 
 As fair as the lily, 
 
 Aa sweet as the May. 
 
 The Jew and the Squire 
 Came beliind his back, 
 
 And began to belabour 
 '.rhe sides of poor Jack. 
 
 Then Old Mother Goose 
 That instant came in. 
 
 And turn'd her son Jack 
 Lito fani'd Harlequin. 
 
 She then with her wand 
 Touch'd the lady so fino. 
 
 And turn'd her at once 
 Into sweet Columbine. 
 
 The gold egg into the sea 
 
 Was thrown then ; 
 When Jack jump'd in. 
 
 And got the egg back again. 
 
 The Jew got the goose, 
 
 Which he vow'd he would kil 
 Resolving at once 
 
 His pockets to fill. 
 
 Jack's mother came in, 
 And caught the goose soon, 
 
 And momiting its back, 
 Flew up to the moon. 
 
 What are little boys made of, made of, 
 
 What are little boys made of ? 
 
 Snaps and snails, and puppy-doga' 
 
 tails ; 
 And that's what little boys are made 
 
 of, made of. 
 
 What are little girls made of, made of, 
 What are little girls made of ? 
 Snwar and spice, and all that's nice; 
 And that's what little girla are made 
 of, made of. 
 
 See, saw, Margery Daw, 
 
 Baby shall have a new master. 
 She can earn but a penny a day. 
 
 Because she can't work any faster. 
 
 See, saw, Margery Daw, 
 
 Sold her bed to lie upon straw. 
 Was not she a naughty puss, 
 
 To sell her bed to lie on a truss ? 
 
 Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, 
 To see an old lady upon a white horse. 
 Kings on her fingers, and bells on her 
 
 toes, 
 And so she makes music wherever 
 
 she goes. 
 
 fVHERE are you going, my pretty 
 
 maid ? 
 [ am going a milking, sir, she said. 
 Hay I go with you, my pretty maid ? 
 ifou're kindly welcome, sir, she said. 
 iVh^t is your father, my pretty maid ? 
 VLy father's a farmer, sir, she said. 
 Say, %vill you marry me, my pretty 
 
 maid ? 
 iTes, if you please, kind sir, she said. 
 iVill you be constant, my pretty maid ? 
 rhat I can't promise you, sir, she 
 
 said, 
 riien I won't marry you, my pretty 
 
 maid ! 
 iJobody asked you, sir | she said. 
 
 Polly, put the kettle on, 
 Polly, put the kettle on, 
 Polly, put the kettle on. 
 And let's drink tea. 
 
 Sukey, take it off again, 
 
 Sukey, take it oil again, 
 
 Sukey, take it ofif again. 
 
 They're all gone away. 
 
 Elsie Marley is grown so fine, 
 She won't get up to serve the swine, 
 But lies in bed till eight or nine, 
 And surely she does take her time. 
 
102 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And do you ken Elsie Marley, honey ? 
 The wife who sells the barley, honey ; 
 She won't get up to serve the swine, 
 And do you ken Elsie Marley, honey ? 
 
 Little Miss Muffit, 
 
 Sat on a tuffit, 
 Eating of curds and whey ; 
 
 There name a great spider 
 
 That sat down beside her, 
 And frightened Miss Muffit away. 
 
 Pemmy was a pretty girl, 
 But Fanny was a better ; 
 
 Pemmj'^ look'd like any churl. 
 When little Fanny let her. 
 
 Pemmy had a pretty nose, 
 But Fanny had a better ; 
 
 Pemmy oft would come to blows, 
 But Fanny would uot let her. 
 
 Pemmy had a pretty doll. 
 But Farmy had a better ; 
 
 Pemmy chatter'd like a poll, 
 When little Fanny let her. 
 
 Pemmy had a pretty song, 
 But Fanny had a better ; 
 
 Pemmy would sing all day long, 
 But Fanny would not let her. 
 
 Pemmy loved a pretty lad. 
 And Fanny loved a better ; 
 
 And Pemmy wanted for to wed. 
 But Fanny would not let her. 
 
 There was a little maid, and she was 
 
 afraid 
 That her sweetheart would come unto 
 
 her ; 
 So she went to bed, and cover'd up 
 
 her head. 
 And fasten'd the door with a skewer. 
 
 Cross patch, 
 
 Draw the latch, 
 Sit by the fire and spin ; 
 
 Take a cup, 
 
 And drink it up, 
 And call your neighbours in. 
 
 Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep, 
 And can't tell where to find them ; 
 
 Leave them alone, and they'll come 
 home. 
 And bring their tails behind them. 
 
 Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep, 
 
 And dreamt she heard them bleating ; 
 
 And when she awoke, she found it a 
 joke. 
 For they still were all fleeting. 
 
 Then up she took her little crook, 
 
 IJetermin'd for to find them ; 
 She found them indeed, but it made 
 her heart bleed. 
 For they'd left all their tails behind 
 'em. 
 
 Pretty maid, 
 
 Pretty maid. 
 Where have you been T 
 
 Gathering a posie 
 To give to the queen. 
 
 Pretty maid, 
 
 Pretty maid. 
 What gave she you 7 
 
 Siie gave me a diamond 
 As big as my shoe. 
 
 Oh ! dear 1 what can the matter be ? 
 Dear ! dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Oh ! dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Johnny's so long at the fair. 
 
 He promis'd he'd buy me a fairing 
 
 should please me. 
 And then for a kiss, oh I he vow'd 
 
 he would teaze me ; 
 He promis'd he'd bring me a bunch of 
 
 blue ribbons 
 To tie up my bonny brown hair. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 103 
 
 Oh I dear ! what can the matter bi> ? 
 Dear ! dear ! what can the matter be ? 
 Oh ! dear ! what can the matter be '! 
 Johnny's 80 long at the fair. 
 
 He promis'd he'd bring me a basket 
 
 of posies, 
 A garland of lilies, a garland of roses, 
 A little straw hat, to set ofiE the blue 
 
 ribbons 
 That tie up my bonny brown hair. 
 
 Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, 
 Tliey were two bonny lasses : 
 
 They built their house upon the lea. 
 And covered it with rashes 
 
 Bessy kept the garden gate. 
 And Mary kept the pantry ; 
 
 Bessy always had to wait, 
 While Mary lived in plenty. 
 
 Mary, Mary, quite contrary. 
 How does your garden grow ? 
 
 With cockle-shells and silver bells 
 And columbines all of a row. 
 
 Little Tom Tucker 
 Sings for his supper ; 
 What shall he eat ? 
 White bread and butter. 
 How shall he cut it 
 Without e'er a knife ? 
 How will he be married 
 Without e'er a wife ? 
 
 Betty Pringle had a little pig. 
 Not very little and not very big. 
 Wlien he was alive, he lived in clover, 
 But now he's dead, and that's all over. 
 So Billy Pringle he lay down and cried. 
 And Betty Pringle she lay down and 
 
 died ; 
 So there was an end of one, two and 
 
 three : 
 Billy Pringle he, 
 Betty Pringle she. 
 And the piggy-wiggy. 
 
 Mother, may I go and bathe T 
 Yes, my darling daughter. 
 
 Hang your clothes on yondc- tree 
 But don't go near the water. 
 
 Little boy blue, come blow up your 
 
 horn. 
 The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's 
 
 in the corn ; 
 Where's the little boy that looks after 
 
 the sheep ? 
 He's under the hay-cock fast asleep. 
 Will j'ou wake him ? No, not I ; 
 For if I do, he'll be sure to cry. 
 
 Who comes hero T 
 
 A grenadier. 
 What do you want T 
 
 A pot of beer 
 Where is your money t 
 
 I have none. 
 Then grenadier 
 
 Get you gone. 
 
 Little Polly Flinders, 
 
 Sat among the cinders. 
 Warming her pretty little toes ; 
 
 Her mother came and caught her. 
 
 And whipped her little daughter 
 For spoiling her nice new clothes. 
 
 Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee 
 
 Resolved to have a battle. 
 For tweedle-dum said tweedle-dee 
 
 Had spoiled his nice new rattle. 
 Just then flew by a monstrous crow. 
 
 As big as a tar barrel, 
 Wiiich frightened both the heroes so, 
 
 Tliey quite forgot their quarrel. 
 
104 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Tom, Tom, the piper's son. 
 
 Stole a pig and away he run ! 
 
 The pig was eat, and Tom was beat. 
 
 And Tom went roaring down the street. 
 
 Tom he was the piper's son. 
 He learn'd to play when he was young. 
 But the only tune that he could play 
 Was, " Over the hilLs and far away." 
 
 Now Tom with his pipe made such 
 
 a noise, 
 That he pleased both the girls and 
 
 the boys. 
 And they stopp'd to hear him play, 
 " Over the hills and far away." 
 
 Tom with his pipe did play with such 
 
 skiU, 
 That those who heard him could never 
 
 keep still ; 
 Whenever they heard they began for 
 
 to dance. 
 Even pigs on their hind legs would 
 
 after liim prance. 
 
 As Dolly was milking her cow one 
 
 day, 
 Tom took out his pipe and began 
 
 for to play ; 
 So Dolly and the cow danced *' The 
 
 Cheshire round," 
 Till the pail was broke and the milk 
 
 ran on the ground. 
 
 He met old Dame Trot with a basket 
 
 of eggs. 
 He used his pipe and she used her 
 
 legs ; 
 She danced about till the eggs were 
 
 all broke, 
 She began for to fret, but he laughed 
 
 at the joke. 
 
 He saw a cross fellow was beating 
 
 an ass. 
 Heavy laden with pots, pans, dishes 
 
 and glass ; 
 He took out his pipe and played them a 
 
 tune. 
 And the jackass's load was lightened 
 
 full soon. 
 
 Three wise men of Gotham 
 Went to sea in a bowl : 
 And if the bowl had been stronger, 
 My song would have been longer. 
 
 Barber, barber, shave a pig, 
 How many hairs will make a wig ? 
 " Four and twenty, that's enough." 
 Give the barber a pinch of snuff. 
 
 The barber shaved the mason, 
 
 As I suppose 
 
 Cut off his nose. 
 And popp'd it in a bason. 
 
 There was a man of Newington, 
 
 And he was wondrous wise. 
 He jump'd into a quickset hedge. 
 
 And scratch'd out both his eyes : 
 But when he saw his eyes were out. 
 
 With all his might and main. 
 He jump'd into another hedge. 
 
 And scratch'd 'em in again. 
 
 There was a man in our toone, in our 
 
 toone, in our toone. 
 There was a man in our toone, and 
 
 his name was Billy Pod. 
 And he played upon an old razor, an 
 
 old razor, an old razor. 
 And he played upon an old razor, with 
 
 my fiddle fiddle fe fum fo. 
 
 And his hat was made of the good roast 
 beef, the good roast beef, the good 
 roast beef. 
 
 And his hat was made of the good roast 
 beef, and his name was Billy Pod. 
 
 And he played upon an old razor, etc. 
 
 And his coat was made of the good fat 
 tripe, the good fat tripe, the good 
 fat tripe. 
 
 And his coat was made of the good fat 
 tripe, and his name was Billy Pod. 
 
 And he played upon an old razor, etc. 
 
 And his brceks were made of the bawbie 
 baps, the bawbie baps, the bawbie 
 baps, 
 
 And his breeks were made of the bawbie 
 baps, and his name was Billy Pod. 
 
 And he played upon an old razor, etc. 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 105 
 
 And there was a man in tither toone, 
 
 in tither toone, tither toone, 
 And there was a man in tither toone, 
 
 and his name was Edrin Drum. 
 And he played upon an old ladle, an 
 
 old ladle, an old ladle, 
 And he played upon an old ladle, with 
 
 my fiddle, fiddle, fum fo. 
 And he ate up all the good roast beef, 
 
 the good roast beef, etc. etc. 
 And he ate up all the good fat tripe, 
 
 the good fat tripe, etc. etc. 
 And he ate up all the bawbie baps, etc., 
 
 and his name was Edrin Drum. 
 
 Taffy was a Welshman, Taffy was a 
 
 thief, 
 Taffy came to my house, and stole 
 
 a piece of beef ; 
 I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was 
 
 not at home ; 
 Taffy came to my house, and stole 
 
 a marrow-bone ; 
 I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was not 
 
 in ; 
 Taffy came to my house, and stole a 
 
 silver pin ; 
 I went to Taffy's house, Taffy was 
 
 in bed ; 
 I took up a poker and fiung it at his 
 
 head. 
 
 There was a man and he went mad. 
 And he juinp'd into a biscuit bag; 
 The biscuit bag it was so full, 
 So he jump'd into a roaring bull ; 
 The roaring bull it was so fat, 
 So he jump'd into a gentleman's hat; 
 The gentleman's hat it was so fine. 
 So he jump'd into a bottle of wine ; 
 The bottle of wine it was so dear. 
 So he jump'd into a barrel of beer ; 
 The barrel of beer, it was so thick, 
 So he jump'd into a walking-stick ; 
 The walking-stick it was so narrow. 
 So he jump'd into a wheel-barrow ; 
 The wheel-barrow began to crack. 
 So he jump'd on to a hay-stack ; 
 The hay-stack began to blaze. 
 So he did nothing but cough and sneeze ! 
 
 Oh where and oh where is my httle 
 \\ eo dog ? 
 C)li where and oh where is l.e ? 
 \A ith his ears cut short and his tail cut 
 long, 
 Oh where and oh where can he be ? 
 
 There was a crooked man, and he went 
 
 a crooked mile. 
 He found a crooked sixpence against 
 
 a crooked stile : 
 He bought a crooked cat, which caught 
 
 a crooked mouse. 
 And they all Hved together in a httle 
 
 crooked house. 
 
 Solomon Grxjndy, 
 Born on a Monday, 
 Christened on Tuesday, 
 Married on Wednesday, 
 Took ill on Thursday, 
 Worse on Friday, 
 Died on Saturday, 
 Buried on Sunday • 
 This is the end of 
 Solomon Grundy. 
 
 Simple Simon met a pieman 
 
 Going to the fair ; 
 Sa5's Simple Simon to the pieman, 
 
 " Let mo taste your ware." 
 
 Says the pieman to Simple Simon, 
 " Show me first your penny," 
 
 Says Simple Simon to the piemaUj 
 " Indeed I have not any." 
 
 Simple Simon went a-fishing 
 
 For to catch a whale ; 
 All the water he had got 
 
 Was in his mother's pail. 
 
 Rowley Powley, pudding and pie. 
 Kissed the girls and made them cry ; 
 When the girls came out to play, 
 Rowley Powley ran away. 
 
106 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 KoBiN Hood, Robin Hood, 
 Is in the mickle wood ! 
 Little John, Little John, 
 He to the town is gone. 
 
 Robin Hood, Robin Hood, 
 Is telling his beads. 
 
 All in the green wood. 
 Among the green weeds. 
 
 Little John, Little John, 
 If he comes no more, 
 
 Robin Hood, Robin Hood, 
 He will fret full sore ! 
 
 This is the house that Jack built. 
 
 This is the malt that lay in the house 
 that Jack biiilt. 
 
 This is the rat that ate the malt, &c. 
 
 This is the cat that killed the rat, &c. 
 
 This is the dog that worried the cat, &c. 
 
 This is the cow with the crumpled horn 
 That tossed the dog, &c. 
 
 This is the maiden all forlorn 
 That milk'd the cow with the crumpled 
 horn, &c. 
 
 This is the man all tatter'd and torn 
 That kiss'd the maiden all forlorn, &c. 
 
 This is the priest all shaven and shorn. 
 That married the man all tatter'd and 
 torn, &c. 
 
 This is the cock that crowed in the 
 
 morn. 
 That waked the priest all shaven and 
 
 shorn, &c. 
 
 This is the farmer sowing his corn. 
 That kept the cock that crow'd in the 
 
 morn. 
 That waked the priest all shaven and 
 
 shorn. 
 That married the man all tatter'd and 
 
 torn. 
 That kissed the maiden all forlorn. 
 That milk'd the cow with the crumpled 
 
 horn. 
 
 That tossed the dog, 
 
 That worried the catj 
 
 That kill'd the rat. 
 
 That ate the malt. 
 That lay in the house that Jack built. 
 
 Robin and Richard were two pretty 
 
 men ; 
 They lay in bed till the clock struck 
 
 ten ; 
 Then up starts Robin and looks at 
 
 the sky ; 
 Oh ! brother Richard, the sun's very 
 
 high: 
 you go on with bottle and bag. 
 And I'll follow after on jolly Jack Nag. 
 
 Girls and boys come out to play. 
 The moon doth shine as bright as day ; 
 Leave your supper, and leave your 
 
 sleep. 
 And come with your playfellows into 
 
 the street. 
 Come with a whoop, come with a 
 
 call. 
 Come with a goodwill or not at all. 
 Up the ladder and down the wall, 
 A half-penny roll will serve us all. 
 You find milk, and I'll find flour. 
 And we'll have a pudding in half-an- 
 
 hour. 
 
 y 
 
 Handy Spandy, Jack-a-dandy, 
 Loved plum-cake and sugar-candy ; 
 He bought some at a grocer's shop. 
 And out he came, hop, hop, hop. 
 
 HuMPTY Dumpty sat on a wall, 
 Humpty Dumpty bad a great fall ; 
 All the king's horses and all the king's 
 
 men 
 Cannot put Humpty Dumpty to-' 
 
 gether again. 
 
 Little Jack Horner sat in the corner 
 
 Eating a Christmas pie ; 
 He put in his thumb, and he took out 
 
 a plum. 
 And said, " What a good boy 
 
 am I I " 
 
Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 107 
 
 There was a little boy and a little girl 
 j^ Lived in an alley : 
 Says the little boy to the little girl, 
 " Shall I, oh ! shall I ? " 
 
 Says the little girl to the little boy, 
 
 " What shall we do ? " 
 Says the little boy to the Uttle girl, 
 
 " I will kiss you." 
 
 t 
 
 Jack Sprat could eat no fat, 
 His wife could eat no lean ; 
 
 And so betwixt them both, you see. 
 They lick'd the platter clean. 
 
 Over the water and over the sea. 
 And over the water to Charley, 
 Charley loves good ale and wine. 
 And Charley loves good brandy. 
 And Charley loves a pretty girl. 
 As sweet as sugar-candy. 
 
 Over the water and over the sea. 
 And over tiie water to Charley. 
 I'll have none of yoiu* nasty beef. 
 Nor I'll have none of your barley ; 
 But I'll have some of your very best 
 
 flour 
 To make a white cake for my Charley. 
 
 But sit on a cushion, and sow a fine 
 
 scam. 
 And feed upon strawberries, sugar, 
 
 and cream! 
 
 I HAD a little husband 
 
 No bigger than my thumb ; 
 I put him in a pint pot. 
 
 And there I bid him drum. 
 
 I bought him a little horse. 
 That galloped up and down 
 
 I bridled him and saddled liiiu, 
 And sent him out of town. 
 
 [ gave him some garters, 
 fo garter up his hose. 
 
 And a little handkerchief. 
 To wipe his pretty nose. 
 
 Jack and Jill went up the hill, V<^ 
 To fetch a pail of water ; 
 
 Jack fell down and broke his crown 
 And Jill came tumbling after. 
 
 Up Jack got and home did trot 
 As fast as he could caper. 
 
 Dame Jill had the job, to plaistcr his 
 knob. 
 With vinegar and brown paper. 
 
 On Saturday night 
 Shall be all my care. 
 
 To powder my locks 
 And curl my hair. 
 
 On Sunday morning 
 Jly love will come in. 
 
 When he will marry me 
 With a gold ring. 
 
 Curly locks, curly locks I wilt thou 
 
 be mine ? 
 Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet 
 
 feed the swine ; 
 
 Gay go up, and gay go down 
 To ring the bells of London town. 
 
 Bulls' eyes and targets. 
 
 Say the bella of St. Marg'ret's. 
 
 Brickbats and tiles. 
 Say the bells of St. Giles. 
 
 Halfpence and farthings. 
 Say the bella of St. Martin's. 
 
 Oranges and lemons, 
 
 Say the bells of St. Clement's. 
 
 Pancakes and fritters, 
 
 Say the bells of St Peter's. 
 
108 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Two sticks and an apple. 
 Say the bells of Whitechapcl. 
 
 Old Father Baldpate, 
 
 Say the slow beUs at Aklgate. 
 
 You owe me ten shillings, 
 Say the bells of St. Helen's. 
 
 Pokers and tongs, 
 
 Say the bells at St. John's. 
 
 Kettles and pans. 
 
 Say the bells at St. Ann's. 
 
 When will you pay me ? 
 Say the bells at Old Bailey. 
 
 When I grow rich. 
 
 Say the bells at Shoreditch. 
 
 Pray when will that be ? 
 Say the bells at Stepney. 
 
 I'm sure I don't know, 
 Says the great bell at Bow. 
 
 Here comes a candle to light you to bed. 
 And here comes a chopper to chop 
 off your head. 
 
 LoNDOK bridge is broken down. 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 
 London bridge is broken down, 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 How shall we build it up again ? 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 How shall we build it up again ? 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Silver and gold will be stole away. 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 
 Silver and gold will be stole away. 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Build it up again with iron and steel. 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 Bilild it up with iron and steel, 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Iron and steel will bend and bow. 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 Iron and steel will bend and bow. 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Build it up with wood and clay, 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 Build it up with wood and clay. 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Wood and clay will wash away. 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 Wood and clay will wash away, 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Build it up with stone so strong. 
 
 Dance o'er my lady lee ; 
 Huzza ! 'twill last for ages long. 
 
 With a gay lady. 
 
 Come, let's to bed, 
 
 Says Sleepy-head, 
 Tarry a while, says Slow, 
 
 Put on the pan, says Greedy Nan, 
 Let's sup before we go. 
 
 Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, 
 Guard the bed that I lay on ! 
 Four corners to my bed, 
 Four angels round my head — 
 One to watch, one to pray. 
 And two to bear my soul away. 
 
FAIRYLAND. 
 
 THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Up the airy inouutain, 
 
 Down the rushy glen. 
 We daren't go a-huuting, 
 
 For fear of little men ; 
 Wee folk, good folk, 
 
 Trooping all together ; 
 Green jacket, red cap. 
 
 And white owl's feather ! 
 
 Down along the rocky shore 
 
 Some make their home, 
 They live on crispy pancakes 
 
 Of yellow tide-foam ; 
 Some in the reeds 
 
 Of the black mountain-lake, 
 With frogs for their watch-dogs. 
 
 All night awake. 
 
 High on the hill-top 
 
 The old King sits ; 
 He is now so old and gray. 
 
 He's nigh lost his wits. 
 With a bridge of white mist 
 
 Columbkill he crosses, 
 On his stately journeys 
 
 From Slieveleague to Rosses j 
 Or going up with (uusic 
 
 On cold starry nights. 
 To sup with the Queen 
 
 Of the gay Northern Lights. 
 
 They stole little Bridget 
 
 For seven years long ; 
 When she came down again, 
 
 Her friends were all gone. 
 They took her lightly back. 
 
 Between the night and morrow. 
 They thought that she was fast asleep. 
 
 But she was dead with sorrow. 
 They have kept her ever since 
 
 Deep within the lake. 
 On a bed of flag-leaves, 
 
 Watching till she wake. 
 
 By the craggy hill-side. 
 
 Through the mosses bare. 
 They have planted thorn-trees 
 
 For pleasure here and there. 
 Is any man so daring 
 
 As dig them up in spite. 
 He shall fmd their sharpest thorns 
 
 In his bed at night. 
 
 Up the airy mountain, 
 
 i^own the rushy glen. 
 We daren't go a-hunting. 
 
 For fear of little men ; 
 Wee folk, good folk. 
 
 Trooping aU together ; 
 Green jacket, red cap. 
 
 And white owl's feather I 
 
 WiUiam AUinFJiam, 
 
 THE LIGHT-HEARTED FAIRY. 
 
 Oh, who Is so merry, so merry, heigh ho ! 
 
 As the light hearted fairy ? heigh ho, 
 Heigh ho ! 
 He dances and sings 
 To the sound of his wings 
 
 With a hey and a heigh and a ho ! 
 
 Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh ho ! 
 As the light headed fairy ? heigh he. 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 His nectar lie sips 
 
 From the primroses' lips 
 With a hey and a heigh and a ho I 
 
 Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho 1 
 As the light footed fairy ? heigh ho 1 
 Heigh ho ! 
 The night is his noon 
 And his sun is the moon. 
 With a hey and a heigh and a ho I 
 
110 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 FAIBYLAND. 
 
 Dim vales, and shadowy floods, 
 
 And cloudy-looking woods ; 
 
 Whose forms we can't discover 
 
 For the tears that drip all over ; 
 
 Huge moons there wax and wane — 
 
 Again, again, again — 
 
 Every moment of the night, 
 
 For ever changing places ; 
 
 And they put out the star-light 
 
 With the breath from their pale faces. 
 
 About twelve by the moon-dial, 
 
 One more filmy than the rest 
 
 (A kind which, upon trial. 
 
 They have found to be the best) 
 
 Comes down — still down — and down 
 
 With its centre on the crown 
 
 Of a mountain's eminence 
 
 In easy drapery falls 
 
 Over hamlets, over halls. 
 
 Wherever they may be — 
 
 O'er the strange woods, o'er the sea, 
 
 Over spirits on the wing. 
 
 Over every drowsy thing — 
 
 And buries them up quite 
 
 In a labyrinth of light ; 
 
 And then, how deep ! — O deep. 
 
 Is the passion of their sleep ! 
 
 In the morning they arise. 
 
 And their moony covering 
 
 Is roaring in the skies. 
 
 With the tempest as they toss. 
 
 Like — almost anything. 
 
 Or a yellow albatross. 
 
 They use that moon no more 
 
 For the same end as before— 
 
 Videlicet a tent — 
 
 Which I think extravagant : 
 
 Its atomies however. 
 
 Into a shower dissever 
 
 Of which those butterflies 
 
 Of earth who seek the skies, 
 
 And so come down again 
 
 (Never contented things ! ), 
 
 Have brought a specimen 
 
 Upon their quivering wings. 
 
 Edgar Allan Foe. 
 
 OVEB Hllili, OVER DALE. 
 
 Over hill, over dale. 
 
 Through bush, through briar. 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Through flood, through fire. 
 I do wander everywhere. 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 
 And I serve the Fairy Queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see — 
 These be rubies, fairy favours. 
 In those freckles live their savours. 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here. 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THROUGH THE HOUSE GIVE 
 GL.IMMERING LIGHT. 
 
 Through the house give glimmering 
 light. 
 
 By the dead and drowsy fire ; 
 Every elf and fairy sprite. 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier ; 
 And this ditty after me 
 Sing, and dance it trippingly. 
 
 First rehearse your song by note, 
 In each word a warbling note ; 
 Hand in hand with fairy grace 
 Will we sing and bless this place. 
 
 WiUiam Shakespeare. 
 
 THE LIFE OF A FAIRY. 
 
 Come follow, follow me. 
 
 You fairy elves that be. 
 
 Which circle on the green ; 
 
 Come, follow Mab your queen : 
 Hand in hand, let's dance around. 
 For this place is fairy ground. 
 
 Upon a mushroom's head 
 
 Our tablecloth we spread ; 
 
 A grain of rye or wheat. 
 
 Is manchet, which we eat ; 
 Pearly drops of dew we drink 
 In acorn-cups fill'd to the brink. 
 
 The grasshopper, gnat, and fly 
 
 Serve for our minstrelsy ; 
 
 Grace said, we dance awhile. 
 
 And so the time beguile ; 
 And if the moon doth hide her head. 
 The glow-worm lights us home to bed. 
 
 On the tops of dewy grass 
 So nimbly do we pass. 
 The young and tender stalk 
 Ne'er bends when we do w alk ; 
 Yet in the morning may be seen 
 Where we the night before have been 
 
I 
 
 Fairyland. 
 
 Ill 
 
 FAIBY STORIES. 
 
 Sometimes with secure delight 
 Tlie upland Hamlets will invite, 
 When the merry Bells ring round, 
 And the jocund rebecks sound 
 To many a youth and many a maid, 
 Dancing in the checkered shade ; 
 And young and old come forth to play 
 On a Sunshine Holy-day, 
 Till the livelong daylight fail ; 
 Then to the Spicy Nut-brown Ale, 
 With stories told of many a feat, 
 How Fairy Mab the junkets eat, 
 She was pinched, and pulled, she said. 
 And he by Friars Lanthorn led. 
 Tells how the drudging Goblin sweat, 
 To earn his Cream-bowl duly set, 
 When in one night, ere glimpse of morn. 
 His shadowy Flail hath threshed tlie 
 
 Corn, 
 That ten day-labourers could not end ; 
 Then lies him down the Lubbar Fiend, 
 And stretched out all the chimney's 
 
 length, 
 Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 
 And crop-full out of doors he flings. 
 Ere the first Cock his matin sings. 
 Thus done the Tales, to bed they creep 
 By whispering winds soon lulled 
 
 asleep. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 FAIRY SONG. 
 
 Shed no tear ! O, shed no tear ! 
 I'hc flower will bloom another j'car. 
 Weep no more ! 0, weep no more ! 
 Young buds sleep in the root's white 
 
 core. 
 Dry your eyes ! Oh ! dry your eyes ! 
 For I was taught in Paradise 
 To ease my breast of melodies — 
 Shed no tear. 
 
 Overhead ! look overhead ! 
 'Mong the blossoms white and red — 
 Look up, look up. I flutter now 
 On this flush pomegranate bough. 
 See me ! 'tis this silvery bell 
 Ever cures the good man's ill. 
 Shed no tear ! O, shed no tear ! 
 The flowers will bloom another year. 
 Adieu, adieu — I fly, adieu, 
 I vauish in the heaven's blue — 
 Adieu, adieu ! 
 
 BY THE MOON WE SPORT 
 AND PliAY. 
 
 By the moon we sport and play. 
 With the night begins our day ; 
 As we dance the dew doth fall ; 
 Trip it, little urchins all ! 
 Two by two, and three by three, 
 And about go we, and about go we ! 
 
 John Lylij. 
 
 TKE FOTTNTAIN OF THE 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 There is a fountain in the forest called 
 The Fountain of the Fairies : when a 
 
 child 
 What a delight of wonder I have heard 
 Tales of the elfin tribe who on its 
 
 banks 
 Hold midnight revelry. An ancient 
 
 oak, 
 Tlie goodliest of the forest, grows 
 
 beside ; 
 Alone it stands, upon a green grass 
 
 plat, 
 By the woods bounded like some 
 
 little isle. 
 It ever hath been deem'd their 
 
 favourite tree. 
 They love to lie and rock upon its 
 
 leaves 
 And bask in moonshine. Here the 
 
 woodman leads 
 His boy, and showing him the green 
 
 sward mark'd 
 With darker circlets, says the mid- 
 night dance 
 Hath traced the rings, and bids him 
 
 spare the tree. 
 Fancy had cast a spell upon the place 
 Which made it holy ; and tiie villagers 
 Would say that never evil things 
 
 approached 
 Unpunished there. The strange and 
 
 fearful pleasure 
 Which filled me by that solitary spring. 
 Ceased not in riper years ; and now 
 
 it wakes 
 Deeper delight, and niort- mysterious 
 
 awe. 
 
 Jq^n Keaia. 
 
 Robert Southey 
 
112 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN SPRITE. 
 
 In yonder valley there dwelt, alone, 
 A youth whose momenta had calmly 
 
 flown, 
 Till spells o'er him, and, day and night. 
 He was hamited and watched by a 
 
 Mountain Sprite! 
 
 As once by moonlight he wandered o'er 
 The golden sands of that island shore, 
 A foot-print sparkled before his sight — 
 'Twas the fairy foot of the Mountain 
 Sprite I 
 
 Beside a fountain, one sunny day, 
 As bending over the stream he lay, 
 There peep'd down o'er him two eyes 
 
 of hght. 
 And he saw in that mirror the Mountain 
 
 Sprite. 
 
 A CHABM. 
 
 In the morning when you rise 
 Wash your hands and cleanse your eyes ; 
 Next, be sure ye t^^e a care 
 To disperse the water far ; 
 For as far as it doth light. 
 So far keeps the evil sprite. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 ANOTHER CHARM. 
 
 If ye fear to be benighted, 
 When ye are by chance benighted. 
 In your pocket for a trust. 
 Carry nothing but a crust ; 
 For that holy piece of bread 
 Charms the danger and the dread. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 He turned, but lo, like a startled bird. 
 That spirit fled ! and the youth but 
 
 heard 
 Sweet music, such as marks the flight 
 Of some bird of song, from the Mountain 
 
 Sprite. 
 
 One night, still haunted by that 
 
 bright look. 
 The boy, bewildered, his pencil took, 
 And, guided only by memory's light. 
 Drew the once seen form of the Moun- 
 tain Sprite. 
 
 " Oh thou, who lovest the shadow," 
 
 cried 
 A voice, low whispering by his side, 
 " Now turn and see," — here the youth's 
 
 delight 
 Seal'd the rosy lips of the Mountain 
 
 Sprite. 
 
 " Of all the spirits of land and sea," 
 Then rapt he murmured, " there's none 
 
 like thee. 
 And oft, oh oft, may thy foot thus 
 
 light 
 In this lonely bower, sweet Mountain 
 
 Sprite I " 
 
 Thomas Moon 
 
 QUEEN MAB. 
 
 This is Mab, the mistress Fairy, 
 That doth nightly rob the dairy. 
 And can help or hurt the churning, 
 As she please without discerning. 
 
 She that pinches country wenches. 
 If they rub not clean their benches, 
 And with sharper nails remembers 
 When they rake not up their embers : 
 15ut if so they chance to feast her. 
 In a shoe she di'ops a tester. 
 
 Tliis is she that empties cradles, 
 'i'akes out children, puts in ladles : 
 Trains forth old wives in their slumber 
 With a sieve the holes to number ; 
 And then leads them from her burrows. 
 Home through ponds and water- 
 furrows. 
 
 She can start our Franklin's daughters, 
 In their sleep, with shrieks and 
 
 laughter ; 
 And on sweet St. Anna's night 
 Feed them with a promised sight. 
 Some of husbands, some of lovers. 
 Which an empty dream discovers. 
 
 Ben Jonaon 
 
Fairyland. 
 
 113 
 
 QTTEEN MAB. 
 
 Oh then, I see, Queen Mab hath been 
 
 with you. 
 She is the fairies'midwife, and she comes 
 In shape no bigger than an agate 
 
 stone 
 On the fore-finger of an alderman ; 
 Drawn with a team of little atomies 
 Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep : 
 Her wagon spokes made of long 
 
 spinner's legs : 
 The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 
 The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 
 The collars of the moonshine's watery 
 
 beams ; 
 Her whip of cricket's bone, the lash, 
 
 of lihn ; 
 - Her wagoner, a small grey-coated gnat. 
 Not half so big as a round little worm. 
 Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid : 
 Her chariot is an empty hazel nut. 
 Made by the joiner squirrel, or old 
 
 grub, 
 Time out of mind the fairies' coach- 
 makers. 
 And in this state she gallops night 
 
 by night. 
 Through lovers' brains, and then they 
 
 dream of love ; 
 On courtier's knees that dream on 
 
 court'sies straight ; 
 O'er lawyers' fingers, who straight 
 
 dream on fees ; 
 O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses 
 
 dream. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 aXTEEN MAB'S CHARIOT. 
 
 Her chariot ready straight is made. 
 Each thing therein is fitting laid, 
 I That she by nothing might be staj^ed. 
 For naught must be her letting. 
 ' Four nimble gnats the horses were 
 Their harnesses of gossamer, 
 Fly, Cranion, her charioteer. 
 
 Upon the coach-box getting. 
 
 Her chariot of a snail's fine shell. 
 Which for t}ie colours did excel, 
 'I he fair queen Mab becoming well — 
 
 So lively was the limning ; 
 The seat the soft wool of the bee, 
 Tlie cover (gallantly to see) 
 Tlje wing of a pied butterflee : 
 
 I trow, 'twas simple trimming. 
 
 The wheels composed of crickets' bones, 
 And dantily made for the nonce. 
 For fear of rattling on the stones, 
 
 With thistle-do\vn they shod it ; 
 For all her maidens much did fear, 
 If Oberon had chanced to hear 
 That Mab his queen should have 
 been there. 
 
 He would not have abode it. 
 
 She mounts her chariot with a trice, 
 Nor would she stay for no advice. 
 Until her maids that were so nice 
 
 To wait on her were fitted, 
 But ran herself away alone ; 
 Which when they heard, there was 
 
 not one 
 But hastened after to be gone. 
 
 As she had been diswitted. 
 
 Hop, and Mop, and Drap so clear, 
 Pip, and Trip, and Skip, that were 
 To Mab their sovereign dear. 
 
 Her special maids of honour ; 
 Fib, and Tib, and Pink, and Pin, 
 Pick, and Quick, and Jill, and Jin, 
 Tit, and Nit, and Wap, and Wim — 
 
 The train that wait upon her. 
 
 Upon a grasshopper they got. 
 And what with amble and with trot. 
 For hedge nor ditch they spared not. 
 
 But after her they hie them. 
 A cobweb over them they throw, 
 To shield the wind if it should blow : 
 Themselves they wisely could bestow 
 
 Lest any should espy them. 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 THE BEGGAB, TO MAB THE 
 FAIRY QXTEEN. 
 
 Please your grace, from out your store, 
 
 Give an alms to one's that's poor, 
 
 That your mickle may have more. 
 
 Black I've grown for want of nie-u. 
 
 Give me then an ant to eat. 
 
 Or the cleft ear of a mouse 
 
 Over sour'd iu drink of souse , 
 
 Or, sweet lady, reach to me 
 
 The abdomen of a bee ; 
 
 Or commend a cricket's hip, 
 
 Or his huckson, to my scrip ; 
 
 Give for bread a little bit 
 
 Of a piece that 'gins to chit, 
 
 And my full thanks take for it 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Flour of fuz-balls, that's too good 
 For a man in needy-hood ; 
 But the meal of mill-dust can 
 Well content a craving man; 
 Any oats the elves refuse 
 Well A^ill serve the beggar's use. 
 But if this may seen too much 
 For an alms, then give me such 
 Little bits that nestle there 
 In the pris'ners pannier. 
 So a blessing light upon 
 You and mighty Oberon ; 
 That your plenty last till when 
 I return your alms again. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 YOTJ SPOTTED SNAKES. 
 
 FIRST FAIRY. 
 
 YoxJ spotted snakes with double 
 tongues, 
 
 Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; 
 Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong : 
 
 Come not near our fairy queen : 
 
 Chorus : 
 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, luUa, 
 lullaby ; 
 Never harm, nor spell nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby. 
 
 Second Fairy. 
 
 Weaving spiders, come not here ; 
 
 Hence yon long-legg'd spinners, hence 
 Beetles black, approach not near. 
 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 
 Chorus : 
 Philomel, with melody, etc., 
 
 FiBST Fairy. 
 
 Hence away ; now all is well : 
 One, aloof, stand sentinel. 
 
 OBEROIT'S FEAST. 
 
 A LITTLE mushroom-table spread. 
 After short prayers they set on bread, 
 A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat 
 With some small glitt'ring grit, to eat 
 His* choice bits with ; then in a trice 
 They make a feast less great than nice. 
 But all this -nhile his eyes is serv'd 
 We must not think his ear was starv'd ; 
 But that there was in place to stir 
 His spleen, the chirping grasshopper. 
 The merry cricket, puling fly. 
 The piping gnat for minstrelsy. 
 And now, we must imagine first, 
 The elf is present to quench his thirst, 
 A pure seed-pearl of infant dew. 
 Brought and besweetened in a blue, 
 And pregnant violet ; which done, 
 His kitten eyes begin to run 
 Quite through the table, when he spies 
 The horns of paper butterflies. 
 Of which he eats ; and tastes a little 
 Of that we call the cuckoo's spittle ; 
 A little fuz-ball pudding stands 
 By, yet not blessed by his hands. 
 That was too coarse ; but then forth- 
 with 
 He ventures boldly on the pith 
 Of sugared rush, and eats the sag 
 And well bestrutted bee's sweet bag 
 Glad'ning his palate with some store 
 Of emmet's eggs ; what would he more? 
 But beards of mice, a newt's stew'd 
 
 thigh, 
 A bloated earwig, and a fly ; 
 With the red-cap'd worm, that's shut 
 Within the concave of a nut. 
 Brown as his tooth, A little moth, 
 Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth ; 
 With withered cherries, mandrakes' 
 
 ears, 
 Moles' eyes ; to these the slain stag's 
 
 tears ; 
 The unctuous dewlaps of a snail. 
 The broke heart of a nightingale 
 O'er come in miisic ; with a wine 
 Ne'er ravish'd from the flattering vine, 
 Brought in a dainty daisy, which 
 He fiUly quaffs up to bewitch 
 His bJood to height ; this done, 
 
 commended 
 Grace by Im priest ; the feast is 
 ended. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 WiUiam Shakespeare. 
 
 • Oberou's. 
 
Fairyland. 
 
 115 
 
 THE PALACE OF THE 
 
 FAIBIES. 
 
 This palace standeth in tho air, 
 By necromancy placed there, 
 That it no tempests needs to fear, 
 
 Whicli way so'er it blow it. 
 And somewhat southward towM tlie 
 
 noon, 
 Whence lies a way up to tiie moon, 
 And thence the fairy can as soon 
 
 Pass to the earth below it. 
 
 The walls of spider's legs are made 
 Well mortised and finely laid ; 
 He was the master of his trade, 
 
 It curiously that buildcd ; 
 The window of the eyes of cats 
 And for the roof, instead of slates. 
 Is covered with the skin of bats. 
 
 With moonsliine that was gilded. 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 THE 
 
 FAIRY BOY. 
 
 ame when stars 
 
 A MOTHER C{ 
 
 paling. 
 Wailing round a lonely spring ; 
 Thus she cried wliile tears were falling. 
 Calling on the Fairy King : 
 
 " Why with spells my child caressing. 
 Courting him with fairy joy ; 
 
 Why destroy a mother's blessing. 
 Wherefore steal my baby boy ? 
 
 O'er the mountain, through the wild 
 
 wood. 
 Where his childhood loved to play ; 
 Where the flowers are freshly springing, 
 There I wander day by day. 
 
 " There I wander, growing fonder 
 Of that child that made my joy ; 
 
 On the echoes wildly calling 
 To restore my fairy boy. 
 
 " But in vain my plaintive calling. 
 Tears are falling all in vain ! 
 
 He now sports with fairy pleasure, 
 He's the treasure of their train ! 
 
 " Fare thee well, my child for ever, 
 In this world I've lost my joy, 
 
 But in tiie 7iext we ne'er shall sever. 
 There I'll find my angel boy ! " 
 
 Samuel Lover, 
 
 THE FAIRY TEMPTER. 
 
 A FAIR girl was sitting in the green- 
 wood shade, 
 List'ning to the music the spring 
 
 birds made ; 
 Wiien sweeter by far than the birds on 
 
 the tree, 
 A voice murmured near her, " Oh, 
 come, love, with me — 
 In earth or air, 
 A thing so fair 
 I have not seen as thee ! 
 Then come, love, with me." 
 
 " With a star for thy home, in a 
 
 palace of light. 
 Thou wilt add a fresh grace to the 
 
 beauty of night ; 
 Or, if wealth be thy wish, thine are 
 
 treasures untold, 
 I will show thee the birthplace of 
 jewels and gold — 
 And pearly caves 
 Beneath the waves. 
 All these, all these are thine, 
 If thou wilt be mine." 
 
 Thus whispered a fairy to tempt the 
 
 fair girl. 
 But vain was the promise of gold 
 
 and of pearl ; 
 For she said, " Tho' thy gifts to a poor 
 
 girl were dear. 
 My father, my mother, my sisters 
 are here : 
 
 Oh ! what would be 
 
 Thy gifts to me 
 
 Of earth, and sea, and air 
 
 If my heart were not there ? " 
 
 Samuel Lover. 
 
 THE ARMING OF 
 PIGWIGGEN. 
 
 He quickly arms him for the field— 
 A little cockle-shell his shield, 
 Which he could very bravely wield. 
 
 Yet could it not be pierced ; 
 His spear a bent both stiff and strong. 
 And well near of two inches long ; 
 Tlie pile was of a horse-fly's tongue, 
 
 Whose sharpness naught reversed : 
 
 8* 
 
116 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And put him on a coat of mail, 
 
 Which was of a fish's scale. 
 
 That when his foe should him assail, 
 
 No point should be prevailing. 
 His rapier was a hornet's sting. 
 It was a very dangerous thing ; 
 For if he chanced to hurt the king, 
 
 It would be long in healing. 
 
 His helmet was a beetle's head. 
 Most horrible and full of dread. 
 That able was to strike one dead. 
 
 Yet it did well become him : 
 And for a plume a horse's hair, 
 Which being tossed iip by the air. 
 Had force to strike his foe with fear, 
 
 And turn hia weapon from him. 
 
 Himself he on an earwig set. 
 Yet scarce he on his back could get, 
 So oft and high he did curvet 
 Ere he himself could settle : 
 He made him turn, and stop, and bound. 
 To gallop and to trot the round, 
 He scarce could stand on any ground. 
 He was so full of mettle. 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 WATER-LILIES. 
 
 A FAIRY SONG. 
 
 Come away, elves, while the dew is 
 
 sweet, 
 Come to the dingles where fairies meet : 
 Know that the lilies have spread their 
 
 bells 
 O'er all the pools in our forest dells ; 
 Stilly and lightly their vases rest 
 On the quivering sleep of the wator's 
 
 breast. 
 Catching the sunshine through leaves 
 
 that throw 
 To their scented bosoms an emerald 
 
 glow ; 
 And a star from the depth of each 
 
 pearly cup, 
 A golden star unto heaven looks up, 
 As if seeking its kindred where bright 
 
 they lie. 
 Set in the blue of the summer sky. 
 — Come away ! under arching boughs 
 
 we'll float, 
 Making those urns each a fairy boat ; 
 
 We'll row them with reeds o'er the 
 
 fountains free. 
 And a tall flag-leaf shall our streamer be. 
 And we'll send out wild music so sweet 
 
 and low. 
 It shall seem from the bright flower's 
 
 heart to flow. 
 As if t'were breeze with a flute's 
 
 low sigh. 
 Or water drops train'd into melody. 
 — Come away ! for the midsummer 
 
 sun grows strong. 
 And the life of the lily may not be 
 
 long. 
 
 Fdieia Dorothea He mans. 
 
 THE HAO-. 
 
 The hag is astride. 
 
 This night for a ride. 
 Her wild steed and she together ; 
 
 Through thick and through thin. 
 
 Now out, and then in. 
 Though ne'er so foul be the weather. 
 
 A thorn or a burr 
 
 She takes for a spur ; 
 With a last of a bramble she rides now. 
 
 Through brakes and througli briars. 
 
 O'er ditches and mires. 
 She follows the spirit that guides now. 
 
 No beast for his food 
 
 Dares now range the wood. 
 But hush'd in his lair he lies lurking ; 
 
 While mischief by these, 
 
 On land and on seas. 
 At noon of night are found working. 
 
 The storm will arise 
 
 And trouble the skies, 
 Tliis night ; and, more for the \A'onder, 
 
 The ghost from the tomb 
 
 Affrightened shall come, 
 Called out by the clap of tiie thunder 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE FAIRIES OF THE 
 CALDON-LOW. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER LEGEND. 
 
 " And where have you been, my Mary, 
 And \^'here have you been from me ? " 
 
 " I've been to the top of Caldon-Low, 
 The midsummer night to see ! " 
 
 J 
 
Fairyland, 
 
 11 
 
 " And what did you soc, my Mary, 
 All up on the 'Caldon-T.ow ? " 
 
 " I saw the j;lad sunshine come down, 
 And I saw the merry winds blow." 
 
 " And what did you hear, my Mary, 
 All up on the Caldon-Hil! ? " 
 
 " I heard the drops of the water made. 
 And I heard the green corn fill." 
 
 " Oh, tell me all, my Mary — 
 All — all that ever you know ; 
 
 For you must have seen t!>e fairies 
 Last night on the Caldon-Low!" 
 
 " Then take me on your knee, mother, 
 And listen, mother, of mine : 
 
 A hundred fairies danced last night. 
 And the harpers they were nine. 
 
 " And the harp-strings rang so merrily 
 To their dancing feet so small ; 
 
 But, oh ! tlie sound of their talking 
 Was merrier far than all ! 
 
 " And what were the words, my Mary, 
 That you did hear them say ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you all, my mother. 
 But let me have my way. 
 
 " And some they played with the water, 
 And rolled it down the hill ; 
 
 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily 
 txirn 
 The poor old miller's mill. 
 
 " ' For there has been no water 
 Ever since the first of May ; 
 
 And a busy man will the miller be 
 At the dawning of the day ! 
 
 " ' Oh ! the miller, how he will laugh, 
 When he sees the mill-dam rise I 
 
 The jolly old miller, how he will laugh. 
 Till the tears fill both hia eyes ! ' 
 
 " And some they seized the little winds. 
 That sounded over the hill. 
 
 And each put a horn into his mouth. 
 And blew both sharp and shrill : 
 
 " ' And there,' said they, ' the merry 
 winds go 
 
 Away from every horn ; 
 And these shall clear the mildew dank 
 
 From the blind old widow's corn : 
 
 *' ' Oil, the poor blind widow — 
 Tliougli she has been blind so long. 
 
 She'll be merry enougb when the mil- 
 dew's gone, 
 And the corn stands stiff and strong ! ' 
 
 " And some they brought the brown 
 linseed 
 
 And flung it down the Low : 
 * And this,' said they, ' by the sunrise 
 
 In the weaver's croft shall grow ! 
 
 " ' Oh, the poor lame weaver ! 
 
 How will he laugh outright 
 When he sees his dwindling flax-field 
 
 All full of flowers by night ! ' 
 
 " And then outspoke a brownie. 
 With a long beard on his chin : 
 
 ' I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 
 ' And I want some more to spin. 
 
 " ' I've spun a piece of hempen cloth 
 And I want to spin another^ 
 
 A little sheet for Mary's bed, 
 
 And an apron for her mother ! ' 
 
 " And mth that I could not liclp 
 but laugh. 
 
 And I laughed out loud and free ; 
 And then on the top of Caldon-Low 
 
 There was no one left but me, 
 
 " And all on the top of Caldon-Low 
 The mists were cold and gray. 
 
 And nothing I saw but the mossy stones 
 That round about me lay. 
 
 " But, as I came down from the hrll-top, 
 
 I heard, afar below, 
 How busy the jolly miller was. 
 
 And how merry the wheels did go ! 
 
 " And I peeped into the widow's field, 
 And, sure enough, was seen 
 
 The yellow ears of the mildew corn 
 All standing stiff and green. 
 
 " And down the weaver's croft I stole, 
 To see if the flax were high ; 
 
 But I saw the weaver at his gate 
 With the good news in his eye ! 
 
 " Now, this is all I heard, mother. 
 
 And all that I did see ; 
 So, prithee, make my bed, mother. 
 
 For I'm tired as I can be ! " 
 
 Mary UowiU. 
 
118 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 NOW THE HTJNGBY LION 
 BOABS. 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task foredone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the scritch owl, scritching 
 loud. 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe, 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night 
 
 That the graves all gaping wide, 
 Every one lets forth his sprite. 
 
 In the church way paths to glide : 
 And we fairies that do run. 
 
 By the triple Hecate's Team, 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallowed house : 
 I am sent with broom before. 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Through the house give glimmering 
 light ; 
 
 By the dead and drowsy fire. 
 Every elf and fairy sprite. 
 
 Hop as light as bird from briar; 
 And this ditty after me. 
 Sing and dance it trippingly. 
 First rehearse this song by rote. 
 To each word a warbling note, 
 
 Hand in hand with fairy grace. 
 We will sing, and bless this place. 
 
 William Shakespeare, 
 
 FAIHIES' BECAIili. 
 
 While the blue is richest 
 
 In the starry sky. 
 While the softest shadows 
 
 On the green sward lie, 
 While the moonlight slumbers 
 
 In the lily's urn. 
 Bright elves of the wild wood | 
 
 Oh ! return, return ! 
 
 Round the forest fountains, 
 
 On the river shore. 
 Let your silvery laughter 
 
 Echo yet once more. 
 While the joyous bounding 
 
 Of your dewy feet 
 Rings to that old chorus : 
 
 " The daisy is so sweet } " 
 
 Oberon, Titania, 
 
 Did your starlight mirth 
 With the song of Avon 
 
 Quit this work-day earth ? 
 Yet while green leaves glisten 
 
 And while bright stars burn, 
 By that magic memory, 
 
 Oh { return, return ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hemana. 
 
FABLES AND RIDDLES. 
 
 FABLES FOR F-IVEYEARS 
 OLD. 
 
 THE BOY AND HIS TOP. 
 
 A LITTLE Boy had bought a Top, 
 The best in all the toyman's shop ; 
 He made a whip with good eel's-skin, 
 He lash'd the top, and made it spin ; 
 All the children within call. 
 And the servants, one and all. 
 Stood round to see it and admire. 
 At last the Top began to tire, 
 He cried out, " Pray don't hit me 
 
 Master, 
 You whip too hard, — I can't spin faster, 
 I can spin quite as well without it." 
 The little Boy replied, " I doubt it ; 
 I onl}' whip you for your good. 
 You were a foolish lump of wood, 
 By dint of whipping you were raised 
 To see yourself admired and praised. 
 And if I left you, you'd remain 
 A foohsh lump of wood again." 
 
 EXPLANATION. 
 
 Whipping sounds a little odd, 
 
 I don't mean whipping with a rod. 
 
 It means to teach a boy incessantly. 
 
 Whether by lessons or more pleasantly. 
 
 Every hour and every day. 
 
 By every means in every way, 
 
 By reading, writing, rhyming, talking. 
 
 By riding to see sights, and walking : 
 
 If you leave off he drops at once, 
 
 A lumpish, wooden-headed dunce. 
 
 John Hookham Frere. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE PARROT. 
 
 " Parkot, if I had your wings, 
 
 I should do so many things. 
 
 The first thing I should like to do 
 
 If I had little wings like you, 
 
 I should fly to Uncle Bartle*, 
 
 Don't you think 'twould make him 
 
 startle. 
 If he saw me when I came, 
 Flapping at the window frame. 
 Exactly like the print of Fame ? " 
 All this the wise old Parrot heard, 
 The Parrot was an ancient bird. 
 And paused and pondered every word. 
 First, therefore, he began to cough. 
 Then said, — " It is a great way off, — 
 A great way off, my dear : " — and then 
 He paused awhile and coughed again, — 
 " Master John, pray think a little. 
 What will you do for bed and 
 
 victual ? " 
 — " Oh ! Parrot, Uncle John can tell — 
 But we should manage very well. 
 At night we'd perch upon the trees. 
 And so fly forward by degrees." — 
 — " Does Uncle John," the Parrot 
 
 said, 
 " Put nonsense in his nephew's head ? 
 IiLstead of telling you such things. 
 And teaching 5^ou to Avish for wings, 
 I think he might have taught you 
 
 better ; 
 You might have learnt to write a 
 
 letter : — 
 That is the thing that I should do 
 If I had little hands like you." 
 
 John Hookham Frere. 
 
 • The uncle, Bartholomew Frere, was then at 
 Coiistiiiitinople. 
 
120 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE WOLF. 
 
 A LITTLE Boy was set to keep 
 
 A little flock of goats or sheep 
 
 He thought the task too solitary, 
 
 And took a strange perverse vagary, 
 
 To call the people out of fun. 
 
 To see them leave their work and run, 
 
 He cried and screamed with all his 
 
 might, — 
 " Wolf ! wolf ! " in a pretended fright. 
 Some people, working at a distance. 
 Came running in to his assistance. 
 They searched the fields and bushes 
 
 round. 
 The Wolf was nowhere to be found. 
 The Boy, delighted with his game, 
 A few days after did the same. 
 And once again the people came. 
 The trick was many times repeated. 
 At last they found that they were 
 
 cheated. 
 One day the Wolf appeared in sight. 
 The Boy was in a real fright. 
 He cried, " Wolf ! wolf ! " — the neigh- 
 bours heard. 
 But not a single creature stirred. 
 " We need not go from our employ, — 
 'Tis nothing but that idle boy." 
 The little Boy cried out again, 
 "Help, help! the Wolf!" he cried 
 
 in vain. 
 At last his master came to beat him. 
 He came too late, the Wolf had eat him. 
 
 This shows the bad effect of lying. 
 And likewise of continual crying. 
 If I had heard you scream and roar, 
 For nothing, twenty times before, 
 Although you might have broke your 
 
 arm. 
 Or met with any serious harm. 
 Your cries could give me no alarm, 
 They would not make me move the 
 
 faster, 
 Nor apprehend the least disaster ; 
 I should be sorry when I came. 
 But you yourself would be to blame. 
 
 John Hoolcham Frere. 
 
 THE PIECE OF GLASS AND 
 THE PIECE OF ICE. 
 
 Once on a time it came to pass, 
 A piece of ice and a piece of glass 
 
 Were Ij'ing on a bank together. 
 There came a sudden change of j 
 
 weather. 
 The sun shone through them botii. — 
 
 The ice 
 Turned to his neighbour for advice. 
 The piece of glass made this reply — 
 " Take care by all means not to cry," 
 The foolish piece of ice relied 
 On being pitied if he cried. 
 The story says — That he cried oa 
 TiU he was melted and quite gone. 
 
 This may serve you for a rule 
 With the little boys at school ; 
 If you weep, I must forewarn ye. 
 All the boys will tease and scorn ye. 
 
 John HookJiam Frere, 
 
 THE CAVERN AND THE HUT. 
 
 An ancient cavern, huge and wide. 
 
 Was hollowed in a mountain's side. 
 
 It served no purpose that I know. 
 
 Except to shelter sheep or so, 
 
 Yet it was spacious, warm, and dry. 
 
 There stood a little hut hard by. — ■ 
 
 The cave was empty quite, and poor. 
 
 The hut was f uU of furniture ; 
 
 By looking to his own affairs, 
 
 He got a table and some chairs, 
 
 All useful instruments of metal, 
 
 A pot, a fi-ying-pan, a kettle, 
 
 A clock, a warming-pan, a jack, 
 
 A salt-box and a bacon-rack ; 
 
 With plates and knives and forks, 
 
 and dishes, 
 And lastly to complete his wishes. 
 He got a sumptuous pair of bellows. — 
 The cavern was extremely jealoua : 
 " How can that paltry hut contrive 
 In this poor neighbourhood to thrive ? " 
 " The reason's plain," replied the hut. 
 Because I keep my mouth close shut ; 
 Whatever my good master brings. 
 For furniture, or household things, 
 I keep them close and shut the door. 
 While you stand yawning evermore." 
 
 If a little boy is yawning 
 At his lesson every morning, 
 Teaching him in prose or rhyme 
 Will be merely loss of time ; 
 
Fables and Riddles 
 
 121 
 
 All your pains are thrown away. 
 Nothing will remain a day 
 (Nothing you can teach or say 
 Nothing he has heard or read). 
 In his poor unfurnished head. 
 
 John Hookkam Frere, 
 
 SHOWING- HOW THE CAVEBN 
 
 FOLLOWED THE HUT'S 
 
 ADVICE. 
 
 This fable is a very short one : 
 
 The cave resolved to make his fortune ; 
 
 He got a door and in a year 
 
 Enriched himself with vine and beer. 
 
 Mamma will ask you, can you tell her, 
 What did the cave become ? — A 
 cellar. 
 
 John Ilookhmn Frere. 
 
 THE BOD AND THE WHIP. 
 
 The Rod and Whip had some disputes ; 
 One managed boys, the other brutes. 
 Each pleaded his superior nature. 
 The Goad was chosen arbitrator, 
 A judge acquainted with the matter. 
 Upright, inflexible, and dry. 
 And always pointed in reply : — 
 " 'Tis hard," he said, " to pass a 
 
 sentence 
 Betwixt two near and old acquain- 
 tance ; 
 The Whip alleges that he drives 
 The plough, by which the farmer lives. 
 And keeps his horses in obedience. 
 And on this ground he claims pre- 
 cedence. 
 The Red asserts that httle boys. 
 With nonsense, nastiness and noise. 
 Screaming and quarrelling and fighting. 
 Not knowing figures, books or writing. 
 Would be far worse than farmers' 
 
 horses, 
 But for the rules which he enforces, — 
 He proves his claims as clear as day. 
 So Whips and Goads must both give 
 way. 
 
 John Hookham Frere. 
 
 THE NINE-PINS. 
 
 BEING A FABLE FOR SIX YEARS OLD. 
 
 A NiNEPiN that was left alone. 
 When all his friends were overthrown, 
 Every minute apprehending 
 The destructive stroke impending. 
 Earnestly complained and cried ; 
 But Master Henry thus replied : — 
 " Are you the wisest and the best ? 
 Or any better than the rest ? 
 AVhile you linger to the leist, 
 How has all your time been past ? 
 Standing stupid, unimproved. 
 Idle, useless, unbeloved ; 
 Nothing you can do or say 
 Shall debar me from my play." 
 
 The Nine- pins you perceive are men, 
 'Tis death that answers them again. 
 And the fable's moral truth 
 Suits alike with age and youth. 
 How can age of death complain. 
 If his life has past in vain ? 
 How can youth deserve to last 
 If his life is idly past ? 
 And the final application 
 Marks the separate obligation, 
 Fairly placed within our reach. 
 Yours to learn, and mine to teach. 
 
 John Hookham Frere. 
 
 PRECEPT AND PRACTICE. 
 
 A YOUNGSTEE at school, more sedate 
 
 than the rest, 
 Had once his integrity put to the test : — 
 His comrades had plotted an orchard 
 
 to rob. 
 And asked him to go and assist in the 
 
 job. 
 
 He waa very much shocked, and 
 
 answered, " Oh, no ! 
 What, rob our poor neighbour ! I pray 
 
 3'ou don't go ; 
 Besides the man's poor, his orchard's 
 
 his bread ; 
 Then think of his children, for they 
 
 must be fed." 
 
122 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " You speak very fine, and you look 
 
 very grave, 
 But apples we want, and apples we'll 
 
 have ; 
 If you will go with us, we'll give you 
 
 a share. 
 If not, you shall have neither apple 
 
 nor pear." 
 
 They spoke, and Tom pondered, " I 
 
 see they wiU go ; 
 Poor man ! what a pity to injure 
 
 him so ; 
 Poor man ! I would save him his 
 
 fruit if I could. 
 But staying behind will do him no 
 
 " If this matter depended alone upon 
 
 me, 
 His apples might hang till they dropped 
 
 from the tree ; 
 But since they will take them, I think 
 
 I'll go too ; 
 He will lose none by me, though I get 
 
 a few." 
 
 His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt 
 
 more at ease. 
 And went with his comrades the apples 
 
 to seize ; 
 He blamed and protested, but joined 
 
 in the plan ; 
 He shared in the plunder, but pitied 
 
 the man. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE COTTAGER AND HIS 
 LANDIiORD. 
 
 FEOM THE LATIN OF MILTON. 
 
 A PEASANT to his lord paid yearly 
 
 court, 
 Presenting pippins of so rich a sort. 
 That he, displeased to have a part 
 
 alone. 
 Removed the tree, that all might be 
 
 his own. 
 The tree, too old to travel, though 
 
 before 
 So fruitful, withered, and would yield 
 
 no more. 
 
 The 'squire, perceiving all his labour 
 
 void, 
 Cursed his own pains, so foolishly 
 
 emplo5^ed ; 
 And, " Oh ! " he cried, " that I had 
 
 lived content 
 With tribute, small indeed, but kindly 
 
 meant ! 
 My avarice has expensive proved to 
 
 me. 
 And cost me both my pippins and my 
 
 tree." 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE COLUMBRIAD. 
 
 Close by the threshold of a door nailed 
 
 fast 
 Three kittens sat ; each kitten looked 
 
 aghast ; 
 I, passing swift and inattentive by, 
 At the three kittens cast a careless 
 
 eye; 
 Little concerned to know what they did 
 
 there ; 
 Not deeming kittens worth a poet's 
 
 care. 
 But presently a loud and furious hiss 
 Caused me to stop and to exclaim 
 
 " What's this ? " 
 When lo ! a viper there did meet my 
 
 view 
 With head erect and eyes of fiery hue 
 Forth from his head his forked tongue 
 
 he throws. 
 Darting it full against a kitten's nose ! 
 Who, never having seen in field or house 
 The like, sat still and silent as a mouse 
 Only projecting, with attention due. 
 Her whiskered face, she asked him 
 
 " Who are you ? " 
 On to the hall went I, with pace not 
 
 slow 
 But swift as lightning, for a long 
 
 Dutch hoe ; 
 With which, well armed, I hastened 
 
 to the spot 
 To find the viper ; — but I foimd him 
 
 not ; 
 And turning up the leaves and shrubs 
 
 around, 
 Foimd only — that he was not to be 
 
 found. 
 But still the kittens, sitting as before. 
 Were watching close the bottom of the 
 
 door. 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 123 
 
 " I hope," said I, " the villain I woiiUl 
 
 kill 
 Has slipped between the door and tlio 
 
 door-sill ; 
 And if I make despatcli, and follow hard 
 No donbt but I shall find him in tlie 
 
 yard." 
 (For long ere now it should have been 
 
 rehearsed, 
 'Twas in the garden that I found liim 
 
 first.) 
 Ev'n there I found him ; there the 
 
 full-grown cat 
 His head, with velvet paw, did gently 
 
 pat ; 
 As curious as the kittens erst had been 
 To learn what this phenomenon might 
 
 mean. 
 Filled with heroic arilour at the sight. 
 And fearing every moment he would 
 
 bite. 
 And rob our household of the only eat 
 That was of age to combat with a rat. 
 With outstretched hoe I slew him at 
 
 the door. 
 And taught him never to come there 
 
 NO MORE. 
 
 WiUiam Cowper. 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN AND THE 
 SaTJIBREIi. 
 
 The mountain and the squirrel 
 
 Had a quarrel. 
 
 And the former called the latter " Little 
 
 prig : " 
 Bun replied, 
 
 " You are doubtless very big ; 
 But all sorts of things and weather 
 Must be taken in together 
 To make up a year. 
 And a sphere. 
 And I think it no disgrace 
 To occupy my place. 
 If I'm not so large as you. 
 You p.re not so small as I, 
 And not half so spry : 
 I'll not deny you make 
 A very pretty squirrel track. 
 Talents differ ; all is well and wisely 
 
 put ; 
 If I cannot carry forests on my back, 
 Neither can you crack a nut." 
 
 JiaJph Waldo Hmtrson, 
 
 THE RAVEN. 
 
 Underneath a huge oak tree 
 
 There was of swine a huge company, 
 
 That grunted as they crunched tiu' 
 
 mast ; 
 For that was ripe, and fell full fast. 
 Then they trotted away, for the wini! 
 
 it grew high : 
 One acorn they left, and no more 
 
 might you spy. 
 Next came a Raven, that liked not 
 
 such folly : 
 He belonged, they did say, to the witch 
 
 Melancholy ! 
 Blacker was he than blackest jet. 
 Flew low in the rain and his feathers 
 
 not wet. 
 He picked up the acorn and buried it 
 
 straight 
 By the side of a river both deep and 
 
 great. 
 Where then did the Raven go 't 
 He went high and low. 
 Over hillj over dale, did the black 
 
 Raven go. 
 Many autumns many springs 
 Travelled he with wandering 
 
 wings : 
 Many summers, many winters — 
 I can't tell half his adventures. 
 At length he came back and with him a 
 
 she, 
 And the acorn wa.s grown to a tall oaic 
 
 tree. 
 They built them a nest in the top-most 
 
 bough. 
 And young ones they had, and were 
 
 happy enow. 
 But soon came a woodman in leathern 
 
 guise. 
 His brow, like a pent house hung over 
 
 his eyes. 
 He'd an axe in his hand, not a word 
 
 he spoke. 
 But with many a hem ! and a sturdy 
 
 stroke. 
 At length he brought down the poor 
 
 Raven's old oak. 
 His young ones were killed, for they 
 
 could not depart. 
 And their mother did die of a broken 
 
 heart. 
 The bouglis from the trunk the wood- 
 man did sever ; 
 And they floated it down on the coui'se 
 
 of the river. 
 
124 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Tliey sawed it in planks, and its back 
 
 they did strip, 
 And with this tree and others they 
 
 made a good ship. 
 The ship it was launched, but in sight 
 
 of the land 
 Such a storm there did rise as no ship 
 
 could withstand. 
 It bulged on a rock, and the waves 
 
 rushed in fast ; 
 The old Raven flew round and round, 
 
 and cawed to the blast. 
 He heard the last shriek of the perishing 
 
 souls — 
 See ! see ! o'er the top-mast the mad 
 
 water rolls ! 
 Right glad was the Raven, and off 
 
 he went fleet. 
 And Death riding home on a cloud he 
 
 did meet. 
 And he thanked him again and again 
 
 for this treat : 
 They had taken his all, and revenge 
 
 it was sweet. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 THE BEECH-TBEE'S 
 PETITION. 
 
 LEAVE this barren spot to me ! 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen 
 
 tree ! 
 Though bush or floweret never grow 
 My dark unwarming shade below ; 
 Nor summer bud perfume the dew 
 Of rosy blush, or yellow hue ; 
 Nor fruits of autumn, blossom-born. 
 My green and glossy leaves adorn ; 
 Nor murmuring tribes from me derive 
 Th' ambrosial amber of the hive ; 
 Yet leave this barren spot to me ; 
 Spare^ woodman, spare the beechen 
 
 tree ! 
 
 Thrice twenty summers I have seen 
 The sky grow bright, the forest green ; 
 And many a wintry wind have stood 
 In bloomless, fruitless soUtude, 
 Since childhood in my pleasant bower 
 First spent its sweet and sportive hour, 
 Since youthful lovers in my shade 
 Then: vows of truth and rapture made ; 
 And on my trunk's surviving frame 
 Carved many a long-forgotten name. 
 
 Oh ! by the sighs of gentle sound. 
 First breathed upon this sacred ground ; 
 By all that Love has whispered here. 
 Or Beauty heard with ravished ear ; 
 As Love's own altar honour me : 
 Spare, woodman, spare the beechen 
 tree 1 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 THE WATEBFALL AND THE 
 EGLANTINE. 
 
 " Begone, thou fond presumptuous 
 Elf," 
 
 Exclaimed an angry voice, 
 " Nor dare to thrust thy foolish self 
 
 Between me and my choice ! " 
 A small Cascade fresh swohi with snows 
 Thus threatened a poor Briar-rose, 
 That, all bespattered with his foam, 
 And dancing high and dancing low. 
 Was living, as a child might know, 
 
 In an unhappy home. 
 
 " Dost thou presume my course to 
 block ? 
 
 Off, off ! or, puny Thing ! 
 I'll hurl thee headlong with the rock 
 
 To which thy fibres cling." 
 The Flood was tyrannous and strong. 
 The patient Briar suffered long. 
 Nor did he utter groan or sigh. 
 Hoping the danger would be past ; 
 But, seeing no relief, at last, 
 
 He ventured to reply. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Briar, " blame me 
 not : 
 
 Whj' should we dwell in strife 7 
 We who in this sequestered spot 
 
 Once lived a happy life ! 
 You stirred me on my rocky bed — 
 What pleasure through my veins you 
 
 spread ! 
 The summer long, from day to day, 
 My leaves you freshened and bedewed : 
 Nor was it common gratitude 
 
 That did your cares repay. 
 
 " When spring came on with bud and 
 beU, 
 
 Among the rocks did I, 
 Before you hang my wreaths to tell 
 
 That gentle days were nigh ! 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 125 
 
 And in the sultry summer hours, 
 I sheltered you with leaves and flowers ; 
 And in my leaves — now shed and gone — 
 The linnet lodged, and for us two 
 Chanted his pretty songs, when you 
 Had little voice or none. 
 
 "But now proud thoughts are in your 
 breast— 
 What grief is mine you see. 
 Ah ! would you think, even yet how 
 blest 
 Together we might be ! 
 Though of both leaf and flower 
 
 bereft, 
 Some ornaments to me are left — 
 Rich store of scarlet hips is mine, 
 With which I, in my humble way, 
 AVould deck you many a winter day ; 
 A happy Eglantine ! " 
 
 What more he said I cannot tell, 
 'J'lie stream came thundering down 
 the dell, 
 
 Witli aggravated haste : 
 I listened, nor aught else could hear ; 
 The Briar quaked — and much I fear 
 
 Those accents were his last. 
 
 Willuim Wordsworth. 
 
 THE PINE-APPLE AND THE 
 BEE. 
 
 The pine-apples in triple row, 
 AV'ere basking hot, and all in blow ; 
 A bee of most discerning taste 
 Perceived the fragrance as he passed ; 
 On eager wing the spoiler came, 
 And searched for crannies in the frame. 
 Urged his attempt on every side. 
 To every pane his trunk applied ; 
 But still in vain, the frame was tight, 
 And only pervious to the liglit : 
 Thus, having wasted half the day. 
 He trimmed his flight another way. 
 
 Methinks, I said, in thee I find 
 The sin and madness of mankind. 
 To joys forbidden man aspires. 
 Consumes his soul with vain desires ; 
 Folly the spring of his pursuit. 
 And disappointment all the fruit. 
 ***** 
 
 The maid, who views with pensive air 
 The show-glass fraught with glittering 
 ware. 
 
 Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and 
 
 lockets, 
 But sighs at thought of empty pockets ; 
 Like thine, her appetite is keen. 
 But ah, the cruel glass between ! 
 
 Our dear delights are often such, 
 Exposed to view, but not to touch ; 
 The sight our foolish heart inflames. 
 We long for pine-apples in frames ; 
 With hopeless wish one looks and 
 
 lingers ; 
 One breaks the glass, and cuts his 
 
 fingers ; 
 But they, whom truth and wisdom lead. 
 Can gather honey from a weed. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE BHTTERELY AND THE 
 
 SNAIL. 
 
 As in the sunshine of the morn 
 A butterfly (but newly born) 
 Sat proudly perking on a rose. 
 With pert conceit his bosom glows ; 
 His wings (all glorious to behold) 
 Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold. 
 Wide he displays ; the spangled dew 
 Reflects his eyes and various hue. 
 
 His now forgotten friend a snail. 
 Beneath his house, with slimy trail. 
 Crawls o'er the grass, whom when he 
 
 spies. 
 In wrath he to the gardener cries : 
 
 "What means yon peasant's daily 
 toil, 
 From choking weeds to rid the soil ? 
 Why wake you to the morning's care ? 
 \Vhy with now arts correct the year ? 
 Why grows the peach's crimson hue ? 
 And why the plum's inviting blue ? 
 Were they to feast his taste design'd, 
 That vermin of voracious kind ! 
 Crush then the slow, the pilfering race. 
 So purge thy garden from disgrace." 
 
 '' What arrogance ! " the snail replied ; 
 " How insolent is upstart pride ! 
 Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain 
 Provok'd my patience to complain, 
 I had conceal'd thy meaner birth. 
 Nor trac'd thee to the scum of earth ; 
 For scarce nine suns have wak'd the 
 
 hours. 
 To swell the fruit, and paint the 
 flowers, 
 
126 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Since I thy humbler life surve^y'd. 
 In base, in sordid guise array'd. 
 I own my humble life, good friend ; 
 Snail was I born and snail shall end. 
 And what's a butterfly ? At best 
 He's but a caterpillar drest ; 
 And all thy race (a numerous seed) 
 Shall prove of caterpillar breed ! " 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGAIiE AND 
 GliOW-WOBM. 
 
 A NiCHTiNOALE, that all day long 
 Had cheered the village with his song, 
 Nor yet at eve his note suspended, 
 Xor yet when eventide was ended. 
 Began to feel, as well he might. 
 The keen demands of appetite ; 
 When, looking eagerly around, 
 He spied far off, upon the ground, 
 A something shining in the dark, 
 And knew the glow-worm by his spark ; 
 So, stooping down from hawthorn top, 
 He thought to put him in his crop. 
 The worm, aware of his intent. 
 Harangued him thus, right eloq\ient — 
 " Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, 
 " As much as I your minstrelsy. 
 You would abhor to do me wrong. 
 As much as I to spoil your song ; 
 For 'twas the self-same power divine. 
 Taught you to sing, and me to shine ; 
 That you with music, I with light. 
 Might beautify and cheer the night." 
 The songster heard his short oration. 
 And warbling out his approbation. 
 Released him, as my story tells. 
 And found a supper somewhere else. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 HOP.SE, long used to bit and bridle, 
 But always much disposed to idle. 
 Had often wished that he was able 
 To steal unnoticed from the stable. 
 
 He panted from his inmost soul. 
 To be at nobody's control. 
 Go his own pace, slower or faster. 
 In short, do nothing — like bis master, 
 
 But yet he ne'er had got at large. 
 If Jack (who had him in his charge) 
 Had not, as many have before. 
 Forgot to shut the stable-door. 
 
 Dobbin, with expectation swelling. 
 Now rose to quit his present dwelling, 
 But first peeped out with cautious fear. 
 To examine if the coast were clear. 
 
 At length he ventured from his station. 
 And with extreme self-approbation. 
 As if delivered from a load. 
 He galloped to the public road. 
 
 And here he stood awhile debating, 
 (Till he was almost tired of waiting). 
 Which way he'd please to bend his 
 
 course. 
 Now there was nobody to force. 
 
 At last imchecked by bit or rein. 
 He sauntered down a pleasant lane, 
 And neighed forth many a jocund song. 
 In triumph, as he pass'd along. 
 
 But when dark night began t'appear. 
 In vain he sought some shelter near. 
 And well he knew he could not bear 
 To sleep out in the open air. 
 
 The grass felt very damp and raw, 
 Much colder than his master's straw ; 
 Yet on it he was forced to stretch, 
 A poor, cold, melanclioly wretch. 
 
 The night was dark, the country hilly. 
 Poor Dobbin felt extremely chilly, 
 Perliaps a feeling like remorse. 
 Just then might sting the truant horse. 
 
 As soon as day began to dawn, 
 Dobbin with long and weary yawn. 
 Arose from this his sleepless night. 
 But in low spirits and bad plight 
 
 If this (thought he) is all I get, 
 
 A bed unwholesome, cold, and wet ; 
 
 And thus forlorn about to roam, 
 
 I think I'd better be at home. 
 
 'Twas long ere Dobbin could decide 
 Betwixt his wishes and his pride. 
 Whether to live in all this danger. 
 Or go back sneaking to the manger. 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 127 
 
 At last his struggling pride gave way ; 
 The thought of savory oats and hay 
 To hungry stomach was a reason 
 Unanswerable at this season. 
 
 So off he set with look profound, 
 Kight glad that he was homeward 
 
 bound ; 
 And trotting, fast as he was able, 
 Soon gained once more his master's 
 
 stable. 
 
 Now Dobbin after this disaster. 
 Never again forsook his master, 
 Convinc'd he'd better let him mount. 
 Than travel on his own account. . 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 THE COTTNCIL OF HORSES. 
 
 Upon a time a neighing steed, 
 Who graz'd among a numerous breed. 
 With mutiny had fired the train. 
 And spread dissension through the 
 
 plain. 
 On matters that concern'd the state. 
 The council met in grand debate. 
 A colt whose eyeballs Hamed with ire. 
 Elate with strength and youthful lire. 
 In haste stept forth before the rest. 
 And thus the listening throng addre.-?s'd. 
 
 " flood gods, how abject is the race, 
 C'ondemn'd to slavery and disgrace ! 
 Shall we our servitude retain. 
 Because our sires have borne the chain ? 
 Consider, friends ! your strength and 
 
 might ; 
 'Tis conquest to assert your right. 
 How cumbrous is the gilded coach ! 
 The pride of man is our reproach. 
 Were we desigu'd for daily toil. 
 To drag the ploughshare through tiie 
 
 soil. 
 To sweat in harness through the road. 
 To groan beneath the carrier's load ? 
 How feeble are the two-legg'd kind ! 
 What force is in our nerves combin'd ! 
 Shall then our nobler jaws submit 
 To foam and champ the galling bit '.' 
 Shall haughty man my back bestride "/ 
 Shall the sharp spur provoke my side '! 
 Forbid it, heavens ! reject the rein ; 
 Your shame, your infamy, disdain. 
 Let him the lion first control. 
 And still the tiger's famish'd growl. 
 
 Let us, like them, our freedom claim, 
 And make him tremble at our name." 
 
 A general nod approv'd the cause. 
 And all the circle neigh'd applause, 
 When, lo ! with grave and solemn 
 
 pace, 
 A steed advano'd before the race. 
 With age and long experience wise ; 
 Around he cast his thoughtful eyes. 
 And, to the murmurs of the train. 
 Thus spoke the Nestor of the plain. 
 
 " When I had health and strength 
 like you 
 The toils of servitude I knew ; 
 Now grateful man rewards my pains. 
 And gives me all these wide domains. 
 At will I crop the year's increase ; 
 My latter life is rest and peace. 
 I grant, to man we lend our pains, 
 And aid hnn to correct the plains ; 
 But doth not he divide the care. 
 Through all the labours of the year ? 
 How many thousand structures rise, 
 To fence us from inclement skies ! 
 For us he bears the sultry day, 
 And stores up all our winter's hay. 
 He sows, he reaps the harvest's gain, 
 We share the toil and share the grain. 
 Since every creature was decreed 
 To aid each other's mutual need. 
 Appease your discontented mind. 
 And act the part by heaven assign'd ! 
 
 The tumult ceas'd, the colt sub- 
 mitted. 
 And, like his ancestors, was bitted. 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 THE EAGLE AND THE 
 ASSEMBLY OF ANIMALS. 
 
 As Jupiter's all-seeing eye 
 Survey'd the world beneath the sky. 
 From this small speck of earth were sent 
 Murmurs and sounds of discontent ; 
 For every thing alive complain'd 
 That he the hardest life sustain'd. 
 Jove calls his Eagle. At the word 
 Before him stands the royal bird. 
 Th' obedient bird, from heaven's height, 
 Downwards directs his rapid flight ; 
 Then cited every living thing. 
 To hear the mandate of his king. 
 
 " Ungrateful creatures, whence arise 
 These murmurs which offend the skies ? 
 Why this disorder ? Say the cause. 
 For just are Jove's eternal laws ; 
 
128 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Let each his discontent reveal ; 
 To yon sour Dog, I first appeal." 
 
 " Hard is my lot, the Hound replies ; 
 On what fleet nerves the Greyhound 
 
 flies! 
 While I, with weary steps and slow, 
 O'er plains and vales and mountains go. 
 The morning sees my chase begun, 
 Nor ends it till the setting sun." 
 
 " When " (says the Greyhound) " T 
 
 pursue. 
 My game is lost or caught in view ; 
 Beyond my sight the prey's secure ; 
 The Hound is slow, but always sure ! 
 And had I his sagacious scent, 
 Jove ne'er had heard my discontent. 
 
 The Lion craved the Fox's art. 
 The Fox the Lion's force and heart ; 
 The Cock implored the Pigeon's flight 
 Whose wings were rapid, strong and 
 
 light. 
 The Pigeon strength of wing despised. 
 And the Cock's matchless valour 
 
 priz'd ; 
 The Fishes wish'd to graze the plain, 
 The Beasts to skim beneath the main. 
 Thus, envious of another's state. 
 Each blam'd the partial hand of Fate. 
 
 The bird of heaven then cried aloud, 
 " Jove bids disperse the murmuring 
 
 crowd ; 
 The god rejects your idle prayers. 
 Would ye, rebellious mutineers. 
 Entirely change your name and nature. 
 And be the very envied creature ? — 
 What ; silent all, and none consent ? 
 Be happy then, and learn content ; 
 Nor imitate the restless mind. 
 And proud ambition of mankind. 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 See, see, the murder'd geese appear \ 
 Why are those bleeding tiirkeys there T 
 Why all around this cackling train 
 Who haunt ray ears for chickens slain? " 
 
 The hungry foxes round them star'd, 
 And for the promis'd feast prepar'd. 
 
 " Where, sir, is all this dainty cheer ? 
 Nor turlcej', goose, nor hen is here. 
 These are the phantoms of your brain ; 
 And your sons lick their lips in vain,' 
 
 "0, gluttons," says the drooping sire, 
 '* Restrain inordinate desire. 
 Your liquorish taste you shall deplore, 
 When peace of conscience is no more. 
 Does not the hound betray our pace ? 
 And gins and guns destroy our race ? 
 Thieves dread the searching eye of power 
 And never feel the quiet hour. 
 Old age (which few of us shall know) 
 Now puts a period to my woe. 
 Would you true happiness attain, 
 Let honesty your passions rein ; 
 So live in credit and esteem, 
 And the good name you lost redeem," 
 
 " The counsel's good " (a fox replies), 
 " Could we perform what you advise. 
 Think what our ancestors have done ; 
 A line of thieves from son to son. 
 To us descends the long disgrace. 
 And infamy hath marked our race. 
 Though we like harmless sheep should 
 
 feed. 
 Honest in thought, in word, in deed. 
 Whatever hen-roost is decreas'd. 
 We shall be thought to share the feast. 
 The change shall never be believ'd, 
 A lost good name is ne'er retriev'd." 
 
 "Nay then," replies the feeble fox, 
 " (But hark, I hear a hen that clucks). 
 Go ; but bo moderate in your food ; 
 A chicken, too, might do me good," 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 THE FOX AT THE POINT OF 
 DEATH. 
 
 A FOX in life's extreme decay, 
 Weak, sick and faint, expiring lay ; 
 All appetite had left his maw. 
 And age disarm'd his mumbling jaw. 
 His numerous race around liim stand 
 To learn their dying sire's command. 
 He raised his head with whining moan. 
 And thus was heard the feeble tone : 
 " Ah, sons, from evil ways depart ; 
 My Crimea lie heavy on my heart. 
 
 THE LION AND THE CUB, 
 
 A LION cub, of sordid mind. 
 Avoided all the lion kind ; 
 Fond of applause, he sought the 
 
 feasts 
 Of vulgar and ignoble beasts ; 
 With asses all his time he spent, 
 Their club's perpetual president. 
 He caught tiieir manners, looks, and 
 
 airs ; 
 An ass in everything but ears | 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 129 
 
 If e'er his Highness meant a joke, 
 They grinn'd applause he fore he 
 
 spoke ; 
 But at each word what shouts of praise ; 
 Good gods ! how naturally he brays ! 
 
 Elate with flattery and conceit, 
 He seeks his royal sire's retreat ; 
 Forward and fond to show liis parts, 
 His Highness brays ; the lion starts. 
 
 " Puppy ! that curs'd vociferation 
 Betrays thy life and conversation : 
 Coxcombs, an ever noisy race, 
 Are trumpets of their own disgrace. 
 
 " Why so severe ? " the cub replies ; 
 " Our senate always held me wise ! " 
 
 "How weak is pride," returns tlie 
 sire : 
 " All fools are vain when fools admire ! 
 But know, what stupid asses prize. 
 Lions and noble beasts despise." 
 
 John Gay. 
 
 THE TXJBKEY AND THE ANT. 
 
 In other men we faults can spy, 
 
 And blame the mote that dims their 
 
 eye; 
 Each little speck and blemish find. 
 To our own stronger errors blind. 
 
 A Turkey, tired of common food. 
 Forsook the barn, and sought the wood ; 
 Behind her ran an infant train, 
 (Jolleeting, here and there, a grain. 
 " Draw near, my birds," the mother 
 
 cries, 
 " This hill delicious fare supplies. 
 Behold the busy negro race, — 
 See, millions blacken all the place ! 
 Fear not ; like me with freedom eat ; 
 An ant is most delightful meat. 
 How blest, how envied, were our life. 
 Could we but 'scape the poulterer's 
 
 knife ! 
 But man, cursed man, on Turkeys 
 
 preys. 
 And Christmas shortens all our days. 
 Sometimes with oysters we combine, 
 Sometimes assist the savoury chine ; 
 From the low peasant to the lord. 
 The Turkey smokes on every board. 
 Some men for gluttony are cursed. 
 Of the seven deadly sins the worst." 
 An ant, who climbed beyond her 
 
 reach. 
 Thus answer'd from a neighbouring 
 
 beech j 
 
 " Ere you remark another's sin. 
 Bid thy o\vn conscience look Anthin ; 
 Control thy more voracious will, 
 Nor, for a breakfast, nations kill." 
 
 John Oay. 
 
 THE DOG OF BEFLECTION. 
 
 A noo growing thinner, for want of a 
 
 dinner. 
 
 Once purloin'd a joint from a tray ; 
 
 " How happy I am, with this shoulder 
 
 of lamb ! " 
 
 Thought the cur, as he trotted away. 
 
 But the way that he took, lay just over 
 a brook. 
 Which he found it was needful to 
 cross, 
 So, without more ado, he plunged in to 
 go through. 
 Not dreaming of danger or loss. 
 
 But what should appear, in this 
 rivulet clear. 
 As he thought upon coolest re- 
 flection, 
 But a cur like himself, who with ill- 
 gotten pelf, 
 Had run off in that very direction. 
 
 Thought the dog, a propos ! but that 
 instant let go 
 (As he snatched at this same wafer- 
 spaniel). 
 The piece he possess'd — so, with hunger 
 distress 'd. 
 He slowly walk'd home to his kennel. 
 
 Hence, when we are needy, don't let 
 
 us be greedy 
 
 (Excuse me this line of digression). 
 
 Lest in snatcliiiig at all, like the dog, 
 
 we let fall 
 
 The good that we have in possession. 
 
 Jeffreys Taylor. 
 
 THE MIIiKMAID. 
 
 A MILKMAID, who poised a full pail on 
 
 her head. 
 Thus mused on her prospects in life, 
 
 it id said : 
 
130 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Let me see — I should think that this 
 
 milk will procure 
 One hundred good eggs, or fourscore, 
 
 to be sure. 
 
 " Well then — stop a bit — it must not 
 
 be forgotten, 
 Some of these may be broken, and some 
 
 may be rotten ; 
 But if twenty for accident should be 
 
 detached. 
 It will leave me just sixty sound eggs 
 
 to be hatched. 
 
 " Well, sixty sound eggs — no, sound 
 
 chickens, I mean : 
 Of these some may die — we'll suppose 
 
 seventeen. 
 Seventeen ! not so many — say ten at 
 
 the most. 
 Which will leave fifty chickens to boil 
 
 or to roast. 
 
 " But then, there's their barley, liow 
 
 much will they need ? 
 Why they take but one grain at a time 
 
 when they feed — 
 So that's a mere trifle ; now then, let 
 
 us see. 
 At a fair market price, how much money 
 
 there'll be. 
 
 " Six shillings a pair — five — four — 
 
 three-and-six. 
 To prevent all mistakes, that low price 
 
 I will fix : 
 Now what will that make ? fifty 
 
 chickens, I said — 
 Fifty times three-and-sixpence — Fll ask 
 
 brother Ned. 
 
 " O ! but stop — three-and-sixpence a 
 
 pair I must sell 'em ; 
 Well, a pair is a couple — now then let 
 
 us tell 'em ; 
 A couple in fifty will go— (my poor 
 
 brain !) 
 Why just a score times, and five pair 
 
 will remain. 
 
 " Twenty-five pair of fowls — now how 
 
 tiresome it is 
 That I can't reckon up such money 
 
 as this ! 
 Well there's no use in trjring, so let's 
 
 give a guess — 
 I'll say twenty pounds, and it can't be 
 
 no leas. 
 
 " Twenty pounds, I am certain, will 
 
 buy me a cow. 
 Thirty geese and two turkeys — eight ■ 
 
 pigs and a sow ; " 
 
 Now if these turn out well, at the end 
 
 of the year, 
 I shall fill both my pockets with 
 
 guineas, 'tis clear." 
 
 Forgetting her burden, when this she 
 
 had said, 
 The maid superciliously tossed up her 
 
 head ; 
 When, alas ! for her prospects — her 
 
 milk-pail descended. 
 And so all her schemes for the future 
 
 were ended. 
 
 This moral, I think, may be safely 
 
 attached, — 
 " Reckon not on your chickens before 
 
 they are hatched." 
 
 Jeffreys Taylor. 
 
 THE LION" AND THE MOUSE. 
 
 A LION with the heat oppress'd. 
 One day composed himself to rest ; 
 But whilst he dozed, as he intended, 
 A mouse, his royal back ascended ; 
 Nor thought of harm, as ^^sop tells, 
 Mistaking him for someone else ; 
 And travell'd over him, and round him, 
 And might have left him as he found 
 
 him 
 Had he not — tremble when you hear — 
 Tried to explore the monarch's ear ! 
 Who straightway woke, Avith wrath 
 
 immense. 
 And sliook his head to cast him thence. 
 " You rascal, what are you about ? " 
 Said he, when he had turned him out. 
 " I'll teach you soon," tlie lion said. 
 " To make a mouse-hole in my head ! " 
 So saying, he prepared his foot 
 To crush the trembling tiny brute ; 
 But he (the mouse) with tearful eye. 
 Implored the lion's clemency. 
 Who thought it best at last to give 
 Ilis little pris'ner a reprieve. 
 
 'Twas nearly twelve months after 
 this. 
 The lion chanced his way to miss ; 
 Wlien pressing forward, heedless yet. 
 He got entangled in a net 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 131 
 
 With dreadful rage, he stampt and 
 
 tore, 
 And straight commenced a lordly roar ; 
 When the poor mouse, who heard the 
 
 noise. 
 Attended, for she knew his voice. 
 Then what the lion's iitmost strength 
 Could not efifect, she did at length ; 
 With patient labour she applied 
 Her teeth, the network to divide ; 
 ^nd so at last forth issued he, 
 A lion, by a mouse set free. 
 
 Few are so small or weak, I guess, 
 But may assist us in distress, 
 Nor shall we ever, if we're wise, 
 The meanest, or the least despise. 
 
 Jeffrei/s Taylor. 
 
 THE YOTJN& MOUSE. 
 
 In a crack near a cupboard, with dain- 
 ties provided, 
 
 A certain young mouse with her mother 
 resided ; 
 
 So securely they lived on that fortunate 
 spot. 
 
 Any mouse in the land might have 
 envied their lot. 
 
 But one day this young mouse, who 
 
 was given to roam. 
 Having made an excursion some way 
 
 from her home, 
 On a sudden return'd, with such joy 
 
 in her eyes, 
 That her grey sedate parent express'd 
 
 some surprise. 
 
 " mother ! " said she, " the good folks 
 of this house, 
 
 I'm convinced, have not any ill-will to 
 a mouse. 
 
 And those tales can't be true which you 
 alwavs are telling, 
 
 For they've been at the pains to con- 
 struct us a dwelling. 
 
 " The floor is of wood, and the walls 
 
 are of wires, 
 Exactly the size that one's comfort 
 
 requires ; 
 And I'm sure that we should there have 
 
 nothing to fear. 
 If ten cat? with their kittens at once 
 
 should appear. 
 
 " And then they have made such nice 
 
 holes in tlie walls. 
 One could slip in and out with no 
 
 trouble at all, 
 But forcing one tlirough such crannies 
 
 as these. 
 Always gives one's poor ribs a most 
 
 terrible squeeze. 
 
 " But the best of all is, they've provided 
 
 us well. 
 With a large piece of cheese of most 
 
 exquisite smell, 
 'Twas so nice, I had put my head in 
 
 to go through. 
 When I thought it my duty to come and 
 
 fetch you." 
 
 " Ah, child ! " said her mother, 
 
 " believe, I entreat, 
 Both the cage and the cheese are a 
 
 horrible cheat. 
 Do not think all that trouble they took 
 
 for our good ; 
 They would catch us and kill us all 
 
 there if they could, 
 As they've caught and killed scores, 
 
 and I never could learn 
 That a mouse who once enter'd, did 
 
 ever return ! " 
 
 Let the young people mind what the 
 
 old people say. 
 And when danger is near them, keep 
 
 out of the way. 
 
 Je/Jreys Taylor, 
 
 THE MISER. 
 
 FROM THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 A isnsER, traversing his house. 
 Espied, unusual there, a mouse, 
 And thus his uninvited guest. 
 Briskly inquisitive, addressed : 
 " Tell me, my dear, to what cause is it 
 I owe this unexpected visit ? " 
 The mouse her hjst obliquely eyed. 
 And, smiling, pleasantly replied : 
 " Fear not, good fellow, for your 
 
 hoard ! 
 I come to lodge, and not to hoard ! " 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 9* 
 
132 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 A BOOK. 
 
 I'm a new contradiction ; I'm new and 
 
 I'm old, 
 I'm often in tatters, and oft deck'd 
 
 in gold : 
 Though I never could read, yet letter'd 
 
 I'm found ; 
 Though blind, I enlighten ; though 
 
 loose, I am bound — 
 I am always in black, and I'm always 
 
 in white ; 
 I am grave and I'm gay, I am heavy 
 
 and light. 
 In form too I difi'er— I'm thick and I'm 
 
 thin, 
 I've no flesh, and no bones, yet I'm 
 
 cover'd with skin ; 
 I've more points than the compass, 
 
 more stops than the flute — 
 I sing without voice, without speaking 
 
 confute ; 
 I'm English, I'm German, I'm French 
 
 and I'm Dutch ; 
 Some love me too fondly; some slight 
 
 me too much ; 
 I often die soon, though I sometimes 
 
 live ages. 
 And no monarch alive has so many 
 
 pages. 
 
 Uannah More. 
 
 A RIDDLE. 
 
 THE VOWKI.S. 
 
 We are little airy creatures. 
 All of different voice and features : 
 One of us in glass is set. 
 One of us you'll find in jet. 
 'J"other you may see in tin. 
 And the fourth a box within. 
 If the fifth you should pursue, 
 It can never fly from you. 
 
 JoiMthan Swift. 
 
 A RIDDLE. 
 
 THE LETTER "H." 
 
 'TwAS whispered in Heaven, 'twas 
 
 muttered in hell. 
 Our echo caught faintly, the sound as 
 
 it fell ; 
 
 On the confines of earth, 'twas per- 
 mitted to rest. 
 And the depths of the ocean its presence 
 
 confess'd ; 
 'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis 
 
 riven asunder. 
 Be seen in the lightning, and heard in 
 
 the thunder ; 
 'Twas allotted to man, with his earliest 
 
 breath. 
 Attends him at birth and awaits him 
 
 in death. 
 Presides o'er his happiness, honor and 
 
 health. 
 Is the prop of his house, and the end of 
 
 his wealth. 
 In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded 
 
 with care, 
 But is sure to be lost on his prodigal 
 
 heir ; 
 It begins every hope, every wish it 
 
 must bound. 
 With the husbandman toils, and with 
 
 monarchs is crowded ; 
 Without it the soldier and seaman may 
 
 roam. 
 But woe to the wretch who expels it 
 
 from home ! 
 In tlie whispers of conscience its voice 
 
 will be found. 
 Nor o'er in the whirlwind of passion 
 
 be drowned ; 
 'Twill soften the heart ; but thougli 
 
 deaf be the ear. 
 It will make it acutely and instantly 
 
 hear. 
 Set in shade, let it rest like a delicate 
 
 flower ; 
 Ah ! breathe on it softly, it dies in an 
 
 hour. 
 
 Catktrina J7. Fanshawe. 
 
 ABC. 
 
 Oh, thou alphabetic row, 
 Fun and freedom's early foe ; 
 Shall I e'er forget the primer. 
 Or the teacher Mrs. Trimmer — 
 Or the probleui then so vasi. 
 Whether Z was first or last ? 
 All pandora had for me 
 Was emptied forth in A B C. 
 
 Curious letters — single — double. 
 Source of many a childish trouble. 
 How I strove with pouting pain 
 To get thee quartord on my brain 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 133 
 
 But when the giant feat was done, 
 How noble was the field I'd won ! 
 Wit, wisdom, reason, rhyme — the key 
 To all their wealth but ABC. 
 
 Ye really ought to be exempt 
 From slighting taunt and cool contempt 
 But, drinking deep from learning's cup 
 We scorn the hand that filled it up. 
 Be courteous, pedants — stay and thank 
 Your servants of the Roman rank. 
 For F. R. S. and L. L. D. 
 Can only follow ABC. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 And smiling E the ready sprite, 
 Said, " Yes, and count me double." 
 
 This done, sweet peace shone o'er the 
 scene. 
 And gone was all the trouble ! 
 
 Meanwhile, when U and P made up. 
 The cons'nanta looked about them, 
 
 And kissed the vowels, for, you see. 
 They couldn't do without them. 
 
 THE liETTEBS AT SCHOOIi. 
 
 One day the letters went to school. 
 And tried to teach each other. 
 
 They got so mixed, 'twas really hard 
 To pick one from the other. 
 
 A went in first, and Z went last ; 
 
 The rest were all between tliem, — 
 K L and M and N P— 
 
 I wish you could have seen them ! 
 
 B C D E and J K L, 
 
 Soon jostled well their betters ; 
 Q R S T — I grieve to say — 
 Were very naughty letters. 
 
 Of course, ere long they came to words — 
 What else could be expected I 
 
 Till E made D J C and T 
 Decidedly dejected. 
 
 Now through it all the consonants 
 Were rudest and uncouthest. 
 
 While all the pretty vowel girls 
 Were certainly the smoothest. 
 
 And nimble U kept far from Q, 
 With face demure and moral, 
 
 " Because," she said, " we are, we two, 
 So apt to start a quarrel ! " 
 
 But spiteful P said. " Pooh for U [ " 
 (Which made her feel quite bitter). 
 
 And, calling L E to help. 
 He really tried to hit her. 
 
 Cried A, " Now, E and C come here I 
 
 If both will aid a minute. 
 Good P will join in making peace | 
 
 Or else the mischief's in it." 
 
 TO MY GEAMMATICAIj 
 NIECE. 
 
 The Nom'nntive case which I study's — 
 " A Niece," 
 Who is Genitive ever of kindness to 
 nie ; 
 When I'm sad she's so Dative of comfort 
 and peace. 
 That 1 scarce against fate can 
 Accusative be ! 
 O, Friendship (this Vocative most I 
 prefer), 
 Makes my case always Ablative, 
 " by and with her." 
 
 Your Mother's a Verb from Anomaly 
 free. 
 Though Indicative always of learning 
 and sense. 
 In all of her moods she's Potential o'er 
 me. 
 And the Perfect is still her invariable 
 Tense ! 
 Though Passive in temper, most active 
 in spirit, 
 And we are Deponents — who swear 
 to her merit \ 
 
 For a Syntax like that which unites 
 
 her and you 
 Through folios of Orammar in vain 
 
 we may seek ; 
 As in Gender, in Number your Concord's 
 
 most true. 
 For as Mother and Daughter, you both 
 
 are — Unique. 
 And in goodness to all, as in kindness 
 
 to me ! 
 You both, in aU cases, are sure to agree I 
 
134 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 From Prosodta, perhaps I might learn 
 
 (if I tried,) 
 " To scan my own many defects," 
 
 (Vide Gray ) ; 
 But in vain are all metrical rules when 
 
 applied 
 To charms which both Mother and 
 
 Daughter display. 
 For who could e'er learn, with all 
 
 labour and leisure. 
 To scan what are quite without number 
 
 and measure ! 
 
 Hon. William Robert Spencer. 
 
 Now rarely raised her sober eye 
 To view the golden distance : 
 
 Nor let one idle minute fly 
 
 In hope of t hen's assistance ; 
 
 But still, witli busy hands, she stood. 
 
 Intent on doing present good. 
 
 She ate the sweet but homely fare 
 That passing moments brought her ; 
 
 While THKN, expecting dainties rare, 
 Despised such bread and water ; 
 
 And waited for the fruits and flowers 
 
 Of future, still receding hours. 
 
 NOW A.ND THEN. 
 
 In distant days of wild romance. 
 
 Of magic mist and fable. 
 When stones could argue, trees advance. 
 
 And brutes to talk were able ; 
 When shrubs and flowers were said to 
 
 preach. 
 And manage all the parts of speech ; — 
 'Twas then, no doubt, if 'twas at dll, 
 
 (But doubts we need not mention,) 
 That THEN and now, two adverbs 
 small. 
 
 Engaged in sharp contention ; 
 But bow they made each other hear, 
 Tradition doth not make appear. 
 
 Then was a sprite of subtle frame, 
 With rainbow tints invested. 
 
 On clouds of dazzling light she came. 
 And stars her forehead crested ; 
 
 Her sparkling eye of azure hue 
 
 Seemed borrowed from the distant blue. 
 
 Now rested on the solid earth, 
 
 And sober was her vesture ; 
 She seldom either grief or mirth 
 
 Expressed by word or gesture ; 
 Composed, sedate, and firm she stood. 
 And looked industrious, calm, and 
 good. 
 
 Then sang a wild, fantastic song. 
 Light as the gale she flies on ; 
 
 Still stretching, as she sailed along 
 Towards the fair horizon. 
 
 Where clouds of radiance, fringed with 
 gold. 
 
 O'er hills of emerald beauty rolled. 
 
 Now, venturing once to ask her why, 
 She answered with invective ; 
 
 And pointed as she made reply, 
 Towards that long perspective 
 
 Of years to come, in distant blue. 
 
 Wherein she meant to live and do. 
 
 " Alas ! " says she, " how hard you 
 toil. 
 
 With undiverted sadness ! 
 Behold yon land of wine and oil — 
 
 Those sunny hills of gladness ; 
 Those joj's I wait -with eager brow " — 
 " And so you always will," said NOW. 
 
 " That fairy land that looks so real, 
 Recedes as you pursue it ; 
 
 Thus while you wait for times ideal, 
 I take my work and do it ; 
 
 Intent to form, when time is gone, 
 
 A pleasant past to look upon." 
 
 " Ah, well," said then, " I envy not 
 Your dull fatiguing labours ; 
 
 Aspiring to a brighter lot. 
 
 With thousands of my neighbours ; 
 
 Soon as I reach that golden hill " — 
 
 " But that," says now, " you never 
 will." 
 
 " And e'en suppose you should," said 
 she, 
 " (Though mortal ne'er attained it,) 
 Your nature you must change with 
 me. 
 The moment you had gained it : 
 Since hope fulfilled, you must allow. 
 Turns now to then, and then to now." 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
Fables and Riddles. 
 
 135 
 
 HOW-D'-Y'-DO AND GOOD-BYE. 
 
 One day, Good-bye met How-d'-y'-do, 
 
 Too close to shun saluting, 
 But soon the rival sisters flew. 
 
 From kissing to disputing. 
 
 " Away ! " says How-d'-y'-do, " your 
 mien 
 
 Appals my cheerful nature ; 
 No name so sad as yours is seen 
 
 In Sorrow's nomenclature. 
 
 " Where'er I give one sunshine hour, 
 Your cloud comes o'er to shade it ; 
 
 Whene'er I plant one bosom flower. 
 Your mildew drops to fade it. 
 
 " Ere How-d'-y'-do has tun'd each 
 tongue 
 
 To Hope's delightful measure ; 
 Good-bye in Friendsliip's ear is sung. 
 
 The knell of parting pleasure ! 
 
 " From sorrow's past, my chemic skill 
 Draws smiles of consolation, 
 
 While you from present joys distil 
 The tears of separation." — 
 
 Good-bye replied, " Your statement's 
 true. 
 
 And well your cause you've pleaded ; 
 But pray who'd think of How-d'-y'-do, 
 
 Unless Good-bye preceded ? 
 
 " Without my prior influence. 
 Could yours have ever flourished ; 
 
 And can your hand one flower dispense 
 But those my teare have nourish'd ? 
 
 " How oft, if at the court of Love, 
 Concealment be the fashion. 
 
 When How-d'-y'-do has failed to move. 
 Good-bye reveals the passion. 
 
 " How oft, ■when Cupid's fires decline, 
 As every heart remembers, 
 
 One sigh of mine, and only mine. 
 Revives the dying embers. 
 
 " Go bid the timid lover choose. 
 And I'll resign my charter ; 
 
 If he, for ten kind How-d'-y'-do's, 
 One kind Good-bye would barter. 
 
 " From Love and Friendship's kindred 
 
 source 
 We both derive existence. 
 And they would both lose half their 
 
 force. 
 Without our joint assistance. 
 
 " 'Tis well the world our merit knows. 
 Since time there's no denying. 
 
 One half in How-d'-y'-doing goes, 
 And t'other in Good-byeing." 
 
 Hon. William Robert Spencer. 
 
 DISPTJTE BETWEEN NOSE 
 AND EYES. 
 
 Between Nose and Eyes a strange 
 contest arose. 
 The spectacles set them unhappily 
 WTong ; 
 The point in dispute was, as all the 
 world knows, 
 To which the said spectacles ought 
 to belong. 
 
 So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued 
 the cause 
 With a great deal of skill, and a wig 
 full of learning. 
 While chief Baron Ear, sat to balance 
 the laws. 
 So famed for his talent, in nicely 
 discerning. 
 
 " In behalf of the nose, it will quickly 
 appear. 
 And your lordship," he said, " will 
 undoubtedly find 
 That the Nose has had spectacles 
 always in wear. 
 Which amounts to possession, — time 
 out of mind." 
 
 Then holding the Spectacles up to the 
 court — 
 " Your lordsliip observes they are 
 made with a straddle, 
 As wide as the ridge of the Nose is — in 
 short. 
 Designed to sit close to it, just like 
 a saddle. 
 
136 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Again, would your lordship a moment 
 suppose 
 ('Tis a case that has happened, and 
 may be again). 
 That tlie visage or countenance had 
 not a nose. 
 Pray who would, or who could, wear 
 spectacles then ? 
 
 " On the whole it appears, and my 
 argument shows 
 With a reasoning, the court will 
 never condemn. 
 That the spectacles plainly were made 
 for the nose. 
 And the nose was as plainly in- 
 tended for them." 
 
 Then shifting his side (as a lawyer 
 knows how) 
 He pleaded again in behalf of the 
 Eyes ; 
 But what were his arguments few 
 people know. 
 For the court did not think they 
 were equally wise. 
 
 So his lordship decreed with a grave 
 solemn tone. 
 
 Decisive and clear, without one "if" 
 or " but," 
 That, whenever the Nose put his 
 spectacles on. 
 By day-light or candle-light, Eyes 
 should be shut. 
 
 William Cowper, 
 
 .If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled 
 
 pepper, 
 Where's the peck of pickled pepper 
 
 Peter Piper picked ? 
 
 When a Twister a twisting will twist 
 
 him a twist ; 
 For the twisting of his twist, he tiiree 
 
 times doth intwist ; 
 But if one of the twines of the twist do 
 
 untwist. 
 The twme that untwisteth, untwistetli 
 
 the twine. 
 
 Untwirling the twine that untwistetli 
 
 between. 
 He twirls, with the twister, the two in 
 
 a twine. 
 Then twice having twisted tlie twines 
 
 of the twine 
 He twisteth the twine he had twined 
 
 in twain. 
 
 The twain that in twining, before in 
 
 the twine. 
 As twines were intwisted ; he now 
 
 doth untwine ; 
 'Twixt the twain inter-twisting a twine 
 
 more between. 
 He twirling his twister, makes a twist 
 
 of the twine. 
 
 Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled 
 
 pepper ; 
 A peck of pickled pepper Peter Piper 
 
 picked i 
 
 A CANDIiB. 
 
 Little Nanny Etticoat, 
 In a white petticoat, 
 And a red nose ; 
 The longer she stands 
 The shorter she grows. 
 
Part II. 
 
THE SEASONS. 
 
 HARK, HARK THE LARK. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at Heaven's gate 
 sings, 
 x\nd i'hoebus* 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 ■ On chalic'd flowers that lies. 
 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 Witli everything that pretty bin : 
 
 My lady sweet, arise ; 
 
 Arise, arise. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 Up ! maiden fair, and bind thy hair. 
 And rouse thee in the breezy air ; 
 The lulling stream tliat soothed thy 
 
 dream 
 Is dancing in the sumiy beam ; 
 Waste not these hours, so fresh, so gay. 
 Leave thy soft couch and haste away. 
 
 Up ! time will tell, the morning bell 
 Its service-sound has chimed well ; 
 The aged crone keeps house alone. 
 The reapers to the fields are gone. 
 Lose not these hours, so cool, so gay, 
 Lo ! wliilat thou sleep'st they haste 
 away. 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRINQ. 
 
 The year's at the spring, 
 The day's at the morn ; 
 Morning's at seven ; 
 The hill-side's dew pearled ; 
 The lark's on the wing ; 
 The snail's on the thorn ; 
 God's in His heaven — 
 All's right with the world } 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 GOOD MORNING. 
 
 Up ! quit thy bower, late wears the 
 
 hour. 
 Long have the rooks cawed round the 
 
 tower ; 
 O'er flower and tree loud hums the bee. 
 And the wild-kid sporta merrily : — 
 The sun is bright, the skies are clear ; 
 Wake, lady ! wake, and hasten here. 
 
 • Phoebus— The Sun. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee 
 
 Jest and youthful jollity. 
 
 Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles. 
 
 Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles. 
 
 Such as hang on Hebe's cheek. 
 
 And love to live in dimple sleek ; 
 
 Sport that wrinkled care derides. 
 
 And Laughter holding both his sides. 
 
 Come and trip it as you go 
 
 On the light fantastic toe ; 
 
 And in the right hand lead with thee 
 
 The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ; 
 
 And if I give thee honor due. 
 
 Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 
 
 To live with her, and hie with thee. 
 
 In unreproved pleasures free ; 
 
 To hear the lark begin his flight, . 
 
 And singing startle the dull night. 
 
 From his watch-tower in the skies. 
 
 Till the dappled da\vn doth rise ; 
 
 Then to come in spite of sorrow. 
 
 And at my window bid good- morrow. 
 
140 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Through the sweet-briar or the vine, 
 Or the twisted eglantine : 
 While the cock with lively din 
 Scatters the rear of darkness thin, 
 And to the stack, or the barn-door. 
 Stoutly struts his dames before. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 THE MORNING MIST. 
 
 Look, William, how the mormng mists 
 Have covered all the scene, 
 
 Nor house nor hill canst thou behold 
 Grey wood, or meadow green. 
 
 The distant spire across the vale 
 These floating vapours shroud. 
 
 Scarce are the neighbouring poplars 
 seen 
 Pale shadowed in the cloud. 
 
 But seest thou, William, where the 
 
 mists 
 Sweep o'er the southern sky, 
 The dim effulgence of the sim 
 That lights them as they fly ? 
 
 Soon shall that glorious orb of day 
 
 In all his strength arise. 
 And roll along his azure way, 
 
 Through clear and cloudless skies. 
 
 Then shall we see across the vale 
 
 The village spire so white. 
 And the grey wood and meadows green 
 
 Shall live again in light. 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
 NOONTIDE. 
 
 The shepherd boy lies on the hill 
 At noon with upward eye ; 
 
 Deep on his gaze and deeper still 
 Ascends the clear blue sky. 
 
 You pass him by, and deem perchance 
 
 He lies but half awake. 
 And picture in what airy trance 
 
 His soul may sport or ache. 
 
 Full wakeful he, both eye and heart, 
 
 For he a cloud hath seen 
 Into that waste of air depart. 
 
 As bark in ocean green. 
 
 John Keble. 
 
 EVENING. 
 Oh, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good 
 things — 
 Home to the weary, to the hungry 
 cheer. 
 To the young bird the parent's brood- 
 ing wings. 
 The welcome stall to the o'er- 
 laboured steer ! 
 Whate'er of peace about ova hearth- 
 stone clings, 
 Whate'er our household gods pro- 
 tect of dear. 
 Are gathered round us by thy look of 
 
 rest ; 
 Thou bring'st the child, too, to the 
 mother's breast. 
 
 Soft hour ! which wakes the wish and 
 
 melts the heart 
 Of those who sail the seas, on the 
 
 first day 
 When they from their sweet fi-iends 
 
 are torn apart 
 Or fills with love the pilgiim on his 
 
 way, 
 As the far bell of vesper makes him 
 
 start. 
 Seeming to weep the dying day's 
 
 decay ; 
 Is this a fancy which our reason scorns ? 
 Ah, surely nothing dies but something 
 
 mourns i 
 
 Lord Byron, 
 
 THE DAY IS PAST. 
 
 The day is past, the sun is set, 
 
 And the white stars are in the sky ; 
 
 While the lon^ grass witli dew is wet. 
 And through the air the bats now 
 
 fly. 
 
 The lambs have now lain do^\'n to 
 sleep, 
 The birds have long since sought 
 their nests ; 
 The air is still : and dark and deep 
 On the hill side the old wood rests. 
 
 Yet of the dark I have no fear, 
 But feel as safe as when 'tis light ; 
 
 For I know God is with me there, 
 And He will guard me through the 
 night. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 141 
 
 For God is by me wlieu I pray 
 And when I close mine eyea in 
 sleep, 
 
 I know tliat He will with me stay. 
 And will all night watch by me keep. 
 
 For He who rules the stars and sea. 
 Who makes the grass and trees to 
 grow. 
 
 Will look on a poor child like me, 
 When on my knees I to Him bow. 
 
 He holds all things in His right hand, 
 The rich, the poor, the great, the 
 small ; 
 
 When we sleep, or sit, or stand. 
 Is with U3, for He loves us all. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 NIOHT IN THE DESERT. 
 
 How beautiful is night ! 
 A de^vy freshness fills the silent air ; 
 No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, 
 nor stain, 
 
 Breaks the serene of heaven. 
 In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine 
 
 Rolls through the dark-blue depths. 
 
 Beneath her steady ray 
 
 The desert-circle spreads, 
 Like the round ocean, girdled with tho 
 sky. 
 
 How beautiful is night I 
 
 Bobert SoiUhey. 
 
 They look in every thoughtless nest. 
 
 Where birds are cover'd warm ; 
 They visit caves of every beast. 
 To keep them all from harm. 
 If they see any weeping 
 That should have been sleeping. 
 They pour sleep on their head. 
 And sit down by their bed. 
 
 Wlien wolves and tigers howl for prey 
 They pitying stand and weep, 
 
 Seeking to drive their thirst away, 
 And keep them from the aheep. 
 
 But if they rush dreadful. 
 
 The angels most heedful 
 
 Receive each wild spirit* 
 
 New worlds to inherit. 
 
 And there the lion's ruddy eyes 
 Shall flow with tears of gold, 
 
 And pitying the tender cries. 
 And walking round the fold. 
 
 Saying, " Wrath, by his meekness 
 
 And by his health, sickness 
 
 Is driven away 
 
 From our immortal day. 
 
 " And now beside thee, bleating lamb, 
 
 I can lie down and sleep ; 
 Or think on him who bore thy name, 
 
 Graze after thee, and weep. 
 For, wash'd in life's river. 
 My bright mane for ever 
 Shall shine like the gold 
 As I guard o'er the fold." 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 The sun descending in the west. 
 The evening star does shine ; 
 
 The birds are silent in their nest, 
 And I must seek for mine. 
 
 The moon, like a flower. 
 
 In heaven's high bower. 
 
 With silent delight 
 
 Sits and suules on the night. 
 
 Farewell, green fields and happy groves. 
 Where the flocks took delight ; 
 
 Where lambs have nibbled, silent moves 
 The feet of angels bright. 
 
 Unseen they pour blessing. 
 
 And joy without ceasing. 
 
 On each bud and blossom 
 
 And each sleeping bosom. 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT. 
 
 The sun is down, and time gone by. 
 The stars are twinkling in the sky, 
 Nor torch nor taper longer may 
 Eke out a blithe but stinted day ; 
 The hours have passed with stealthy 
 
 flight. 
 We needs must part : good-night, 
 
 good-night } 
 
 The lady in her ciurtained bed. 
 The herdsman in his wattled shed. 
 The clansmen in the heathered haU 
 Sweet sleep be with you, one and all ! 
 We part in hopes of days as bright 
 As this gone by : good-night, good- 
 night 1 
 
142 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Sweet sleep be with W3, one and all ! 
 And if upon its stillness fall 
 The visions of a busy brain. 
 We'll have our pleasures o'er again. 
 To warm the heart, to charm the sight, 
 Gay dreams to all ! good-night, good- 
 night J 
 
 Joanna BailUe. 
 
 HYMM" TO THE NTGHT. 
 
 I HEABD the trailing garments of the 
 Night 
 Sweep through the marble halls ' 
 I saw her sable skirts all fringed with 
 light 
 From the celestial walls ! 
 
 I felt her presence, by its spell of 
 might, 
 Stoo]) o'er me from above ; 
 The calm majestic presence of the 
 Night, 
 As of the one I love. 
 
 I heard the sounds of sorrow and 
 delight. 
 The manifold, soft chimes. 
 That fill the haunted chambers of the 
 Night, 
 Like some old poet's rhymes. 
 
 HYMN TO THE NOBTH STAB. 
 
 The sad and solemn Night 
 
 Has yet her multitude of cheerful 
 
 fires ; 
 The glorious host of light 
 
 Walk the dark hemisphere till she 
 
 retires ; 
 All through her silent watches, gliding 
 
 slow, 
 Her constellations come, and chmb the 
 
 heavens, and go. 
 
 Day, too, hath many a star 
 
 To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright 
 as they : 
 Through the blue fields afar. 
 
 Unseen, they follow in his flaming 
 way; 
 Many a bright lingerer, as the eve 
 
 grows dim. 
 Tells what a radiant troop arose and 
 set with him. 
 
 And thou dost see them rise. 
 
 Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see 
 
 them set. 
 Alone in thy cold skies. 
 
 Thou keep'st thy old, unmoving 
 
 station yet. 
 Nor join'st the dances of that glittering 
 
 train, .-^, 
 
 Nor dipp'st thy virgin orb in the blue ^ 
 
 western main. 
 
 From the cool cisterns of the midnight 
 air 
 My spirit drank repose ; 
 The fountain of perpetual peace flows 
 there, — 
 From those deep cisterns flows. 
 
 holy Night ! from thee I learn to bear 
 What man has borne before ! 
 
 Thou layeat thy finger on the Ups of 
 Care, 
 And they complain no more. 
 
 Peace ! Peace ! Orestes-like I breathe 
 this prayer ! 
 Descend with broad-winged flight. 
 The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the 
 most fair. 
 The best-loved. Night ! 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 There, at morn's rosy birth. 
 
 Thou lookest meekly through the 
 kindling air. 
 
 And eve, that round the earth 
 
 Chases the day, beholds thee watch- 
 ing there ; 
 
 There noontide finds thee, and the hour 
 that calls 
 
 The shapes of polar flame to scale 
 heaven's azure walls. 
 
 Alike, beneath thine eye. 
 
 The deeds of darkness and of light 
 are done ; 
 High towards the starlit sky 
 Towns blaze — the smoke of battle 
 blots the sun — 
 The nightstorm on a thousand hills is 
 
 loud — 
 And the strong wind of day doth mingle 
 sea and cloud. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 143 
 
 On thy un Itering blaze 
 
 Tlie lialf- wrecked mariner, his com- 
 pass lost, 
 
 Fixes his steady gaze. 
 
 And steers, undoubting, to the 
 friendly coast : 
 
 And they who stray in perilous wastes 
 by night, 
 
 Are glad when thou dost shine to guide 
 their footsteps right. 
 
 And, therefore, bards of old. 
 
 Sages, and hermits of the solemn 
 wood. 
 Did in thy beams behold 
 
 A beauteous type of that unchanging 
 good. 
 That bright eternal beacon, by whose 
 
 ray 
 The voyager of time should shape his 
 heedful way. 
 
 William Cullen Bryant. 
 
 I 
 
 THE STARS. 
 
 They glide upon their endless way, 
 For ever calm, for ever bright. 
 
 No blind hurry, no delay, 
 
 Mark the Daugliters of the Night : 
 
 They follow in the track of Day, 
 In divine delight. 
 
 And oh ' how still beneath the stars 
 Tlic once wild, noisy Earth doth lie ; 
 
 As though she now forsook her jai-s, 
 And caught the quiet of the sky. 
 
 Pride sleeps ; and Love (with all his 
 scars) 
 In smiling dreams doth he. 
 
 Shine on, sweet orbed souls, for aye. 
 For ever calm, for ever bright : 
 
 W'a a.sk not whither lies your way. 
 Nor whence ye came, nor what 
 your light. 
 
 Be, still, — a dream throughout the day, 
 A blessing through the night! 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 THE LIGHT OF STARS 
 
 I The night is come, but not too soon ; 
 
 ' And sinking silently, 
 
 I All silently, the little moon 
 
 I Drops down behind the sky. 
 
 There is no light in eartli or heaven, 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 
 And the first watch of night is given 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 Is it the tender star of love ? 
 
 The star of love and dreams T 
 O no ! from that blue tent above, 
 
 A hero's armour gleams. 
 
 And earnest thoughts within me rise. 
 
 When I behold afar, 
 Suspended in the evening skies. 
 
 The shield of that red star. 
 
 star of strength ! I see thee stand 
 And smile upon my pain ; 
 
 Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand. 
 And I am strong again. 
 
 Within my breast there is no light. 
 But the cold light of stars ; 
 
 1 give the first watch of the night 
 To the red planet Mars. 
 
 The star of the unconquered will, 
 
 He rises in my breast. 
 Serene, and resolute, and still. 
 
 And calm, and self-possessed. 
 
 And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art 
 That readest this brief psalm. 
 
 As one by one thy hopes depart, 
 Be resolute and calm. 
 
 0, fear not, in a world like this. 
 And thou shalt know ere long. 
 
 Know how sublime a thing it is. 
 To suffer and be strong. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 THE GLADNESS OF NATURE 
 
 Is tills a time to be cloudy and sad. 
 When our mother Nature laughs 
 around. 
 And even the deep blue heavens look 
 glad, 
 And gladness breathes from tlie 
 blossoming ground ? 
 
 Tliere are notes of joy from the hang- 
 bird and wien, 
 And the gossip of swallows through 
 all the sky ; 
 
144 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his 
 den, 
 And the wilding bee hums merrily 
 
 by. 
 
 The clouds are at play in the azure 
 space. 
 And their shadows at play on the 
 bright green vale. 
 And here they stretch to the frolic 
 chase, 
 And there they roll on the easy gale. 
 
 There's a dance of leaves in that aspen 
 bower, 
 There's a titter of winds in that 
 beechen tree, 
 There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile 
 on the flower. 
 And a laugh from the brook that runs 
 to the sea. 
 
 And look at the broad-faced sun, how 
 he smiles 
 On the dewy earth that smil&s in his 
 ray, 
 On the leaping waters and gay young 
 isles ; 
 Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom 
 away. 
 
 WiUiam Cnllen Bryant. 
 
 JOY OF LIFE. 
 
 The sun is careering in glory and 
 
 might, 
 'Mid the deep blue sky and the clouds 
 
 so bright ; 
 The billow is tossing its foam on higli, 
 And the summer breezes go lightly by ; 
 The air and the water dance, glitter, 
 
 and play — 
 And why should not I be as merry as 
 
 they? 
 
 The linnet is singing the wild wood 
 
 through. 
 The fawn's bounding footsteps skim 
 
 over the dew. 
 The butterfly flits round the blossoming 
 
 tree, 
 And the cowslip and blue-bell are bent 
 
 by the bee : 
 All the creatures that dwell in the 
 
 forest are gay, 
 And why shouFd not I be as merry as 
 
 they? 
 
 Misa Mitford. 
 
 THE CliOtTD. 
 
 " I BEING fresh showers for the thirst- 
 ing flowers. 
 From the seas and the streams ; 
 I bear light shades for the leaves when 
 laid 
 In their noon-day dreams ; 
 From my wings are shaken the dews 
 that waken 
 The sweet birds every one, 
 When rocked to rest on their mother's 
 breast. 
 As she dances in the sun. 
 I wield the flail of the lashing hail, 
 
 And whiten the green plains under ; 
 And then again I dissolve it in rain. 
 And laugh as I pass in thunder. 
 
 I sift the snow on the mountains below. 
 And their great pines groan aghast ; 
 And all the night 'tis my piUow white. 
 While I sleep in the arms of the 
 l>last. 
 Sublime on the towers of my skyey 
 bowers. 
 Lightning, my pilot, sits ; 
 In a cavern under is fettered the 
 thunder — 
 It struggles and howls by fits. 
 Over earth and ocean, with gentle 
 motion. 
 This pilot is guiding me, 
 Lured by the love of the genii that 
 move 
 In the depths of the purple sea ; 
 Over the rills, and the crags, and tlio 
 hills. 
 Over the lakes and the plains, 
 Wherever he dream, under mountain or 
 stream, 
 The spirit he loves remains ; 
 And I, all the while, bask in heaven 
 blue smile, 
 WJiilst he is dissolving in rains. 
 
 The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor 
 eyes. 
 And his burning plumes outspread 
 Leaps on the back of my sailing 
 rack. 
 When the morning-star shines dead ; 
 As on the jag of a mountain crag, 
 Which an earthquake rocks and 
 swings. 
 An eagle, alit, one moment may sit. 
 In the light of its golden wings. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 145 
 
 And when sunaet may breathe, from 
 the Ht sea beneath, 
 Its ardours of rest and love. 
 And the crimson pall of eve may 
 fall 
 From the depths of heaven above, 
 With wings folded I rest, on mine aiiy 
 nest. 
 As still as a brooding dove. 
 
 That orb^d maiden, with white fire 
 " laden. 
 
 Whom mortals call the moon. 
 Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like 
 floor. 
 By the midnight breezes strewn ; 
 And wherever the beat of her unseen 
 feet. 
 Which only the angels hear. 
 May have broken the woof of my tent's 
 tliin roof. 
 The stars peep behind her and peer ! 
 And I laugh to see them whirl and 
 flee. 
 Like a swarm of golden bees, 
 When I widen the rent in my wind- 
 built tent. 
 Till the calm rivers, lakes, and seas, 
 Like strips of the sky fallen through 
 me on higli. 
 Are each paved with the moon and 
 these. 
 
 I bind the sun's throne with a burning 
 zone. 
 And the moon's with a girdle of 
 pearl ; 
 The volcanoes are dim, and the stars 
 reel and swim, 
 When the whirlwinds my banners un- 
 furl. 
 From cape to cape, with a bridge-like 
 shape 
 Over a torrent sea. 
 Sunbeam proof, I hang Uke a roof, 
 
 The mountains its columns be. 
 The triumphal arch through which I 
 march 
 With hiurricane, fire, and snow, 
 When the powers of the air are chained 
 to my chair, 
 Is the million-coloured bow ; 
 The sphere-fire above its soft colours 
 wove. 
 While the moist air was laughing 
 below. 
 
 I am the daughter of earth and water, 
 
 And the nursling of the sky ; 
 I pass through the pores of the ocean 
 and shores ; 
 I change, but I camiot die : 
 For, after the rain, when, with never a 
 stain. 
 The pavilion of heaven is bare. 
 And the winds and sunbeams, with 
 their convex gleams. 
 Build up the blue dome of air, 
 I silently laugh at my own cenotaph, 
 
 And out of the caverns of rain, 
 Like a child from the womb, like a 
 ghost from the tomb, 
 I arise and unbuild it again." 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 THE WATEB ! THE WATER ! 
 
 The Water ! the Water ! 
 
 The joyous brook for me. 
 That tuneth through the quiet night 
 
 Its ever-living glee. 
 The Water ! the Water ! 
 
 That sleepless, merry heart. 
 Which gurgles on unstintedly. 
 
 And loveth to impart 
 To all around it, some small measure 
 Of its own most perfect pleasure. 
 
 The Water ! the Water ! 
 
 The gentle stream for me, 
 That gushes from the old grey stone 
 
 Beside the alder- tree. 
 The Water ! the Water ! 
 
 That ever-bubbling spring 
 I loved and look'd on while a child. 
 
 In deepest wondering, — 
 And ask'd it whence it came and went. 
 And when its treasures would be spent. 
 
 The Water ! the Water ! 
 
 The merry wanton brook 
 That bent itself to pleasure me. 
 
 Like mine old shepherd crook. 
 The Water ! the Water | 
 
 That sang so sweet at noon, 
 And sweeter still all night, to win 
 
 Smiles from the pale, proud moon. 
 And from the little fairy faces 
 That gleam in heaven's remotest places. 
 
 William MotJierwell. 
 lO 
 
146 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE POTJNTAIN". 
 
 Into the sunshine, 
 
 Full of the light, 
 Leaping and flashing 
 
 From morn till night | 
 
 Into the moonlight. 
 
 Whiter than snow. 
 Waving so flower-like 
 
 When the winds blow | 
 
 Into the starlight. 
 
 Rushing in spray, 
 Happy at midnight, 
 
 Happy by day | 
 
 Ever in motion, 
 
 Blithesome and cheery, 
 Still climbing heavenward. 
 
 Never aweary ; 
 
 Glad of all weathers. 
 Still seeming best. 
 Upward or downward 
 
 Motion thy rest ; 
 
 Full of a nature 
 
 Nothing can tame. 
 Changed every moment. 
 
 Ever the same ; 
 
 Ceaseless aspiring. 
 
 Ceaseless content. 
 Darkness or sunshine 
 
 Thy element ; 
 
 Glorious fountain ! 
 
 Let my heart be 
 Fresh, changeful, constant. 
 
 Upward like thee ! 
 
 Jama BusseU Lowell. 
 
 THE CATABACT OP LODORE. 
 
 How does the water come down at 
 
 Lodore ? 
 My little boy asked me thus, once 
 
 on a time. 
 Moreover, he task'd me to tell him 
 
 m rhyme ; 
 
 Anon at the word there first came one 
 
 daughter. 
 And then came another to second and 
 
 third 
 The request of their brother, and hear 
 
 how the water 
 Comes down at Lodore, with its rush 
 
 and its roar, 
 As many a time they had seen it 
 
 before. 
 So I told them in rhyme, for of 
 
 rhymes I had store. 
 And 'twas in my vocation that thus I 
 
 should sing, 
 Because I was laureate to them and 
 
 the King. 
 
 From its sources which well 
 
 In the tarn on the fell, 
 
 From its fountain in the moun 
 
 tain. 
 Its rills and its gills, 
 Through moss and through 
 
 brake. 
 It runs and it creeps. 
 For awhile till it sleeps. 
 In its own little lake. 
 And thence at departing. 
 Awakening and starting. 
 It runs through the reeds. 
 And away it proceeds, 
 Tlarough meadow and glade. 
 In sun and in shade. 
 And tlirough the wood shelter. 
 Among crags and its flurry. 
 Helter-skelter — hurry-skurry. 
 
 How does the water come down at 
 Lodore 1 
 Here it comes sparkling. 
 And there it lies darkling ; 
 Here smoking and frothing. 
 Its tumult and wrath in. 
 It hastens along, conflicting, and 
 strong, 
 Now striking and raging, 
 As if a war waging. 
 Its caverns and rocks among. 
 
 Rising and leaping. 
 Sinking and creeping. 
 Swelling and flinging. 
 Showering and springing. 
 Eddying and whisking, 
 Spouting and frisking. 
 Twining and twisting. 
 Around and around. 
 
 I 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 147 
 
 Collecting, disjecting, 
 W'ith endless rebound ; 
 
 Smiting and fighting, 
 
 A sight to delight in ; 
 
 Confounding, astounding, 
 Dizzing and deafening the ear with 
 its sound. 
 
 Reeding and speeding. 
 And shocking and rocking. 
 And darting and parting. 
 And tlireading and spreading. 
 And whizzing and hissing. 
 And dripping and skipping, 
 And whitening and brightening. 
 And quivering and shivering. 
 And hitting and splitting. 
 And shining and twining. 
 And rattling and battling, 
 And shaking and quaking. 
 And pouring and roaring. 
 And waving and raving. 
 And tossing and crossing. 
 And flowing and growing. 
 And running and stunning, 
 And hurrying and skurrj ing 
 And glittering and frittering. 
 And gathering and feathering. 
 And dinning and spinning. 
 And foaming and roaming, 
 And dropping and hopping,- 
 And working and jerking, 
 And heaving and cleaving. 
 And thundering and flounder- 
 ing ; 
 
 And falling and crawling and sprawl- 
 
 And driving and riving and striving. 
 
 And sprinkling and twinkling and 
 wrinkling. 
 
 And sounding and bounding and round- 
 ing. 
 
 And bubbling and troubling and 
 doubling. 
 
 Dividing and gliding and sliding. 
 
 And grumbling and rumbling and 
 tumbling. 
 
 And clattering and battering and 
 shattering ; 
 
 And gleaming and steaming and stream- 
 ing and beaming. 
 
 And rushing and flushing and brush- 
 ing and gushing, 
 
 4n(l flaj)ping and rapping and clapping 
 and slapping. 
 
 And curling and whirling and purling 
 and twirling. 
 
 Retreating and beating and meeting 
 and sheeting. 
 
 Delaying and straying and playing and 
 spraying. 
 
 Advancing and prancing and glancing 
 and dancing. 
 
 Recoiling, turmoiling and toiUng and 
 boiling. 
 
 And thumping and flumping and bump- 
 ing and jumping. 
 
 And dasiiing and flashing and splash- 
 ing and clashing, — 
 
 And so never ending, but always 
 descending, 
 
 Sounds and motions for ever and ever 
 are blending. 
 
 All at once and all o'er, with a mighty 
 uproar — 
 
 And this the way the water comes 
 down at Lodore. 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
 THE BBOOK. 
 
 I COME from haunts of coot and hern, 
 
 1 make a sudden sally, 
 \nd sparkle out among the fern. 
 
 To bicker down a valley. 
 
 By thirty hills I hurry down, 
 
 Or slip between the ridges, 
 By twenty thorps, a little town. 
 
 And half a hundred bridges. 
 
 Till last by Philip's farm I flow 
 To join the brimming river. 
 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 I chatter over stony ways, 
 In little sharps and trebles, 
 
 I bubble into eddying bays, 
 I babble on the pebbles. 
 
 With many a curve my banks I fret 
 By many a field and fallow. 
 
 And many a fairy foreland set 
 With willow-weed and mallow 
 
 I chatter, chatter, as I flow 
 To join the brimming river, 
 
 For men may come and men may go, 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
148 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 I wind about, and in and out, 
 With here a blossom sailing. 
 
 And here and there a lusty trout, 
 And here and there a grayling. 
 
 And here and there a foamy flake 
 
 Upon me, as I travel 
 With many a silvery waterbreak 
 
 Above the golden gravel, 
 
 And draw them all along, and flow 
 To join the brimming river. 
 
 For men may come and men may go. 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 I steal by lawns and grassy plots, 
 
 I slide by hazel covers ; 
 I move the sweet forget-me-nots 
 
 That grow for happy lovers. 
 
 I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance. 
 Among my skimming swallows ; 
 
 I make the netted sunbeam dance 
 Against my sandy shallows. 
 
 I murmur under moon and stars 
 
 In brambly wildernesses ; 
 I linger by my shingly bars ; 
 
 I loiter round my cresses ; 
 
 And out again I curve and flow 
 To join the brimming river. 
 
 For men may come and men maj' go. 
 But I go on for ever. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 SIGNS OF RAIN. 
 
 The hollow winds begin to blow, 
 The clouds look black, the glass is 
 
 low, 
 The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, 
 The spiders from their cobwebs peep : 
 Last night the sun went pale to bed. 
 The moon in halos hid her head ; 
 The boding shepherd heaves a sigh. 
 For, see, a rainbow spans the sky : 
 The walls are damp, the ditches smell, 
 Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel. 
 Hark how the chairs and tables crack ! 
 Old Betty's joints are on the rack ; 
 Loud quack thi ducks, the peacocks 
 
 cry. 
 The distant hills axe seeming nigh. 
 
 How restless are the snorting swine ; 
 The busy flies disturb the kine ; 
 Low o'er the grass the swallow wings. 
 The cricket, too, how sharp he sings ; 
 Puss on the hearth, Avith velvet paws. 
 Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws. 
 Through the clear stream the fishes rise. 
 And nimbly catch the incautious flies. 
 The glow-worms, numerous and briglit, 
 Illumed the dewy dell last night. 
 At dusk the squalid toad was seen. 
 Hopping and crawling o'er the green ; 
 The whirling wind the dust obeys, 
 And in the rapid eddy plays ; 
 The frog has changed his yellow vest. 
 And in a russet coat is dressed. 
 Though June, the air is cold and still. 
 The mellow blackbird's voice is shiiil. 
 My dog, so altered in his taste. 
 Quits mutton-bones on grass to feast ; 
 And see yon rooks, how odd their 
 
 flight. 
 They imitate the gliding kite. 
 And seem precipitate to fall. 
 As if they felt the piercing ball. 
 'T^Nill surely rain I see with sorrow. 
 Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow. 
 
 Edward Jenner. 
 
 • BAIN IN SUMMER. 
 
 How' beautiful is the rain ! 
 
 After the dust and heat. 
 
 In the broad and fiery street, 
 
 In the narrow lane. 
 
 How beautiful is the rain | 
 
 How it clatters along the roofs. 
 Like the tramp of hoofs i 
 How it gushes and struggles out 
 From the throat of the overflowmg 
 spout ! 
 
 Across the window pane 
 
 It pours and pours ; 
 
 And swift and wide, 
 
 With a muddy tide. 
 
 Like a river down the gutter roars 
 
 The rain, the welcome rain ! 
 
 The sick man from his chamber looks 
 
 At the twisted brooks ; 
 
 He can feel the cool 
 
 Breath of each little pool ; 
 
 His fevered brain 
 
 Grows calm again. 
 
 And he breathes a blessing on the rain. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 149 
 
 From the neighbouring school 
 
 Come the boys, 
 
 With more than their wonted uoiae 
 
 And commotion ; 
 
 And down the wet streets 
 
 Sail their mimic fleets, 
 
 Till tlie treacherous pool 
 
 Engulfs them in its wliirling 
 
 And turbulent ocean. 
 
 In the country on every side, 
 
 Where far and wide, 
 
 Liice a leopard's tawny and spotted 
 
 hide 
 Stretches the plain. 
 To the dry grass and the drier grain 
 How welcome is the rain ! 
 
 In the furrowed land 
 
 The toilsome and patient oxen stand ; 
 
 Lifting the yoke-encumbered head, 
 
 With their dilated nostrils spread. 
 
 They silently inhale 
 
 The clover-scented gale, 
 
 And tlie vapours tliat arise 
 
 From the well-watered and smoking 
 
 soil. 
 For this rest in the furrow after toil 
 Their large and lustrous eyes 
 Seem to thank tiie Lord, 
 More than man's spoken word 
 
 Near at hand, 
 
 From under the sheltering trees. 
 
 The farmer sees 
 
 His pastures and his fields of grain. 
 
 As they bend their tops 
 
 To the numberless beating drops 
 
 Of the incessant rain. 
 
 He counts it as no sin 
 
 Tiiat he sees therein 
 
 Only his own thrift and gain. 
 
 Uenrtj Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 My life is cold, and dark, and dreary ; 
 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 
 My thouglits still cling to the moulder- 
 ing i'ast. 
 
 But the hopes of youth fall thick in 
 the blast. 
 And the days are dark and dreary. 
 
 Be still, sad heart ! and cease repining ; 
 Behind the clouds is the sun still 
 
 sliining ; 
 Tby fate is the common fate of fall. 
 Into each life some rain must fall. 
 Some ilays must be dark and dreary. 
 
 Uenry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 SUNSHINE AFTER A 
 SHOWER. 
 
 EvEK after summer shower. 
 
 When the bright sun's returning power 
 
 With laughing beam has chased the 
 
 storm. 
 And cheer'd reviving Nature's form. 
 By sweet-briar hedges batlied in dew. 
 Let me my wholesome path pursue ; 
 There, issuing forth, the frequent snail 
 Wears the daub way with slimy trail; 
 While as I walk from pearled bush 
 The sunny sparkling drop I brusli ; 
 And all the landscape fair I view 
 Clad in robe of fresher hue ; 
 And so loud the blackbird sings. 
 That far and near the valley rings. 
 From siielter deep of shaggy rock 
 The shepherd drives his joyful Hock ; 
 From bowering beech the mower blithe 
 With new-born vigour grasps the 
 
 scythe ; 
 While o'er the smooth unbounded 
 
 meatls 
 His last faint gleam the raini)ow 
 
 spreads. 
 
 Thomas Warluii. 
 
 THE RAINY DAY. 
 
 The day is cold, and dark, and dreary } 
 It rains, and the wind is never weary ; 
 The vine still clings to the mouldering 
 
 wall, 
 But at every gust the dead leaves 
 
 fall, 
 And the day is dark and dreary. 
 
 A RAINBOW. 
 
 A FRAGMENT of a rainbow bright 
 Tiirough the moist air I see. 
 
 All dark and damp on yonder height, 
 All clear and gay to me. 
 
150 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 An hour ago the storm was here, 
 The gleam was far behind. 
 
 So will our joj's and griefs appear 
 When earth has ceased to blind. 
 
 Grief will be joy, if on its edge 
 Fall soft that holiest ray : 
 
 Joy will be grief, if no faint pledge 
 Be there of heavenly day. 
 
 John Kehle, 
 
 THE SUH". 
 
 Somewhere it is always light; 
 
 For when 'tis morning here, 
 In some far distant land 'tis night. 
 
 And the bright moon shines there. 
 
 When you're undressed and going to 
 bed. 
 
 They are just rising there, 
 And morning on tlie hills doth spread 
 
 AVlien it is evening here. 
 
 And other distant lands there be, 
 
 Where it is always night ; 
 For weeks and weeks they never see 
 
 The sun, nor have they light. 
 
 Still seem, as to my childhood's 
 
 sight, 
 A midway station giveii, 
 For happy spirits to alight, 
 Betwixt the earth and heaven. 
 
 Can all that optics teach, unfold 
 
 Thy form to please me so. 
 As when I di-eamt of gems and gold 
 
 Hid in thy radiant bow ? 
 
 What science from creation's face 
 Enchantment's veil withdraws, 
 
 What lovely visions yield their place 
 To cold material laws ! 
 
 And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams. 
 But words of the Most High, 
 
 Have told why first thy robe of beams 
 Was woven in the sky. 
 
 When o'er the green undeluged earth 
 Heaven's covenant thou didst shine. 
 
 How came the world's gray fathers 
 forth 
 To watch thy sacred sign ! 
 
 And when its yellow lustre smiled 
 O'er mountains yet untrod. 
 
 Each mother held aloft her child 
 To bless the how of God. 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 For it is dark both night and day. 
 But what's as wondrous quite, 
 
 The darkness it doth pass away. 
 And then for weeks 'tis light. 
 
 Yes, while you sleep the sun sliincs 
 bright. 
 
 The sky is blue and clear ; 
 For weeks and weeks there is no night, 
 
 But always dayUght there. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 The earth to thee her incense yields. 
 The lark thy welcome sings. 
 
 When, glittering in the fresheu'd 
 fields, 
 The snowy mushroom springs. 
 
 How glorious is thy girdle, cast 
 O'er mountain, tower, and town. 
 
 Or mirror'd in the ocean vast 
 A thousand fathoms doAvn I 
 
 As fresh in yon horizon dark. 
 As j'oung thy beauties seem. 
 
 As when the eagle from the ark 
 First sported in thy beam. 
 
 THE KAINBOW. 
 
 Triumphal arch, that fiU'st the sky 
 When storms prepare to part, 
 
 I ask not proud Philosophy 
 To teach me what thou art. 
 
 For, faithful to its sacred page. 
 Heaven still rebuilds thy span ; 
 
 Nor lets the type gi'ow pale with age 
 That first spoke peaep to man. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 151 
 
 I 
 
 "MY HEART LEAPS UP WHEN 
 I BEHOLD." 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold 
 
 A rainbow in the sky : 
 So was it when my life began ; 
 So it is now I am a man ; 
 So be it when I shall grow old. 
 
 Or let me die ! 
 The Child is father of the Man ; 
 And I could wish my days to be 
 Bound each to each by natural piety. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE WHIEL-BLAST. 
 
 A WHIRL- BLAST ffom behind the hill 
 Pvush'd o'er the woods with atarthng 
 
 sound ; 
 Then — all at once the air was still. 
 And showers of hailstones patter'd 
 
 round. 
 Where leafless oaks tower'd high above, 
 I sat within an undergrove 
 Of tallest hollies, tall and green ; 
 A fairer bower was never seen. 
 From year to year the spacious floor 
 With wither'd leaves is cover'd o'er. 
 And all the year the bower is green ; 
 But see ! where'er the liailstones drop 
 Tlie wither'd leaves all skip and hop ; 
 There's not a breeze — no breath of 
 
 air — 
 Yet here, and there, and everywhere 
 Along the floor, beneath the shade 
 By those embowering hollies made, 
 The leaves in myriads jump and spring. 
 As if with pipes and music rare 
 Some Robin GoodfeUow were there. 
 And all those leaves, in festive glee, 
 Were dancing to the minstrelsy. 
 
 WiUiam WordauxMih, 
 
 Hides hills and woods, the river, and 
 the heaven, 
 
 And veils the farmhouse at the garden's 
 end. 
 
 The sledge and traveller stopped, the 
 courier's feet 
 
 Delayed, all fi'iends shut out, the house- 
 mates set 
 
 Around the radiant fireplace, inclosed 
 
 In a tumultuous privary of storm. 
 
 Come, see the north wind's masonry. 
 Out of an unseen quarry evermore 
 Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer 
 Curves his white bastions with pro- 
 jected roof 
 Round every windward stake, or tree, 
 
 or door. 
 Speeding, the myriad-handed, hia wild 
 
 work 
 So fanciful, so savage, naught cares he 
 For number or proportion. Mock- 
 ingly, 
 On coop or kennel he hangs Parian 
 wreaths ; 
 
 A swan-like form invests the hiddea 
 thorn ; 
 
 Fills up the farmer's lane from wall to 
 wall, 
 
 Maugre the farmer's sighs ; and, at the 
 gate, 
 
 A tapering turret overtops the work : 
 
 .4nd when his hours are numbered, and 
 the world 
 
 Is all his own, retiring, as he were not. 
 
 Leaves, when the smi appears, as- 
 tonished Art 
 
 To mimic in slow structures, stone by 
 stone. 
 
 Built in an age, the mad wind's night- 
 work. 
 
 The frolic architecture of the snow. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 THE SNOWSTOBM. 
 
 Announced by all the trumpets of 
 
 the sky, 
 Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er 
 
 the fields. 
 Seems now here to aliglit ; the whited 
 
 air 
 
 UP IN THE MORNING EARLY. 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me. 
 
 Up in the morning early ; 
 Wlien a' the hilla are cover'd wi' 
 snaw, 
 
 I'm suie it's winter faixly. 
 
152 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Card blawa the wind frae east to 
 west. 
 
 The drift is driving sairly ; 
 Sae loud and shrill's I hear the blast, 
 
 I'm sure it's winter fairly. 
 
 The birds sit chittering in the thorn, 
 A' day they fare but sparely ; 
 
 And lang's tlie night frae e'en to morn ; 
 I'm sui-e it's winter fairly. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 THE VOICE OP SPKINa. 
 
 " SPErN'G, where are you tarrying 
 
 now ? 
 Why are you so long unfelt ? 
 Winter went a month ago, 
 When the snows began to melt." 
 
 " I am coming, little maiden. 
 With the pleasant sunshine laden ; 
 With the honey for the bee. 
 With the blossom for the tree, 
 With the flower, and with the leaf; 
 Till I come, the time is brief. 
 
 THE MONTHS. 
 
 January brings the snow, 
 Makes our feet and fingers glow. 
 
 February brings the rain. 
 Thaws the frozen lake again. 
 
 March brings breezes sharp and chill, 
 Shakes the dancing daffodil. 
 
 April brings the primrose sweet. 
 Scatters daisies at our feet. 
 
 ** I am coming, I am coming ! 
 Hark ! the little bee is humming ; 
 See ! the lark is soaring high 
 In the bright and sunny sky ; 
 And the gnats are on the wing ; 
 Little maiden, now is Spring ! 
 
 " See the yellow catkins cover 
 AU the slender willows over ; 
 And on mossy banks so green. 
 Starlike primroses are seen ; 
 And their clustering leaves below. 
 White and purple violets glow. 
 
 May brings flocks of pretty lambs, 
 Sporting roimd their fleecy dams. 
 
 June brings tulips, lilies, roses, 
 
 Fills the children's hands with posies. 
 
 Hot July brings thunder-showers, 
 Apricots, and gilly-flowers. 
 
 August brings the sheaves of corn ; 
 Then the harvest home is borne. 
 
 Warm September brings the fruit ; 
 Sportsmen then begin to shoot. 
 
 Brown October brings the pheasant 
 Then to gather nuts is pleasant. 
 
 Dull November brings the blast — 
 Hark ! the leaves are whirling fast. 
 
 Cold December brings the sleet. 
 Blazing fire, and Christmas treat. 
 
 Sara Coleridge. 
 
 " Hark ! the little lambs are bleating. 
 And the cawing rooks are meeting 
 In the elms, a noisy crowd ; 
 And all birds are singing loud ; 
 And the first white butterfly 
 In the sun goes flitting by, 
 
 " Little maiden, look around thee ! 
 Green and flowery fields surround 
 
 thee ; 
 Every httle stream is bright. 
 All the orchard trees are white. 
 And each small and waving shoot 
 Has for thee sweet flower or fruit. 
 
 " Turn thy eyes to earth and heaven ! 
 God for thee the Spring hath given ; 
 Taught the birds their melodies, 
 Clothed the earth and cleared the 
 
 skies, 
 For thy pleasure, or thy food ; 
 I'our thy soul in gratitude ! 
 So may'st thou 'mid blessings dwell : 
 Little maiden, fare thee well ! " 
 
 Mary Uowitt. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 153 
 
 A WAIiK IN SPBINO. 
 
 I'm very glad the spring is come — the 
 sun shines out so bright, 
 
 The little birds upon the trees are sing- 
 ing for delight. 
 
 The young giass looks so fresh and 
 green, the laiubkins sport and play, 
 
 And I can skip and run about as mer- 
 rily as they. 
 
 I like to see the daisy and the butter- 
 cups once more. 
 
 The primrose and the cowslip too, and 
 every pretty flower ; 
 
 I like to see the butterfly fluttering 
 her painted wing, 
 
 And all things seem just like myself, so 
 pleased to see the spring. 
 
 The fishes in the little brook are jump- 
 ing up on high. 
 
 The lark is singing sweetly as she 
 mounts into the sky ; 
 
 The rooks are building up their nests 
 upon the great tall tree, 
 
 And everything's as busy and as happy 
 as can be. 
 
 There's not a cloud upon the sky, 
 there's nothing dark or sad ; 
 
 I jump, and scarce know what to do, I 
 feel so very glad. 
 
 God must be very good indeed, who 
 made each pretty thing : 
 
 I'm sure we ought to love Him much 
 for bringing back the spring. 
 
 M. A. Sludart. 
 
 SPBINQ. 
 
 Speino, the sweet Spring, is the year's 
 
 pleasant king ; 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids 
 
 dance in a ring ; 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds 
 
 do sing. 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 
 The palm and the may make country 
 
 houses gay. 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds 
 
 pipe all day. 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry 
 
 lay* 
 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies 
 
 kiss our feet. 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning 
 
 sit ; 
 In every street these tunes our ears do 
 
 greet. 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 Spring ! the sweet Spring ! 
 
 Thomas Nanh. 
 
 SPEINO IS COME. 
 
 Ye coax the timid verdure. 
 
 Along the hills of Spring, 
 Blue skies and gentle breezes. 
 
 And soft clouds wandering ! 
 The quire of birds on budding spray. 
 
 Loud larks in ether sing ; 
 A fresher pulse, a wider day. 
 
 Give joy to everything. 
 
 The gay translucent morning 
 
 Lies glittering on the sea. 
 The noonday sprinkles shadows 
 
 Athwart the daisied lea ; 
 The round sun's falling scarlet rim 
 
 In vapour hideth he ; 
 The darkling hours are cool and dim 
 
 As vernal night should be. 
 
 Our Earth has not grown aged. 
 
 With all her countless years ; 
 She works, and never wearies. 
 
 Is glad, and nothing fears : 
 The glow of air, broad land and wave. 
 
 In season re-appears ; 
 And shall, when slumber in the grave 
 
 These human smiles and tears. 
 
 Oh, rich in songs and colours, 
 
 Thou joy-reviving Spring ! 
 Some hopes are chill'd with winter 
 
 Whose term thou canst not bring, 
 Some voices answer not thy call 
 
 When sky and woodland ring, 
 Some faces come not back at all 
 
 With primrose-blossoming. 
 
 The distant- flying swallow 
 The upward-yearning seed. 
 
 Find Nature's promise faithful. 
 Attain their humble meed. 
 
154 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Great Parent ! thou hast also form'd 
 These hearts -which throb and bleed ; 
 
 With love, truth, hope, their life hast 
 warm'd. 
 And what is best, decreed. 
 
 William AUino-ham, 
 
 NOW THAT "WINTEB'S GONE. 
 
 Now that the winter's gone, the earth 
 
 hath lost 
 Her snow-white robes ; and no more 
 
 the frost 
 Candies the grass, or casts an icy 
 
 cream 
 Upon the silver lake or crystal stream ; 
 But the warm thaws the benumbed 
 
 earth, 
 x\nd makes it tender; gives a sacred 
 
 birth 
 To the dead swallow ; wakes in hollow 
 
 tree 
 The drowsy cuckoo and the humble- 
 bee. 
 Now do a choir of chirping minstrels 
 
 bring 
 In triumph to the world, the youthful 
 
 Spring : 
 The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich 
 
 array. 
 Welcome the coming of the long'd-for 
 
 May. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 MABCH. 
 
 The stormy Jilarch is come at last, 
 With wind, and cloud, and chang- 
 ing skies ; 
 I hear the rushing of the blast 
 That through the snowy valley 
 flies. 
 
 Ah, passing few are they who speak. 
 Wild, stormy month, in praise of 
 thee ; 
 Yet though thy winds are loud and 
 bleak, 
 Thou art a welcome month to me. 
 
 For thou to northern lands, again 
 The glad and glorious sun dost 
 bring ; 
 And thou hast joined the gentle train. 
 And wear'st the gentle name of 
 Spring. 
 m * * * * * 
 
 Then sing aloud the gushing rills 
 In joy that they again are free, 
 And, brightly leaping down the hills. 
 Renew their journey to the sea. 
 * « « « « * 
 Thou, bring'st the hope of those calm 
 skies. 
 And that soft time of sunny showers. 
 When the wide bloom, on earth that 
 lies. 
 Seems of a brighter world than ours 
 
 William Bryant, 
 
 sPRiNa. 
 
 Sound the flute | 
 Now it's mute. 
 Birds deUght 
 Day and night ; 
 • Nightingale 
 In the dale, 
 Lark in sky 
 Merrily 
 Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the 
 year. 
 
 liittle boy, 
 Full of joy ; 
 Little girl. 
 Sweet and small ; 
 Cock does crow. 
 So do you. 
 Merry voice. 
 Infant noise. 
 Merrily, merrily, to welcome in the 
 year. 
 
 IJttle lamb. 
 Here I am ; 
 Come and lick 
 My white neck ; 
 Let me pull 
 Your soft wool ; 
 I.,et me kiss 
 Your soft face : 
 Merrily, merrily, we welcome in the 
 year. 
 
 WiUinm Blake. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 155 
 
 WBITTEN IN MARCH. 
 
 The cock is cmwing. 
 
 The stream is flowing, 
 
 The small birds twitter. 
 
 The lake doth giltter, 
 
 The green field sleeps ia the sun : 
 
 The oldest and youngest 
 
 Are at work with the strongest : 
 
 The cattle are grazing, 
 
 'I'heir heads never raising. 
 
 Theie are forty feeding like one ! 
 
 Like an army defeated, 
 
 The snow hath retreated, 
 
 And now doth fare ill 
 
 On the top of the bare hill ; 
 
 The ploughboy is whooping — anon- 
 
 anon: 
 There's joy in the mountains, 
 There's life in the fountains ; 
 Small clouds are sailing. 
 Blue sky prevailing, 
 The rain is over and gone ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE SPRING WALK. 
 
 We had a jileasant walk to-day. 
 Over tlie meadows and far away. 
 Across the bridge by the water-niill, 
 By the woodside, and up the hUl ; 
 And if you listen to what I say, 
 I'll tell you what we saw to-day. 
 
 Amid a hedge, where the first leaves 
 Were peeping from their sheaths so 
 shy, 
 We saw four eggs within a nest. 
 
 And they were blue as the summer's 
 sky. 
 
 An elder-branch dipp'd in the brook. 
 We wondered why it moved and 
 found 
 A silken-hair'd, smooth wat«r-rat 
 Nibbling and swimming round and 
 round. 
 
 Where daisies open'd to the sun. 
 In a broad meadow, green 
 white. 
 
 The lambs were racing eagerly — 
 We never saw a prettier sight. 
 
 and 
 
 Wp saw upo!i tlie sliady banl^, 
 Long rows of golden flowers shine. 
 
 And first mistook for buttercups. 
 The star-shaped yellow celandine. 
 
 Anemones and primroses, . 
 
 And the blue violets of spring. 
 We found whilst listening by a hedge 
 
 To hear a merry ploughman sing. 
 
 And fiom the earth the plough turn'd 
 up 
 There came a sweet refi-eshing smell, 
 Such as the lily of the vale 
 
 Sends forth from many a woodland 
 dell. 
 
 We saw the yellow wall-tlower wave 
 Upon a mouldering castle wall. 
 
 And then we watch'd the busy rooks 
 Among the ancient elm-trees tall 
 
 And leaning from the old stone bridge, 
 Below we saw our shadows lie. 
 
 And through the gloomy arches 
 watch'd 
 The swift and fearless swallows liy. 
 
 We heard the speckle-breasted lark 
 As it sang somewhere out of sight. 
 
 And we tried to find it, but the sky 
 Was fiU'd with clouds of dazzling 
 light. 
 
 We saw yomig rabbits near the wood. 
 And heard a pheasant's wing go 
 " whirr " ; 
 
 And then we saw a squirrel leap 
 From an old oak-tree to a fir. 
 
 We came back by the village fields, 
 A pleasant walk it was across 'em, 
 
 For all behind the houses lay 
 
 The orchards red and white with 
 blossom. 
 
 Were I to tell you all we saw, 
 
 ] 'm sure that it would take me hours ; 
 
 For the whole landscape was alive 
 With bees, and birds, and buds and 
 flowers. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
156 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE NEW MOON. 
 
 When, as the garish day is done. 
 Heaven burns with the descended sun, 
 
 'Tis passing sweet to mark. 
 Amid the flush of crimson hght, 
 The new moon's modest bow grow 
 bright, 
 
 As earth and sky grow dark. 
 
 Few are the hearts too cold to feel 
 A thrill of gladness o'er them steal 
 
 When first the wandering eye 
 Sees faintly, in the evening blaze. 
 That glimmering curve of tender rays 
 
 Just planted in the sky. 
 
 tt * * * * 
 
 William Cullen Bryant, 
 
 The household spaniel flings his length 
 Beneath the sheltering wall ; 
 
 The panting sheejo-dog seeks the spot 
 Where leafy shadows fall. 
 
 The petted kitten frisks among 
 The bean-flowers' fragrant maze ; 
 
 Or, basking, throws her dappled form 
 To catch the warmest rays. 
 
 The opened casements, flinging wide. 
 
 Geraniums give to view ; 
 With choicest posies ranged between 
 
 Still wet with morning dew. 
 
 The mower whistles o'er his toil. 
 The emerald grass must yield ; 
 
 The scythe is out, the swath is down, 
 There's incense in the field. 
 
 SONG ON A MATT MORNING. 
 
 Now the bright morning star, Daj^'s 
 harbinger. 
 
 Comes dancing from the East, and 
 leads with lier 
 
 The flowery May, who from her green 
 lap throws 
 
 The yellow cowslip and the pale prim- 
 rose. 
 
 Hail, Bounteous May, that doth inspire 
 
 Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; 
 
 Woods and groves are of thy dressing, 
 
 Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing ; 
 
 Thus we salute thee with our early 
 song. 
 
 And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 STJMMEB. 
 
 'Tis June — the merry, smiling June- 
 'Tis blushing summer now ; 
 
 The rose is red, the bloom is dead. 
 The fruit is on the bough. 
 
 The bird-cage hangs upon the wall. 
 Amid the clustering vine ; 
 
 The rustic seat is in the porch. 
 Where honeysuckles twine. 
 
 The rosy, ragged urchins play 
 Beneath the glowing sky ; 
 
 They scoop the sand, or gaily chase 
 The bee that buzzes by. 
 
 Oh ! how I love to calmly muse. 
 In such an hour as this ! 
 
 To nurse the joy creation gives 
 In purity and bliss. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 a: STJMMEB INVOCATION. 
 
 0, GENTLE, gentle summer rain. 
 Let not the silver lily pine. 
 
 The drooping lily pine in vain 
 
 To feel that dewy touch of thine — 
 
 To drink thy freshness once again, 
 
 O, gentle, gentle summer rain j 
 
 In heat the landscape quivering lies ; 
 
 The cattle pant beneath the tree ; 
 Through parching air and purple skies 
 
 The earth looks up in vain, for thee ; 
 For thee — for thee, it looks in vain, 
 O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 
 
 Come, thou, and brim the meadow 
 streams, 
 And soften all the hills with mist, 
 falling dew ! from burning dreams 
 By thee shall herb and flower be 
 kissed ; 
 And earth shall bless thee yet again, 
 O gentle, gentle summer rain ! 
 
 William Cox Bennett. 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 157 
 
 AUTUMN". 
 
 A Dirge. 
 
 The warm sun is failing, the bleak wind 
 
 is wailing, 
 The bare boughs are sighing, the pale 
 flowers are dying ; 
 
 And the year 
 On the earth her death- bed, in a shroud 
 of leaves dead, 
 
 Is lying. 
 Come, ]\Ionths, come away. 
 From November to May, 
 In your saddest array, — 
 Follow the bier 
 Of the dead cold year, 
 And like dim shadows watch by her 
 sepulchre. 
 
 The chill rain is falling, the nipt worm 
 
 is crawling, 
 I Uo rivers are swelhng, the thunder is 
 knelling. 
 
 For the year ; 
 The blithe swallows are flown, and the 
 lizards each gone 
 
 To his dwelling. 
 Come, Months, come away ; 
 Put on white, black, and gray ; 
 Let your light sisters play ; 
 Ye, follow tlic bier 
 Of the dead cold year. 
 And make her grave green with tear 
 on tear. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 I 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 There are twelve months throughout 
 
 the year. 
 From January to December — 
 And the primest month of all the 
 
 twelve 
 Is the merry month of September ! 
 
 Then apples so red 
 
 Hang overhead. 
 
 And nuts ripe-brown 
 
 Come showering down 
 In the bountiful days of September ! 
 
 There are flowers enougli in the 
 summer-time. 
 More flowers than I ■ an tomember — 
 
 But none with the purple, gold, and 
 
 red 
 That dyes the flowers of September ! 
 The gorgeous flowers of September ! 
 
 And the sun looks through 
 
 A clearer blue. 
 
 And the moon at night 
 
 Sheds a clearer light 
 On the beautiful flowers of Sep- 
 tember } 
 
 The poor too often go scant and 
 bare. 
 But it glads my soul to remember 
 That 'tis harvest-time throughout the 
 land 
 In the bountiful month of Sep- 
 tember ! 
 Oh ! the good, kind month of Sep- 
 tember ! 
 It giveth the poor 
 The growth of the moor ; 
 And young and old 
 'Mong sheaves of gold, 
 Go gleaning in rich September. 
 
 Mary Uowilt. 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 In a drear-niglited December, 
 
 Too happy, happy tree, 
 Thy brandies ne'er remember 
 
 Their green felicity. 
 The north cannot undo them, 
 VV^ith a sleety whistle through them ; 
 Nor frozen thawings glue thciii 
 
 From budding at the prime. 
 
 In a drear-niglited December, 
 Too happy, liappy brook, 
 
 Thy bubblings ne'er remember 
 Apollo's summer look ; 
 
 But with a sweet forgetting. 
 
 They stay their crystal fretting 
 
 Never, never petting 
 About the frozen time. 
 
 Ah ! would 'twere so with many 
 
 A gentle girl and boy ! 
 But were there ever any 
 
 Writhed not at passed joy ? 
 To know the change and feel it. 
 When there is none to heal it. 
 Nor numbed sense to steal it. 
 
 Was never said in rhyme. 
 
 John Keata, 
 
158 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 DEATH OP THE OLD YEAR 
 
 Full knee-deep lies the winter snow. 
 And the winter winds are wearily 
 
 sighing : 
 Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow. 
 And tread softly and speak low. 
 For the Old Year lies a-dying. 
 
 Old Year, you must not die ; 
 You came to us so readily, 
 You lived with us so steadily, 
 Old Year, you shall not die. 
 
 He lieth still ; he doth not move ; 
 He will not see the dawn of day. 
 He hath no other life above. 
 He gave me a friend, and a true true- 
 love, 
 And the New Year will take 'em away. 
 
 Old Year, you must not go ; 
 So long as you have been with us, 
 Such joy as you have seen with us. 
 Old Year, you shall not go. 
 
 He froth'd his bumpers to the brim ; 
 A jollier year we shall not see. 
 But tho' his eyes are waxing dim. 
 And tho' his foes speak ill of him. 
 He was a friend to me. 
 
 Old Year, you shall not die ; 
 We did so laugh and cry with you, 
 I've half a mind to die with you, 
 Old Year, if you must die. 
 
 He was full of joke and jest. 
 But all his merry quips are o'er. 
 To see him die, across the waste 
 His son and heir doth ride post-haste, 
 But he'll be dead before. 
 
 Everyone for his own. 
 
 The night is starry and cold, my 
 
 friend. 
 And the new year blithe and bold, 
 
 my friend. 
 Comes up to take his own. 
 
 How hard he breathes ! over the snow 
 I heard just now the, crowing cock. 
 The shadows flicker to and fro ; 
 The cricket chirps ; the light burns 
 
 low ; 
 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. 
 
 Shake hands before you die. 
 Old Year, we'll dearly rue for you ; 
 What is it we can do for you ? 
 Speak out before you die. 
 
 His face is growing sharp and thin 
 Alack ! our friend is gone. 
 Close up his eyes ; tie up his chin ; 
 Step from the corpse, and let him in 
 That standeth there alone, 
 
 And waiteth at the door. 
 
 There's a new foot on the floor, my 
 
 fwend. 
 And a new face at the door, my 
 
 friend, 
 A new face at the door. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE WINTER FIRE. 
 
 A fire's a good companionable friend, 
 A comfortable friend, who meets your 
 
 face 
 With welcome glad, and makes the 
 
 poorest shed 
 As jjleasant as a palace ! Are you 
 
 cold ? 
 He warms you — weary ? he refreshes 
 
 you, 
 Are you in darkness ? he gives light 
 
 to yon — 
 In a strange land ? he wears a face 
 
 that is 
 Familiar from your childhood. Are 
 
 you poor ? — 
 What matters it to him ? He knows 
 
 no difference 
 Between an emperor and the poorest 
 
 beggar ! 
 Wiiere is the friend, that bears the 
 
 name of man. 
 Will do as much for you ? 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 WINTER SONGS. 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his 
 nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall. 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail ; 
 Wlien blood is nipp'd and ways be foul. 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To- who ; 
 Tu-whit, To-who, a merry note, 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 I 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 159 
 
 When all around the wind doth blow, 
 And cougliing drowns the parson's 
 saw. 
 And birds sit brooding in the mow, 
 And Marian's nose looks red and 
 raw, 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ; 
 Tu-whit, To-wlio, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 THE WIND. 
 
 The wind has a language, I would T 
 
 could learn ; 
 Sometimes 'tis sootliing, and sometimes 
 
 'tis stern ; 
 Sometimes it comes like a low, sweet 
 
 song, 
 And all things grow calm, as the sound 
 
 floats along ; 
 And the forest is lulled by the dreamy 
 
 strain ; 
 And slumber sinks down on the wan- 
 dering main : 
 And its crystal arms are fokled in rest. 
 And the tall ship sleeps on its heaving 
 
 breast. 
 
 Letitia Elizabeth Landon. 
 
 THE NORTH-EAST WIND. 
 
 Welcome, wild north-easter ! 
 
 Shame it is to see 
 Odes to every zephjn:, 
 
 Xe'er a verse to thee. 
 Welcome, black north-easter | 
 
 O'er the German foam ; 
 O'er the Danish moorlands. 
 
 From thy frozen homo. 
 Tired we are of summer, 
 
 Tired of gaudy glare, 
 Showers soft and steaming. 
 
 Hot and breatliless air. 
 Tired of listless dreaming. 
 
 Through the lazy day ; 
 Jovial wind of winter, 
 
 Turn us out to play ! 
 Sweep the golden reed-beds ; 
 
 Crisp the lazy dyke ; 
 Hunger into madness 
 
 Every plunging pike. 
 Fill the lake with \\ild-fowl; 
 
 Fi:fl the marsh wi li snipe ; 
 
 While on dreamy moorlands 
 
 Lonely curlew pipe. 
 Through the black fir forest 
 
 Thunder harsh and dry. 
 Shattering down the snow Bakes, 
 
 Off the curdled sky. 
 * * * » 
 
 Cluirles Kingsleij. 
 
 THE WIND IN A FEOIilC. 
 
 The wind one morning sprang up from 
 
 sleep. 
 Saying, " Now for a fi'ohc ! now for a 
 
 leap ! 
 Now for a mad-cap galloping chase ! 
 I'll make a commotion in every place ! " 
 
 So it swept with a bustle right through 
 
 a great town. 
 Cracking the signs and scattering 
 
 down 
 Shutters ; and whisking, with merciless 
 
 squalls. 
 Old women's bonnets and gingerbread 
 
 stalls. 
 There never was heard a much lustier 
 
 shout, 
 As the apples and oranges trundled 
 
 about ; 
 And the urchins that stand with their 
 
 thievish eyes 
 For ever on watch, ran off each with a 
 
 prize. 
 
 Then away to the field it went bluster- 
 ing and humming. 
 
 And the cattle all wonder'd whatever 
 was coming ; 
 
 It pluck'd by the tails the grave 
 matronly cows. 
 
 And toss'd the colts' manes all over 
 their brows ; 
 
 Till, offended at such an unusual 
 salute. 
 
 They all turn'd their backs, and stood 
 sulky and mute. 
 
 So on it went capering and playing its 
 
 pranks. 
 Whistling with reeds on the broad 
 
 river's banks. 
 Putting the birds as they sat on the 
 
 spray, 
 Or the traveller grave on the king's 
 
 highway. 
 
160 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 It was not too nice to hustle the bags 
 
 Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty 
 rags ; 
 
 'Twas so bold, that it feared not to play 
 its joke 
 
 With the doctor's wig or the gentle- 
 man's cloak. 
 
 Through the forest it roar'd, and cried 
 gaily, " Now, 
 
 You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you 
 bow ! " 
 
 And it made them bow without much 
 
 ado, 
 Or it crack'd their great branches 
 
 through and through. 
 Then it rush'd like a monster on cottage 
 
 and farm, 
 Strildng their dwellings with sudden 
 
 alarm ; 
 And they ran out Uke beea in a mid- 
 summer swarm. 
 There were dames with their kerchiefs 
 
 tied over their caps, 
 To see if their poultry were fi-ee from 
 
 mis! 
 
 The turkeys they gobbled, the geese 
 
 scream'd aloud. 
 And the hens crept to roost in a terri- 
 fied crowd ; 
 There was rearing of ladders, and logs 
 
 laying on. 
 Where the thatch from the roof 
 
 thi'eaten'd soon to be gone. 
 But the wind had swept on, and had 
 
 met in a lane 
 With a schoolboy, who panted and 
 
 struggled in vain ; 
 For it toss'd him, and twirl'd him, then 
 
 pass'd, and he stood 
 With his hat in a pool, and his shoes 
 
 in the mud. 
 
 Then away went the wind in its holiday 
 
 glee. 
 And now it was far on the billowy sea. 
 And the lordly ships felt its staggering 
 
 blow. 
 And the little boats darted to and fro. 
 But lo ! it was night, and it sank to 
 
 rest 
 On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming 
 
 west, 
 Laughing to think, in its fearful fun, 
 How little of mischief it had done. 
 
 WiUiam Howitt. 
 
 WHICH WAY DOES THE 
 WIND BLOW ? 
 
 Which way does the wind blow, 
 Which way does he go ? 
 
 He rides over the water. 
 He rides over snow ; 
 
 O'er wood and o'er valley. 
 And o'er rocky heighth. 
 
 Which the goat cannot traverse. 
 He taketh his flight. 
 
 He rages and toises 
 
 In every bare tree. 
 As, if you look upwards. 
 
 You plainly may see. 
 
 But whence he both cometh 
 
 And wither he goes, 
 There's never a scholar 
 
 In England that knows. 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 THE SirOW-FIiAKB. 
 
 " Now, if I fall, will it be my lot 
 
 To be cast in some low and lonely spot. 
 
 To melt and sink unseen or forgot ? 
 
 And then will my course be ended ? " 
 'Twas thus a feathery Snow-flake said, 
 As through the measureless space it 
 
 strayed. 
 Or, as half by dalliance, half afraid. 
 
 It seemed in mid-air suspended. 
 
 " Oh, no," said the Earth, " thou shalt 
 
 not lie. 
 Neglected and lone, on my lap to 
 
 die. 
 Thou pure and delicate child of the 
 
 sky. 
 For thou wilt be safe in my keeping ; 
 But then I must give thee a lovelier 
 
 form ; 
 Thou'lt not be a part of the wintry 
 
 storm. 
 But revive when the sunbeams are 
 
 yellow and warm 
 And the flowers from my bosom are 
 
 peeping 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 161 
 
 " And then thou shalt have thy choice 
 
 to be 
 Restored in the lily that decks the 
 
 lea, 
 In the jessamine bloom, the anemone. 
 Or aught of thy spotless whiteness ; 
 To melt, and be c£ist, in a glittering 
 
 bead, 
 With the pearls that the night scatters 
 
 over the mead 
 In the cup where the bee and the fire- 
 
 Hy feed. 
 Regaining thy dazzling brightness ; 
 
 "To wake and be raised from thy 
 transient sleep. 
 
 When Viola's mild blue eye shall weep. 
 
 In a tremulous tear, or a diamond 
 leaf 
 In a drop from the unlocked foun- 
 tain : 
 
 Or, lea\ ing the valley, the meadow, 
 and heatii, 
 
 The streamlet, the flowers, and all 
 beneath. 
 
 To go and be wove in the silvery 
 wreath 
 Encircling the brow of the mountain. 
 
 " Or wouldst thou return to a home 
 
 in the sUies, 
 To shine in the iris I'll let thee arise. 
 And appear in the many and glorious 
 
 dyes 
 A pencil of sunbeams is blending. 
 Eut, true, fair thing, as my name is 
 
 Earth, 
 I'll give thee a new and vernal birth, 
 Wlun thou shalt recover thy primal 
 
 worth. 
 And never regret descending." 
 
 " Then I will drop," said the trusting 
 
 flake ; 
 " But bear it in mind that the choice I 
 
 make 
 Is not in the flowers nor dew to awake. 
 Nor the mist that shall pass with the 
 
 morning : 
 For, things of thyself, they expire with 
 
 thee ; 
 IJut those that are lent from on high, 
 
 like me. 
 They rise and will live, from the dust 
 
 set free. 
 To the regions above returning. 
 
 " And if true to thy word, and just 
 
 thou art. 
 Like the spirit that dwells in the holiest 
 
 heart, 
 Unsullied by thee, thou wilt let me 
 
 depart, 
 And return to my native heaven ; 
 For I would be placed in the beautiful 
 
 bow. 
 From time to time, in thy sight to 
 
 glow. 
 So thou mayest remember the flake 
 
 of snow 
 By the promise that God hath given." 
 
 Hannah Flagg Oovld. 
 
 THE FBOST. 
 The Frost looked forth, one still clear 
 
 night. 
 And wliispered, " Now I shall be out 
 
 of sight ; 
 So through the valley and over the 
 
 height. 
 In silence I'll take my way : 
 I will not go on like that blustering 
 
 train. 
 The wind and the snow, the hail and 
 
 the rain. 
 Who make so much bustle and noise in 
 
 vain. 
 But I'll be as busy as they." 
 
 Then he flew to the mountain and pow- 
 dered its crest ; 
 He lit on the trees, and their boughs 
 
 he dressed 
 In diamond beads — and over the breast 
 
 Of the quivering lake he spread 
 A coat of mail, that it need not fear 
 The downward point of many a spear 
 That hung on its margin far and near, 
 
 Where a rock could rear its head. 
 
 He went to the windows of those who 
 
 slept. 
 And over each pane, like a fairy, crept ; 
 Wherever he breathed, wherever he 
 
 slept. 
 By the light of the moon were seen 
 Most beautiful things — there were 
 
 flowers and trees ; 
 There were bevies of birds and swarms 
 
 of bees ; 
 There were cities with temples and 
 
 towers, and these 
 All pictured in silver sheen | 
 
 II 
 
162 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 But he did one thing that was hai dly 
 
 fair ; 
 He peeped in the cupboard, and find- 
 ing there 
 That all had forgotten for him to 
 prepare — 
 " Now just to set them a-thinking, 
 I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, 
 " This costly pitcher I'll burst in 
 
 three. 
 And the glass of water they've lolt 
 for me 
 Shall 'tchichl' to tell them I'm 
 drinking." 
 
 Hannah Flagg Gould, 
 
 INDIA. 
 
 Where sacred Ganges pours along the 
 
 plain, 
 And Indus rolls to swell the eastern 
 
 main. 
 What awful scenes the curious mind 
 
 delight, 
 What wonders burst upon the dazzled 
 
 sight ! 
 There giant palms lift high their tufted 
 
 heads. 
 The plantain wide his graceful foliage 
 
 spreads, 
 Wild in the woods the active monkey 
 
 springs, 
 The chattering parrot claps his painted 
 
 wings ; 
 'Mid tall bamboos lies hid the deadly 
 
 snake. 
 The tiger couches in the tangled 
 
 brake ; 
 The spotted axis bounds in fear away, 
 The leopard darts on his defenceless 
 
 prey. 
 'Mid reedy pools and ancient forests 
 
 rude. 
 Cool peaceful haunts of awful solitude ! 
 The huge rhinoceros rends the crashing 
 
 boughs, 
 And stately elephants untroubled 
 
 browse. 
 Two tyrant seasons rule the wide 
 
 domain, 
 Scorch with dry heat, or drench with 
 
 floods of rain : 
 Now, feverisii herds rush madding 
 
 o'or the plains, 
 
 And cool in shady streams their throb- 
 
 l)ing veins ; 
 Tiie birds drop lifeless from the silent 
 
 spray, 
 And nature faints beneath the fiery 
 
 day; 
 Tlien bursts the deluge on the sinking 
 
 shore. 
 And teeming plenty empties all her 
 
 store. 
 
 Lucy At kin. 
 
 CONSTANTINOPLE. 
 
 Whkre the Thracian channel roars 
 On lordly Europe's eastern shores. 
 Where the proudly jutting land 
 Frowns on Asia's western strand. 
 High on seven hills is seen to shine 
 The second Rome of Constantine. 
 Beneath her feet, with graceful pride, 
 Propontis spreads his ample tide ; 
 His fertile banks profusely pour 
 Of luscious fruits a varied store ; 
 Rich with a thousand glittering dyes. 
 His flood a finny shoal supplies ; 
 AVhile crowding sails on rapid wing 
 The rifled south's bright treasures bring 
 With crescents gleaming to the skies. 
 Mosques and minarets arise ; 
 Mounted on whose topmost wall, 
 The turban'd priests to worship call. 
 The mournful cypress rises round. 
 Tapering from tlie burial-ground ; 
 Olympus, ever capped with snow. 
 Crowns the busy scene below. 
 
 Lucy Aikin. 
 
 liAPLAND. 
 
 " With blue cold nose and WTinkled 
 
 brow, 
 Traveller, whence comest thou ? " 
 " From Lapland's woods and hills of 
 
 frost, - 
 
 By the rapid reindeer crost ; fl 
 
 Where tapering grows the gloom v f 
 
 fir 
 And the stunted juniper ; 
 Where the wild hare and the crow 
 Whiten in surrounding snow ; 
 
The Seasons. 
 
 163 
 
 Where the shivering huntsmen tear 
 His fur coat from the grim white bear ; 
 Where the wolf and arctic fox 
 Prowl among the lonely rocLs ; 
 And tardy suns to deserts drear 
 Give days and nights of half-a-year ; 
 — From icy oceans, where the whale 
 Tosses in foam liis lashing tail ; 
 Where the snorting sea-horse shows 
 His ivory teeth in grinning rows ; 
 Where, tumbling in their seal-skin 
 
 boat. 
 Fearless the hungry fishers float, 
 And from teeming seas supply 
 The food their niggard plains deny." 
 
 Lucy Aikin, 
 
 He sat him down beneath cur tree. 
 For weary, sad, and faint was he : 
 And, ah ! no wife nor mother's care 
 For him the milk and corn prepare. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 The white man shall our pity share ; 
 Alas ! no wife nor mother's care 
 For him the milk and corn prepare. 
 
 The storm is o'er, the tempest past. 
 And mercy's voice has hushed the 
 
 blast ; 
 The wind is heard in whispers low. 
 The white man far away must go : 
 But ever in his heart will bear 
 Remembrance of the negro's care. 
 
 THE TRAVEIiLEB, IN AFRICA. 
 
 A NEGRO SONG. 
 
 The loud wind roared, the rain fell 
 
 fast, ' 
 The white man yielded to the blast ; 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Go ! white man, go ! but with thee 
 
 bear 
 The negro's wish, the negro's prayer, 
 Kemembrance of the negro's care. 
 
 Georyiaua, Duchess oj iJf.ioushite 
 
 TI' 
 
FIELDS AND WOODS. 
 
 THE 
 
 BARIiEY-MOWERS' 
 SONG. 
 
 Barley-mowees, here we stand, 
 One, two, three, a steady band ; 
 True of heart, and strong of limb, 
 Ready in our harvest trim ; 
 All a-row with spirits blithe, 
 Now we whet the bended scythe, 
 Rink-a-tinh, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a- 
 tink ! 
 
 Side by side, now bending low, 
 Down the swaths of barley go. 
 Stroke by stroke, as true as chime 
 Of the bells, we keep in time ; 
 Then we whet the ringing scythe. 
 Standing 'mid the barley lithe, 
 Rink-n-iink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a- 
 link ! 
 
 Barley-mowers must be tnie. 
 Keeping still the end in view. 
 One with all, and all with one. 
 Working on till set of siui, 
 Bending all with spirits blithe. 
 Whetting all at once the scythe, 
 liivk-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a- 
 tink I 
 
 Day and night, and night and 
 
 day. 
 Time, the mower, will not stay ; 
 We must hear him in our path 
 By the falling barley-swath ; 
 While we sing with voices blithe, 
 We may hear his ringing scythe, 
 lii)ik-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a- 
 
 tink 1 
 
 After labours cometh ease ; 
 Sitting now beneath the trees, 
 Romid we send the barley wine 
 Life-infusing, clear and line ; 
 
 Now refreshed, alert, and blithe. 
 Rise we all and whet the scythe, 
 Rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink, rink-a-tink-a- 
 tink ! 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 COBNEIEIiDS. 
 
 In the young merry time of spring, 
 When clover 'gins to burst ; 
 
 When bluebells nod within the wood. 
 And sweet May whitens first ; 
 
 When merle* and mavisf sing their fill. 
 
 Green is the young corn on the hill. 
 
 But when the merry spring is past, 
 And summer groweth bold. 
 
 And in the garden and the field 
 A thousand flowers unfold, 
 
 Before a green leaf yet is sere. 
 
 The young corn shoots into the ear. 
 
 And then as day and night succeed. 
 
 And summer weareth on. 
 And in the flowery garden-beds 
 
 The red rose groweth wan. 
 And hollyhocks and sunflowers tall 
 O'crtop the mossy garden wall. 
 
 When on the breath of autumn breeze. 
 
 From pastures dry and brown. 
 Goes floating like an idle thought. 
 
 The fair white thistle-down ; 
 Oh, then what joy to walk at will 
 Upon that golden harvest hill ! 
 ***** 
 O golden fields of bending corn 
 
 How beautiful they seem ! 
 The reaper folk, the piled-up sheaves. 
 
 To me are like a dream ; 
 The sunshine and the very air 
 Seem of old time and take me there ! 
 
 » Merle— 6/af/t6ir<J, 
 
 Mary Hoicilt. 
 t Mavis— //i/'mj7». 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 16^ 
 
 THE CORN SONO. 
 
 Heap high the farmer's wintry board ! 
 
 Heap high the golden corn ! 
 No richer gift has autumn poured 
 
 From out her lavish horn ! 
 
 Let other lands, exulting, glean 
 
 The apple from the pine, 
 The orange from its glossy green, 
 
 The cluster from the vine. 
 
 We better love the hardy gift 
 
 Our rugged vales bestow. 
 To cheer us when the storm shall 
 drift 
 
 Our harvest-fields with snow. 
 
 Through vales of grass and meads 
 of flowers, 
 
 Our plough their furrows made, 
 While on the hills the sun and showers 
 
 Of changeful April played 
 
 We dropped the seed o'er hill and plain 
 
 Beneath the son of May, 
 And frightened from our sprouting 
 grain 
 
 The robber crows away. 
 
 All through the long, bright days of 
 June 
 
 Its leaves grew green and fair. 
 And waved in hot midsummer's noon 
 
 Its soft and yellow hair. 
 
 And now with autumn's moonlit eves. 
 
 Its harvest-time has come. 
 We pluck away the frosted leaves, 
 
 And bear the treasure home. 
 
 John Greenleaf Whittier. 
 
 THE HOCK-CART, OR 
 
 HARVEST-HOME. 
 
 Come, sons of summer, by whose toil 
 We are tlie lords of wine and oil ; 
 By whose tough labours and rough 
 
 hands. 
 We rip up first, then reap our lands. 
 Crown'd with the ears of corn, now 
 
 come. 
 And, to the pipe, sing Harvest Home I 
 
 Come forth, my lord, and see the cart 
 Drest up with all the country art : — 
 See, hero a maukin, there a sheet. 
 As spotless pure as it is sweet ; 
 The horses, mares, and frisking fillies. 
 Clad all in linen white as lilies : — 
 The harvest swains and wenches 
 
 bound 
 For joy, to see the hock-cart crown'd. 
 
 About the cart hear how the rout 
 Of rural younglings raise the shout. 
 Pressing before, some coming after. 
 Those with a shout, and these with 
 
 laughter. 
 Some bless the cart, some kiss tlie 
 
 sheaves. 
 Some prank them up with oaken leaves ; 
 Some cross the fill-horse, some with 
 
 great 
 Devotion stroke the home-borne wheat ; 
 While other rustics, less attent 
 To prayers than to merriment. 
 Run after with their breeches rent. 
 
 Well, on, brave boys, to your lord's 
 hearth, 
 Glitt'ring with fire, where, for your 
 
 mirth. 
 You shall see first the large and chief 
 Foundation of your feast, fat beef ! 
 With upper stories, mutton, veal. 
 And bacon, which makes full the meal ; 
 With sev'ral dishes standing by. 
 As, here a custard, there a pie. 
 And here all-tempting frumenty. 
 And for to make the merry cheer. 
 If smir Icing wine be wanting here. 
 There's that, which drowns all care, 
 
 stout beer ; 
 Which freely drink to your lord's 
 
 health. 
 Then to the plough, the common- 
 wealth, 
 Next to your flails, your fanes, your 
 
 fatts ; 
 Then to the maids with wheaten hats ; 
 To the rough sickle, and crook' t 
 
 scythe. 
 Drink, frolick, boys, till all be blythe. 
 Feed and grow fat, and as ye eat. 
 Be mindful that the lab'ring neat. 
 As you, may have their fill of meat ; 
 And know, besides, ye must revoke 
 The patient ox unto the yoke. 
 And aU go back unto the plough 
 And harrow, though they're hanged up 
 now 
 
166 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And, you must know, your lord's words 
 
 true, 
 Feed him ye must, whose food fills 
 
 you : 
 And that this pleasure is like rain. 
 Not sent ye for to drown your pain. 
 But for to make it spring again. 
 
 Bobert Herrick. 
 
 A BOY'S SONG. 
 
 Where the pools are bright and deep. 
 Where the gray trout lies asleep. 
 Up the river and o'er the lea. 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Where the blackbird sings the latest. 
 Where the hawthorn blooms the 
 
 sweetest, 
 Where the nestlings chirp and flee. 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
 Where the hay lies thick and greenest. 
 There to trace the homeward bee. 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Where the hazel bank is steepest. 
 Where the shadow falls the deepest, 
 Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Why the boys should drive away 
 Little sweet maidens from the play, 
 Or love to banter and fight so well. 
 That's the thing I never could tell. 
 
 But this I know, I love to play. 
 Through the meadow, among the hay ; 
 Up the water and o'er the lea. 
 That's tbe way for Billy and me. 
 
 James Hogg, 
 
 BATHING. 
 
 The May winds gently lift the willow 
 leaves ; 
 
 Around the rushy point comes wel- 
 tering slow 
 The brimming stream ; alternate sinks 
 and heaves 
 
 The lily-bud, where small waves ebb 
 and flow. 
 Willow herb and meadow sweet ! 
 
 Ye the soft gales, that visit there. 
 From your waving censers greet 
 
 With store of freshest balmiest air. 
 
 Come bathe — the steaming noontide 
 hour invites ; 
 Even in your face the sparkling 
 waters smile — 
 Yet on the brink they linger, timid 
 wights. 
 Pondering and measuring ; on their 
 gaze the while 
 
 Eddying pool and shady creek 
 Darker and deeper seem to grow : 
 
 On and onward still, they seek 
 Where sports may less adventurous 
 show. 
 
 At length the boldest springs : but ere 
 he cleave 
 The flashing waters, eye and thought 
 grow dim ; 
 Too rash it seems, the firm green earth 
 to leave : 
 Heaven is beneath him : shall he 
 sink or swim ? 
 
 Far in boundless depth he sees 
 The rushing clouds obey the gale. 
 Trembling hands and tottering 
 knees. 
 All in that dizzy moment fail. 
 
 John Kebh. 
 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD 
 TREE. 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to lie with me. 
 And tune his merry note 
 Unto tlie sweet bird's tliroat. 
 
 Come hither, come hither, come 
 liither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, 
 And loves to lie i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he cats 
 And pleased witii what he gets. 
 
 Come hither, come hither, come 
 hitlier ! 
 Here siiall he see 
 No enemy. 
 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 1 
 
 William Shaken peare. 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 167 
 
 THE SHEPHEBD. 
 
 How sweet is the sliepherd's sweet 
 
 lot; 
 From the morn to the evening he 
 
 strays ; 
 He shall follow his sheep all the day. 
 And his tongue shall be filled with 
 
 praise. 
 
 For he hears the lamb's innocent call. 
 And he hears the ewe's tender reply ; 
 He is watchful while they are in peace. 
 For they know when their shepherd is 
 nigh. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 SHEPHERD BOY'S SONG. 
 
 He that is down needs fear no fall ; 
 
 He that is low no pride ; 
 He that is humble ever shall 
 
 Have God to be his Guide. 
 
 I am content with what I have. 
 
 Little be it or much ; 
 And, Lord, contentment still I crave, 
 
 Because thou savest such. 
 
 Fulness to such a burden is. 
 
 That go on pilgrimage : 
 Here little, and hereafter bliss. 
 
 Is best fiom age to age. 
 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 FOLDING THE FLOCKS. 
 
 Shepherds all, and maidens fair. 
 Fold your flocks up ; for the air 
 'Gins to thickan, and the sun 
 Already his great course hath run. 
 See the dew-drops how they kiss 
 Every little flower that is ; 
 Hanging on their velvet heads. 
 Like a rope of crystal beads. 
 See the heavy clouds low falling. 
 And bright Hesperus down calling 
 The dead night from underground ; 
 At whose rising, mists unsound. 
 Damps and vapours, fly apace. 
 Hovering o'er the wanton face 
 Of these pastures, where they come 
 Striking dead both bud and bloom : 
 Therefore from such danger lock 
 Every one his loved flock \ 
 
 And let your dogs lie loose without. 
 Lest the wolf corac as a scout 
 From the tnountain, and ere day 
 Bear a lamb or kid away ; 
 Or the crafty, thievish fox 
 Break upon your simple flocks. 
 To secure yourself from these 
 Be not too secure in ease ; 
 Let one eye his watches keep 
 Whilst the other eye doth sleep. 
 So you shall good shepherds prove. 
 And for ever hold the love 
 Of our great God. Sweetest slumbers 
 And soft silence fall in numbers 
 On your eye-lids ! so farewell ; 
 Thus I end my evening knell. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S ?ONQ. 
 
 The gowan glitters on the sward. 
 
 The lav'rock's in the sky. 
 And Colley in my plaid keeps ward. 
 And time is passing by. 
 
 Oh, no ! sad and slow ! 
 I hear no welcome sound. 
 The shadow of our trysting bush. 
 It wears so slowly round. 
 
 My sheep- bells tinkle frae the west, 
 
 My lambs are bleating near ; 
 But still the sound that I lo'e best 
 
 Alack ! I cannot hear. 
 Oh, no ! sad and slow ! 
 
 The shadow lingers still, 
 And like a lanely ghaist I stand. 
 
 And croon upon the hill. 
 
 I hear below the water roar. 
 
 The mill wi' clacking din, 
 And Luckey scolding frae her door 
 
 To bring the bairnics in. 
 Oh, no ! sad and slow ! 
 
 These are nae sounds for me. 
 The shadow of our trysting bush. 
 
 It creeps sae drearily. 
 
 I coft yestreen, frae Chapman Tam, 
 
 A snood of bonny blue. 
 And promis'd when our trysting cam'. 
 
 To tie it round her brow ! 
 Oh, no ! sad and slow ! 
 
 The time it winna pass : 
 The shadows of that weary thorn 
 
 la tether'd on the grass. 
 
1G8 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 0, now I see her on the way. 
 
 She's past the witches' knowe, 
 She climbing up the brownie's brae ; 
 
 My heart is in a lowe. 
 Oh, no ! 'tis not so ! 
 
 'Tis glamrie I ha'e seen ! 
 The shadow of that hawthorn bush 
 
 Will movo nae mair till e'en 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 THE SHEPHEBD'S COT. 
 
 My banks they are furnished with bees, 
 
 Whose murmur invites one to sleep 
 My grottoes are shaded with trees, _ 
 
 And my hills are white over with 
 sheep. 
 I seldom have met with a loss, 
 
 Such health do my fountains bestow ; 
 My fountains all bordered with moss, 
 
 Where the harebells and violets 
 blow. 
 
 Not a pine in the grove is there seen, 
 
 But with tendrils of woodbine is 
 bound ; 
 Not a beech's more beautiful green, 
 
 But a sweet-briar entwines it around. 
 Not my fields in the prime of the year, 
 
 More charms than my cattle unfold ; 
 Not a brook that is limpid and clear, 
 
 But it glitters with fishes of gold. 
 
 I have found out a gift for my fair, 
 
 I have found where the wood- 
 pigeons breed ; 
 But let me such plunder forbear, 
 
 She will say 'twas a barbarous deed ; 
 For he ne'er could be true, she averred, 
 
 Who would rob a poor bird of its 
 young ; 
 And I loved her the more when I heard 
 
 Such tenderness fall from her tongue. 
 
 Williani 8her) stone. 
 
 Hurling the hail, and sleeted rain, 
 Against the casement's tinkling pane;— 
 The sounds that drive wild deer, and 
 
 fox. 
 To shelter in the brake and rocks, 
 Are warnings wliich the shepherd ask 
 To dismal and to dangerous task ! 
 Oft he looks forth, and hopes, in vain, 
 The blast may sink in mellowing rain ; 
 Till, dark above, and white below. 
 Decided drives the flaky snow. 
 And forth the hardy swain must go. 
 
 Long, with dejected look and whine. 
 To leave the hearth liis dogs repine ; 
 Whistling and cheering them to aid. 
 Around his back he wieathes tVie plaid ; 
 His flocks he gathers, and he guides 
 To open downs, and mountain-sides. 
 Where fiercest though the tempest 
 
 blow. 
 Least deeply lies the drift below. 
 The blast, that whistles o'er the fella. 
 Stiffens his locks to icicles ; 
 Oft he looks back, wlule streaming far, 
 His cottage \vindow seems a star,— 
 Loses its feeble gleam, — and then 
 Turns patient to the blast again. 
 And, facing to the tempest's sweep. 
 Drives through the gloom his lagging 
 
 If fails iiis heart, if his limbs fail, 
 Benumbing deatli is in the gale : 
 His paths, his landmarks, all unknown. 
 Close to the liut, no more his own, 
 Close to the aid he sought in vain. 
 The morn may find the stiffen 'd swain : 
 The widow sees, at dawning pale, _ 
 His orphans raise their feel)le wail; 
 And, close beside him, in the snow. 
 Poor Yarrow, partner of their woe. 
 Couches upon his master's breast. 
 And licks his cheek to break his rest. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THE SHEPHEBD IN WINTEB. 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun, 
 Through heavy vapours dark and dun ; 
 When the tired ploughman, dry and 
 
 warm. 
 Hears, half-asleep, the rising storm 
 
 THE BLOSSOM. 
 
 Meery, merry sparrow, 
 Under leaves so green, 
 
 A happy blossom 
 Sees you. swift as aiTOW 
 Seek your cradle narrow 
 
 Near my bosom. 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 160 
 
 Pretty, pretty robin. 
 Under leaves so green, 
 
 A happy blossom 
 Hears you sobbing, sobbing, 
 Pretty, pretty robin, 
 
 Near my bosom. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 But now we see none here, 
 Where silvery feet did tread. 
 
 And with dishevelled hair 
 Adorn this smoother mead. 
 
 Like unthrifta, having spent 
 Your stock, and needy grown. 
 
 You're left here to lament 
 Your poor estates alone. 
 
 Robert Herrick 
 
 TO BliOSSOMS. 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree. 
 
 Why do ye fall so fast ? 
 
 Your date is not so past. 
 But you must stay yet here a while 
 
 To blush and gently smile. 
 And go at last. 
 
 What, were ye born to be 
 An hour or half's delight, 
 And so to bid good-night ? 
 
 'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth 
 
 Merely to show your worth, 
 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where we 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave : 
 
 And after they have shown their pride. 
 Like you, a wliile, they glide, 
 Into the grave. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO MEADOWS. 
 
 Ye have been fresh and green ; 
 
 Ye have been filled with flowers ; 
 And ye the walks have been 
 
 Where maids have spent their 
 hours. 
 
 You have beheld how they 
 With wicker arks did come. 
 
 To kiss and bear away 
 The richer cowslips home. 
 
 You've heard them sweetly sing. 
 And seen them in a round ; 
 
 Each virgin like a spring. 
 With honeysuckles crowned. 
 
 A G-ARDEN. 
 
 A SENSITIVE plant in a garden grew. 
 And the young winds fed it with silver 
 
 dew. 
 And it open'd its fan-like leaves to 
 
 the light. 
 And closed them beneath the kisses of 
 
 night. 
 
 And the Spring arose on the garden 
 fair, 
 
 And the Spirit of Love fell every- 
 where ; 
 
 And each flower and herb on Earth's 
 dark breast 
 
 Rose from the dreams of its wintry 
 nest. 
 
 i): * * * * 
 
 The snowdrop, and then Ihc violet. 
 Arose from the ground witli warm rain 
 
 wet, 
 And their breath was mix'd with fresh 
 
 odour, sent 
 From the turf, like the voice and the 
 
 instruments 
 
 Then the pied wind-flowers and the 
 tulip tall. 
 
 And narcissi, the fairest among them 
 all. 
 
 Who gaze on their eyes in the stream's 
 recess. 
 
 Till they die of their own dear loveli- 
 ness. 
 
 And the Naiad-like lily of the vale. 
 Whom youth makes so fair and passion 
 
 so pale. 
 That the light of its tremulous bell is 
 
 seen. 
 Through their pavilions of tender 
 
 green. 
 
170 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And the hyacinth, purple and white 
 
 and blue. 
 Which flung froni its bells a sweet jieal 
 
 anew. 
 Of music so delicate, soft, and intense. 
 It was felt like an odour within the 
 
 sense. 
 
 ***** 
 
 And the jessamine faint, and the sweet 
 
 tuberose, 
 The sweetest flower for scent that 
 
 blows ; 
 And all rare blossoms from every clime 
 Grew in that garden in perfect prime. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
 The dew-bespangling herb and 
 tree ! 
 Each flower has wept, and bowed to- 
 ward the east. 
 Above an hour since, yet you not 
 drest — 
 Nay, not so much as out of bed ; 
 When all the birds have matins 
 
 said. 
 And sung their thankful hymns ; 
 
 'tis sin, 
 Nay, profanation, to keep in, 
 Whenas a thousand virgins on this 
 
 day. 
 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch 
 in May. 
 
 GARDENING. 
 
 Seest thou yon woodland child, 
 How amid flowerets wild, 
 Wilder himself, he plies his pleasure- 
 task ? 
 That ring of fragrant ground. 
 With its low woodbine bound, 
 He claims : no more, as yet, his little 
 heart need ask. 
 
 There learns he flower and weed 
 To sort with careful heed : 
 He waits not for the weary noontide 
 hour. 
 There with the soft night air 
 Comes his refreshing care : 
 Each tiny leaf looks up and thanlcs him 
 for the shower. 
 
 Thus faithful found awhile. 
 He wins the joyous smile 
 Of friend or parent : glad and bright is 
 he. 
 For when his garland gay • 
 
 He hears the kind voice say, 
 " Well hast thou wrought, dear boy : 
 the garden thine shall be." 
 
 John Keble. 
 
 GOING A-MAVinG. 
 
 Get up, get up, for shame ! the bloom- 
 ing morn 
 Upon her wdngs presents the god 
 unshorn ; 
 See how Aurora throws her fair, 
 Fresh-quilted colours through the 
 air. 
 
 Rise, and put on your foliage, and be 
 
 seen 
 
 To come forth, like the Springtime, 
 
 fresh and green, 
 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 
 For jewels for your gown or hair ! 
 
 Fear not, the leaves will strew 
 
 Gems in abundance upon you. 
 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has 
 
 kept. 
 
 Against you come, some orient pearls 
 unwept. 
 Come, and receive them while the I 
 
 light 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the 
 
 night. 
 
 And Titan on the eastern hill 
 
 Retires himself, or else stands 
 
 still 
 
 Till you come forth ! Wash, dress, be 
 
 brief in praying. 
 Few beads are best, when once we go 
 a-Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming,] 
 
 mark 
 How each field turns a street, each| 
 street a park. 
 Made green, and trimmed with] 
 
 trees ! See how 
 Devotion gives each house &j 
 
 bough 
 Or branch ! each porrli, each door, j 
 
 ere this. 
 An ark, a tabernacle is, 
 Made up of white-thorn neatly inter' 
 
 wove, 
 As if here were the cooler shades oi 
 love. 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 171 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 Can such delifrhts be in the street. 
 And open fields, and we not 
 
 see't ? 
 Come, we'll abroad, and let's obey 
 The proclamation made for May. 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by 
 
 staying. 
 But, my f'orinna, come, let's go a- 
 Mayiiig. 
 
 There's not a bndding boy or girl, this 
 
 day. 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in 
 ^Iay. 
 A deal of youth, ere this is come 
 Back, and with wliite-thorn laden 
 
 home. 
 Some Imve despatched their cakes 
 
 and cream. 
 Before that we have left to dream : 
 And some have wept, and woo'd, and 
 
 plighted troth. 
 And chose their priest, ere we can 
 cast off sloth. 
 Many a green-gown has been 
 
 given. 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even. 
 Many a glance, too, has been sent 
 From out the eye, love's firma- 
 ment : 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This niglit, and locks picked, yet we're 
 not a-Maying. 
 
 Eoberl HerricL 
 
 VIOLETS. 
 
 Welcome, maids of honour } 
 
 You do bring 
 
 In the Spring, 
 And wait upon her. 
 
 She hath virgins many. 
 Fresh and fair ; 
 Yet you are 
 
 More sweet than any. 
 
 You're the maiden posies ; 
 
 And so graced. 
 
 To be placed 
 'Fore damask roses. 
 
 Yet, though thus respected. 
 
 By and by 
 
 Ye do lie, 
 Poor girls, neglected. 
 
 Robert Herrick, 
 
 THE BOSE OF MAY. 
 
 Ah ! there's the lily, marble pale. 
 The bonny broom, the cistus frail ; 
 The rich sweet pea, the iris blue. 
 The larkspur with its peacock hue ; 
 All these are fair, yet hold I will 
 That the Rose of May is fairer still. 
 
 'Tis grand 'neath palace walls to grow. 
 To blaze where lords and ladies go ; 
 To hang o'er marble founts, and shine 
 In modern gardens, trim and fine ; 
 But the Rose of May is only seen 
 Where the great of other days have 
 been. 
 
 The house is mouldering stone by 
 
 stone, 
 The garden-walks are overgrown ; 
 The flowers are low, the weeds are 
 
 high. 
 The fountain stream is choked and dry. 
 The dial-stone with moss is green. 
 Where'er the Rose of May is seen. 
 
 The Rose of May its pride display'd 
 Along the old stone balustrade ; 
 And ancient ladies, quaintly dight. 
 In its pink blossoms took delight ; 
 And on the steps would make a stand 
 To scent its fragrance — fan in hand. 
 
 Long have been dead those ladies gay ; 
 Their very heirs have passed away ; 
 And their old portraits, prim and tall. 
 Are mould'ring in the mould'ring liall ; 
 The terrace and the balustrade 
 liie broken, weedy and decayed. 
 
 But blithe and tall the Rose of May 
 Shoots upward through the ruin grey ; 
 With scented flower, and leaf pale green, 
 Such rose as it hath never been. 
 Left, like a noble deed, to grace 
 The memory of an ancient race. 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 A ROSEBUD. 
 
 A ROSEBUD by my early walk, 
 Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, 
 fc>ae gently bent its thorny stalk, 
 All oo a dewy morning. 
 
172 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled, 
 In a' its crimson glory spread. 
 And drooping rich the dewy liead, 
 It scents the early morning. 
 
 Within the bush, her covert nest 
 A little linnet fondly prest, 
 The dew sat cliilly on her breast 
 Sae early in the morning. 
 
 So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair. 
 On trembling string, or vocal air, 
 Shall sweetly pay the tender care 
 
 That tents thy early morning. 
 
 So thou sweet rosebud, young and gay, 
 Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day. 
 And bless the parents' evening ray 
 That watch thy early morning. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 TO A PRIMKOSE. 
 
 Welcome, pale Primrose ! starting 
 up between 
 Dead matted leaves of aah and oak, 
 
 that strew 
 The sunny lawn, the wood, and 
 coppice through, 
 'Mid creeping moss and ivy's darker 
 green ; 
 How much thy presence beautifies 
 the ground ! 
 How sweet thy modest, unaffected 
 
 pride 
 Glows on the sunny bank, and wood's 
 warm side ! 
 And where thy fairy flowers in groups 
 are found. 
 The schoolboy roams enchantedly 
 along, 
 Plucking the fairest with a rude 
 delight : 
 Wliile the meek shepherd stops his 
 simple song. 
 To gaze a moment on the pleasing 
 sight ; 
 O'er joyed to see the flowers that truly 
 
 brmg 
 The welcome news of sweet returning 
 spring. 
 
 John Clare. 
 
 WISHING. 
 
 RmG-TENG ! I wish I were a Prim- 
 rose, 
 A bright yellow Primrose blowing in 
 the Spring ! 
 The stooping boughs above me. 
 The wandering bee to love me. 
 The fern and moss to keep across. 
 And the Elm-tree for our King ! 
 
 ( 
 
 Nay- 
 
 I wish I were an Elm- 
 
 with 
 
 green 
 
 -nay ! 
 tree, 
 A great lofty Elm-tree, 
 leaves gay ! 
 The winds would set them dancing. 
 The sun and moonshine glance in. 
 The Birds would house among the 
 boughs, 
 And sweetly sing ! 
 
 O — no ! I wish I were a Robin, 
 A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere 
 to go ; 
 Through forest, field or garden, 
 And ask no leave or pardon. 
 Till Winter comes with icy thumbs 
 To ruffle up our wing. 
 
 Well— tell ! Where should I fly to, 
 Where go to sleep in the dark wood or 
 deU? 
 Before a day was over, 
 Home comes the rover. 
 For Mother's kiss — sweeter this 
 Than any other thing ! 
 
 William AUingham. 
 
 BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES. 
 
 Buttercups and daisies. 
 
 Oh, the pretty flowers ; 
 Coming ere the spring time. 
 
 To tell of sunny hours. 
 While the trees are leafless. 
 
 While the fields are bare. 
 Buttercups and daisies 
 
 Spring up here and there. 
 
 Ere the snow- drop peepeth. 
 
 Ere the crocus bold, 
 Ere the early priirurose 
 
 Opes its paly gold,— 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 173 
 
 Somewhere on the sunny bank 
 
 Buttercups are bright ; 
 Somewhere 'mong the frozen grass 
 
 I'eeps the daisy wliite. 
 
 Little hardy flowers, 
 
 Like to children poor, 
 Playing in their sturdy health 
 
 By their mother's door. 
 Purple with the north-wind, 
 
 Yet alert and bold ; 
 Fearing not, and caring not. 
 
 Though they be a-cold [ 
 
 What to them is winter ! 
 
 What are stormy showers | 
 Buttercups and daisies 
 
 Are these human flowers ! 
 He who gave them hardships 
 
 And a life of care. 
 Gave them likewise hardy strengtii 
 
 And patient hearts to bear. 
 
 Mary Howitt, 
 
 THE BOSE. 
 
 The rose has been washed, just washed 
 in a shower, 
 Which Mary to Anna conveyed. 
 The plentiful moisture encumbered the 
 flower. 
 And weighed down its beautiful 
 head. 
 
 The cup was all filled, and the leaves 
 were all wet. 
 And it seemed to a fanciful view. 
 To weep for the buds it had left with 
 regret. 
 On the flourishing bush where it 
 grew. 
 
 I hastily seized it, unfit as it was, 
 For a nosegay, so dripping and 
 dro^^^l'd, 
 And swinging it rudely, too rudely, 
 alas ! 
 I snapped it — it fell to the ground. 
 
 And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless 
 part 
 Some act by the delicate mind. 
 Regardless of wringing and breaking a 
 heart 
 Already to sorrow resigned. 
 
 This elegant rose, had I shaken .'t loss. 
 
 Might have bloomed with its owner 
 
 awhile. 
 
 And the tear that is wiped with a httle 
 
 address. 
 
 May be followed perhaps by a smile. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE MAZE. 
 FROM THE LATIN OF VINCENT BOURNE. 
 
 From right to left, and to and fro. 
 Caught in a labyrinth, you go, 
 And turn, and turn, and turn again. 
 To solve the mystery, but in vain ; — 
 Stand still and breathe, and take from 
 
 me 
 A clue that soon shall set you free 
 Not Ariadne, if you met her. 
 Herself could serve you with a better. 
 You entered easily — find where — 
 And make with ease your exit there. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 PIEIiD FLOWERS. 
 
 Ye field flowers ! the gardens eclipse 
 
 you, 'tis true. 
 Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon 
 
 you. 
 For ye waft me to summers of old, 
 When the earth teemed around me with 
 
 fairy delight. 
 And when daisies and buttercups 
 
 gladdened my sight. 
 Like treasures of silver and gold. 
 
 I love you for lulling me back into 
 dreams 
 
 Of the blue Highland mountains and 
 echoing streams — 
 And of birchen glades breathing 
 their balm. 
 
 While the deer was seen glancing in 
 sunshine remote. 
 
 And the deep mellow crush of the wood- 
 pigeon's note. 
 Made music that sweetened the calm. 
 
174 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Not a pastoral song had a pleasanter 
 
 tuiie 
 Than ye speak to my heart, little wild- 
 
 ings of June ; 
 Of old ruinous castles ye tell. 
 Where I thought it delightful your 
 
 beauties to find. 
 When the magic of Nature first 
 
 breathed on my mind, 
 And your blossoms were part of her 
 
 spell. 
 Even now what affections the violet 
 
 awakes ! 
 What loved little islands, twice seen in 
 
 their lakes. 
 Can the wild water lily restore ! 
 What landscape I read in the primrose's 
 
 looks. 
 And what pictures of pebbled and 
 
 minnowy brooks. 
 In the vetches that tangled their 
 
 shore. 
 
 Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart 
 
 ye were dear. 
 Ere the fever of passion, or ague of 
 
 fear. 
 Had scathed my existence's bloom ; 
 Once I welcome you more, in hfe's 
 
 passionless stage ; 
 With the visions of youth to revisit 
 
 my age, 
 And I wish you to grow on my tomb. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 THE BLTTEBELIi. 
 
 The Bluebell is the sweetest flower 
 That waves in summer air : 
 
 Its blossoms have the mightiest power 
 To soothe my spirit's care. 
 
 There is a spell in purple heath 
 
 Too wildly, sadly dear ; 
 The violet has a fragi-ant breath. 
 
 But fragrance will not cheer. 
 
 The trees are bai'c, the sun is cold, 
 
 And seldom, seldom seen ; 
 The heavens have lost their isone of 
 gold. 
 
 And earth her robes of greeu. 
 
 And ice upon the glancing stream 
 Has cast its sombre shade ; 
 
 The distant hills and valleys seem 
 In frozen mist arrayed. 
 
 The Bluebell cannot charm me now. 
 The heath has lost its bloom ; 
 
 The violets in the glen below. 
 They yield no sweep perfume. 
 
 But though I mourn the sweet Blue- 
 bell, 
 
 'Tis better far away ; 
 I know how fast my tears would swell 
 
 To see it smile to-day. 
 
 For, oh ! when chill the sunbeams fall 
 
 Adown that dreary sky, 
 And gild yon dank and darkened wall 
 
 With transient brilliancy. 
 
 How do I weep, how do I pine 
 For the time of flowers to come, 
 
 And turn me from that fading shrine. 
 To mourn the fields of home. 
 
 Emily Bronte. 
 
 LESSONS EKOM THE GORSE. 
 
 Mountain gorses, ever golden. 
 Cankered not the whole year long ! 
 Do ye teach us to be strong, 
 Howsoever pricked and holden. 
 Like your thorny blooms, and so 
 Trodden on by rain or snow, 
 Up the hillside of this hfe, as bleak as 
 where ye grow ? 
 
 Moimtain blossoms, shining blos- 
 soms. 
 Do ye teach us to be glad 
 When no summer can be had. 
 Blooming in our inward bosoms ? 
 Ye whom God preserve th still. 
 Set as fights upon a hiU, 
 Tokens to the wintry earth that Beauty 
 hieth still ! 
 
 Mountain gorse, do ye teach us 
 From that academic chair 
 Canopied with azure air. 
 That the wisest word man reachL>3 
 Is the humblest he can speak '. 
 Ye, who five on mountain peak. 
 Yet five low along the ground, besid© 
 the grasses meekl 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 175 
 
 Mountain gorses, since Linn?RU3 
 Knelt beside you on the sod. 
 For your beauty thanking God, — 
 For your teaching, ye should sec us 
 Bowing in prostration new ! 
 Whence arisen — if one or two 
 Drops be on our cheeks — 0, world, 
 they are not tears but dew. 
 
 Elisabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 TO AN" EARLY PRIMROSE. 
 
 Mild offspring of a dark ami sullen 
 
 sire ! 
 Whose modest form so delicately tine. 
 
 Was nursed in whirling storms, 
 
 And cradled in the winds. 
 
 Thee, when young Spring first ques- 
 tioned Winter's sway. 
 And dared the sturdy blusterer to the 
 
 m fight, 
 
 ■ Thee on this bank he threw 
 To mark his victory. 
 
 In this low vale the promise of the 
 
 year. 
 Serene thou openest to the nipping gale. 
 
 Unnoticed and alone. 
 
 Thy tender elegance. 
 
 So virtue blooms, brought forth amid 
 
 the storms 
 Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk 
 
 Of life she rears her head, 
 
 Obscure and unobserved. 
 
 While every bleaching breeze that on 
 
 her blows, 
 Chastens her spotless purity of breast, 
 
 And hardens her to bear 
 
 Serene the ills of Ufe. 
 
 Henry Kirke White. 
 
 TO THE SMAIili CEIiANDINE 
 
 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies, 
 Let them live upon their praises ; 
 
 Long as there's a sun that sets, 
 Primroses will have their glory ; 
 
 Long aa there are violets. 
 They will have a place in storv • 
 There's a flower that shall be mine, 
 Tis the little Celandine. 
 
 Eyes of some men travel far 
 For the finding of a star ; 
 
 Up and clown the heavens they go. 
 Men that keep a mighty rout ! 
 
 I'm aa great as them, I trow. 
 Since the clay I found thee out. 
 Little Flower ! I'll make a stir, 
 Like a sage astronomer. 
 
 Modest, yet withal an elf 
 Bold, and lavish of thyself ; 
 
 Since we needs must first have met, 
 I have seen thee high and low. 
 
 Thirty years or more, and yet 
 'Twas a face I did not know : 
 Thou hast now, go where I may, 
 Fifty greetings in a day. 
 
 Ere a leaf is on a bush, 
 
 In a time before the thrush 
 
 Has a thought about her nest, 
 Thou wilt come with half a call. 
 
 Spreading out thy glossy breast 
 Like a careless prodigal ; 
 Telling tales about the sun. 
 When we've little warmth or none. 
 
 Poets, vain men in their mood 1 
 Travel with the multitude : 
 
 Never heed them ; I aver 
 That they all are w anton wooers ; 
 
 But the thrifty cottager. 
 Who stii-s httle out of doors, 
 Joys to spy thee near her home ; 
 Spring is coming, thou art come I 
 
 Comfort have thou of thy merit. 
 Kindly, unassuming spirit ! 
 
 Careless of thy neighbourhood. 
 Thou dost show thy pleasant face 
 
 On the moor, and in the wood. 
 In the lane — there's not a place 
 Howsoever mean it be. 
 But 'tis good enough for thee. 
 
 Ill befall the yellow flowers. 
 Children of the fiaring hours I 
 
 Buttercups, that will be seen. 
 Whether we will see or no ; 
 
 Others, too, of lofty mien ; 
 They have done as worldings do, 
 Taken praise that should be thine. 
 Lattle, oumble Celandine I 
 
176 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Prophet of delight and mirth. 
 Ill-requited upon earth ; 
 
 Herald of a mighty band, 
 Of a joyous train ensuing, 
 
 Serving at my heart's command. 
 Tasks that are no tasks renewing, 
 I wiU sing, as dost behove, 
 Hymns in praise of what I love. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 MINE HOST OF THE 
 «« GOLDEN APPLE." 
 
 A GOODLY host one day was mine, 
 A Golden Apple his only sign. 
 That hung from a long branch, ripe 
 and fine. 
 
 My host was the beautiful Apple-tree ; 
 He gave me shelter and noimshed nie 
 With the best of fare, all fresh and free. 
 
 And light-winged guests came not a 
 
 few. 
 To his leafy inn, and sipped the dew. 
 And sang their best songs ere they flew. 
 
 I slept at night on a downy bed 
 
 Of moss, and my Host benignly spread 
 
 His own cool shadow over my head. 
 
 When I asked what reckoning there 
 
 might be. 
 He shook his broad boughs cheerily : — 
 A blessing be thine, green Apple- 
 tree ! 
 
 Thomas Westwood. 
 
 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY. 
 
 ON TUKNING ONE DOWN WITH A PLOUGH. 
 
 Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flower, 
 Thou'st met me in an evil hour. 
 For I must crush among the stouie 
 
 Thy slender stem ; 
 To spare thee now is past my power ; 
 
 Thou bonny gem ! 
 
 Alas ! it's no thy neebor sMeet, 
 The bonny lark, companion meet. 
 Bending thee 'mong the dewy weet, 
 
 Wi' speckled breast. 
 When upward springing, blithe to 
 meet 
 
 The purpling east. 
 
 Cold blew the bitter biting north 
 Upon thy early humble birth. 
 Yet cheerfully thou gUnted forth 
 
 Amid the storm ; 
 Scarce reared above the parent earth 
 
 Thy tender form. 
 
 The flaunting flowers our gardens 
 
 yield. 
 High sheltering woods and wa's maun 
 
 shield, 
 But thou, beneath the random bield* 
 
 Of clod or stane. 
 Adorn'st the histie stubble-field. 
 Unseen, alane. 
 
 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 
 Thy snawy bosom sunward spread. 
 Thou Uft'st thy unassuming head. 
 
 In humble guise ; 
 But now the share upteara thy bed, 
 
 And low thou hes. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 NARCISSUS. 
 
 I SAW the pride of all the meadows 
 
 At morn, a gay Narcissus, blow 
 Upon a river's bank, whose shadow 
 
 Bloomed in the silver waves 'lelow. 
 By noontide's heat its youth was 
 wasted, 
 
 The waters as they passed com- 
 plained ; 
 At eve its glories were aU blasted, 
 
 And not one former grace remained. 
 While the wild rose, more safely groving 
 
 Low in the unaspiring vale, 
 Amidst retirement's shelter blowing, 
 
 Long sheds its sweetness on the gale. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE DAISY. 
 
 ON FINDING ONE IN BLOOM ON CHRIST- 
 MAS DAY. 
 
 There is a flower, a little flower, 
 With silver crest and golden eye. 
 
 That welcomes every changing hour 
 And weathers every sky ; 
 
 • Shelter. 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 177 
 
 The prouder beauties of the iield 
 In gay but quick succession shine ; 
 
 Race after race their honours yield, 
 They flourish and decline. 
 
 But this small flower, to Nature dear, 
 
 While moons and stars their courses 
 run. 
 Wreathes the whole circle of the year, 
 
 Companion of the sun. 
 It smiles upon the lap of May, 
 
 To sultry August spreads its charms. 
 Lights pale October on its way. 
 
 And twines December's arms. 
 
 The purple heath and golden broom. 
 
 On moory mountains catch the gale. 
 O'er lawns the lily sheds perfume. 
 
 The violet in the A'ale ; 
 But this bold floweret climbs the hill, 
 
 Hides in the forest, haunts the glen, 
 Plays on the margin of the^rill. 
 
 Peeps round the fox's den. 
 
 Within the garden's cultured roimd 
 
 It shares the sweet carnation's bed ; 
 And blooms on consecrated ground. 
 
 In honour of the dead. 
 The lambkin crops its crimson gem. 
 
 The wild-bee murmurs on its breast, 
 The blue fly bends its pensile stem- 
 
 Light o'er the sky-lark's nest. 
 
 'Tis Flora's page : in every place 
 
 In every season, fresh and fair. 
 It opens with perennial grace. 
 
 And blossoms everywhere. 
 On waste and woodland, rock and 
 plain. 
 
 The humble buds unheeded rise ; 
 The rose has but a summer reign. 
 
 The daisy never dies. 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 I "WANDERED LONELY AS A 
 CLOTTD. 
 
 I WANDERED loucly as a cloud 
 
 That tloats on high o'er vales and hills, 
 
 When all at once I saw a crowd, 
 A host of golden daffodils : 
 
 Beside the lake, beneath the trees. 
 
 Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 
 
 Continuous as the stars that shine 
 And twinkle on the milky way, 
 
 They stretched in never-ending line 
 
 Along the margin of a bay : 
 Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
 Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 
 
 The waves beside them danced, but 
 they 
 
 Out-did the sparkling waves in glee : — 
 A poet could not but be gay. 
 
 In such a jocund company ; 
 I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
 What wealth the show to nie had 
 
 brought. 
 
 For oft, when on my couch I lie 
 In vacant or in pensive mood, 
 
 They flash upon that iuAvard eye 
 Which is the bliss of solitude ; 
 
 And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
 
 And dances with the daffodils. 
 
 WiUiam Wordsworth. 
 
 TO DAFFODILS. 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon ; 
 As yet the early rising sun 
 Has not attained his noon : 
 Stay, stay 
 Until the hastening day 
 Has nm 
 But to the evensong ; 
 And having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along ! 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you. 
 
 We have as short a spring. 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 
 As you or anything. 
 We die 
 
 As your hours do ; and dry 
 Away, 
 
 Like to the summer's rain. 
 Or as the pearls of morning dew. 
 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 
 
 Thou bloasom bright with autumn 
 
 dew, 
 And coloured with the heaven's own 
 
 blue. 
 That openest, when the quiet light 
 Succeeds the keen and frosty night. 
 
 12 
 
178 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Thou comest not when violets lean 
 O'er wandering brooks and springs 
 
 unseen, 
 Or columbines m purple dressed, 
 Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest. 
 
 Thou waitest late, and com'st alone. 
 When woods are bare, and birds are 
 
 flown. 
 And frosts and shortening days portend 
 The aged year is near his end. 
 
 Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye 
 Look through its fringes to the sky, 
 Blue — blue — as if that sky let fall 
 A flower from its cerulean wall. 
 
 I would that thus, when I shall see 
 The hour of death draws near to me, 
 Hope, blossoming within my heart. 
 May look to Heaven as I depart. 
 
 William Cullen Bryant. 
 
 THE COFFEE SLIPS. 
 
 Whene'er I fragrant coffee drink, 
 For the generous Frenchman think. 
 Whose noble perseverance bore 
 The tree to Martinico's shore. 
 While yet her colony was new, 
 Her island products but a few. 
 Two shoots from off a coffee-tree 
 He carried with him o'er the sea. 
 Each little tender coffee slip 
 He waters daily in the ship. 
 Anil as he tends his embryo trees. 
 Feels he is raising 'midst the seas 
 Coffee groves, whose ample shade 
 Shall screen the dark Creolian maid. 
 But soon, alas ! his darling pleasure 
 In watching this his precious treasure 
 Is like to fade,— for water fails 
 On board the ship in which he sails. 
 Now all the reservoirs are shut, 
 The crew on short allowance put ; 
 So small a drop is each man's share. 
 Few leavings you may think there are 
 To water these poor coffee plants ; — 
 But he supjjlies their gasping wants. 
 Even from his o\\n dry parched lips 
 He spares it for his coffee slips. 
 Water he gives his nurslings first, 
 Ere lie allays his own deep thirst, 
 Lest, if he first the water sip. 
 He l)ear too far his eager lip. 
 He sees tlw m droop for want of more ; 
 
 Yet when they reach the destined shore. 
 With pride *4ie heroic gardener sees 
 A living sap still in his trees. 
 The islanders his praise resound ; ' 
 
 Coffee plantations rise around ; 
 And Martinico loads her ships 
 With produce from those dear-saved 
 sUps. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lariih. 
 
 THE BROOM ELOWEB. 
 
 O THE Broom, the yellow Broom I 
 The ancient poet simg it ; 
 
 And dear it is on summer days 
 To he at rest among it. 
 
 I know the realms where people say 
 The flowers have not their fellow : 
 
 I know where they shine out like sims. 
 The crimson and the ye low. 
 
 I know where ladies lie enchained 
 
 In luxury's silken fetters, 
 And flowers as bright aa glittering 
 gems 
 
 Axe used for written letters. 
 
 But ne'er was flower so fair as this. 
 
 In modern days or olden : 
 It groweth on its nodding stem 
 
 Like to a garland golden. 
 
 And all about my mother's door 
 Shine out its ghttering bushes, 
 
 And do^vn the glen, where clear as 
 light 
 The mountain water gushes. 
 
 Take all the rest : but give me this. 
 And the bird that nestles in it ; 
 
 I love it, for it loves the Broom — 
 The green and yellow linnet ! 
 
 Well^call the Rose the queen of 
 flowers. 
 
 And boast of that of Sharon, 
 Of Lilies like to marble cups. 
 
 And the golden rod of Aaron — 
 
 I care not how these flowers may be 
 Beloved of man or woman ; 
 
 'I'he Broom it is the tlower for me. 
 That groweth on the common. 
 
 I 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 179 
 
 O the Broom, the yellow Broom I 
 The ancient poet sung it ; 
 
 And dear it is on summer daya 
 To lie at rest among it. 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 The mountain stirr'd its bushy crown, 
 
 And, as tradition teaches. 
 Young ashes pirouetted down, 
 
 Coquetting with young beeches : 
 And briony-vine and ivy-wreath 
 
 Ran forward to his rhyming, 
 And from tiie valleys underneath 
 
 Came little copses clinibing. 
 
 ORPHEUS. 
 
 ORPHEtrs with his lute made trees, 
 And the mountain-tops, that freeze. 
 
 Bow themselves, when he did sing : 
 To his music, plants, and flower-^. 
 Ever spring ; as sun and showers. 
 
 There has been a lasting spring. 
 
 Everything that heard him play. 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 In sweet music is such art ; 
 Killing care and grief of heart. 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing die. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 The linden broke her ranks and rent 
 
 The woodbine wreaths that bind her, 
 And down the middle buzz ! she went 
 
 With all her bees behind her : 
 The poplars, in long order due. 
 
 With cypress promenaded. 
 The shock-head willows two and two 
 
 '}y rivers gallopaded. 
 
 Came wet-shot alder from the wave, 
 
 Came yews a dismal coterie ; 
 Each pluck'd his one foot from the 
 grave, 
 
 Pousetting with a sloe-tree : 
 Old elms came breaking from the vine. 
 
 The vine stream'd out to follow. 
 And sweating rosin, plumb'd the pine 
 
 From many a cloudy hollow. 
 
 AMPHION. 
 
 ]My father left a part to me. 
 
 But it was wild and barren, 
 A garden too with scarce a tree 
 
 And waster than a warren : 
 Yet say the neighbours when they call. 
 
 It is not bad but good land. 
 And in it is the germ of all 
 
 That grows within the woodland. 
 
 O had I lived when song was great 
 
 In days of old Amphion, 
 And ta'en my fiddle to the gate, 
 
 Nor cared for seed or scion ! 
 And had I lived ^\■hen song was great, 
 
 And legs of trees were limber, 
 And ta'en my fiddle to the gate. 
 
 And fiddled in the timber ! 
 
 'Tis said he had a tuneful tongue, 
 
 Such happy intonation. 
 Wherever he sat down and sung 
 
 He left a small plantation ; 
 Wherever in a lonely grove 
 
 He set up his fojlorn pipes, 
 Qlie gouty oak began to move. 
 
 And fiounder into hornpipes. 
 
 And wasn't it a sight to see. 
 
 When, ere his song was ended. 
 Like some great landslip, tree by tree. 
 
 The country-side descended ; 
 And shepherds from the mountain-eves, 
 
 Look'd down, half pleased, half 
 frighten'd. 
 As dash'd about the drunken leaves 
 
 The random sunshine lighten'd ! 
 
 Oh, natiare first was fresh to men. 
 
 And wanton without measure, 
 So youthful and so flexile then. 
 
 You moved her at your pleasure. 
 Twang out, my fiddle ! shake the 
 twigs. 
 
 And make her dance attendance ; 
 Blow, flute, and stir the stiff-set sprigs 
 
 And scirrhous roots and tendons. 
 
 'Tis vain ! in such a brassy age 
 
 I could not move a thistle ; 
 The very sparrows in the hedg 
 
 Scarce answer to my whistle ; 
 Or at the most, when three-parts sick 
 
 With strumming and with scraping, 
 A jackass hee-haws from the rick. 
 
 The passive oxen gaping. 
 
 12* 
 
180 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 But what is that I hear ? a sound 
 
 Like sleeply counsel pleading : 
 Lord ! — 'tis my neighbour's ground, 
 
 The modern Muses reading. 
 They read Botanic Treatises, 
 
 And Works on Gardening thro' there 
 And Methods of transplanting trees, 
 
 To look as if they grew there. 
 
 The wither'd misses ! how they prose 
 
 O'er books of travell'd seamen, 
 And show you slips of all that grows 
 
 From England to Van Dieman. 
 They read in arbours dipt and cut. 
 
 And alleys, faded places. 
 By squares of tropic summer shut 
 
 And warm'd in crystal cases. 
 
 But these the' fed with careful dirt. 
 
 Are neither green nor sappy ; 
 Half-conscious of the garden-squirt. 
 
 The spindlings look unhappy. 
 Better to me the meanest weed 
 
 That blows upon its mountain. 
 The vilest herb that runs to seed 
 
 Beside its native fountain. 
 
 And I must work thro' months of toil. 
 
 And years of cultivation, 
 Upon my proper patch of soil 
 
 To grow my own plantation. 
 I'll take the showers as thej' fall, 
 
 I will not vex my bosom : 
 Enough if at the end of all 
 
 A little garden blossom. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE FATE OF THE OAK. 
 
 The owl to her mate is calling ; 
 
 The river his hoarse song sings ; 
 But the oak is marked for falling. 
 
 That has stood for a hundred springs. 
 Hark ! a blow, and a dull sound fol- 
 lows ; 
 
 A second — he bows his head ; 
 A third — and the wood's dark hollows 
 
 Now know that their king is dead. 
 
 His arms from their trunk are riven ; 
 
 His body all barked and squared ; 
 And he's now, like a felon, driven 
 
 In chains to the strong dock-yard 1 
 
 He's sawn through the middle, and 
 turned 
 For the ribs of a frigate free ; 
 And he's caulked, and pitched, and 
 burned ; 
 And now — he is fit for sea ! 
 
 Oh ! now — with his wings outspread 
 
 Like a ghost (if a ghost may be), 
 He will triumph again, though dead. 
 
 And be dreaded in every sea : 
 The lightning will blaze about. 
 
 And wTap him in flaming pride : 
 And the thunder-loud cannon will 
 
 shout. 
 In the fight, from his bold broadside. 
 
 And when he has fought, and won. 
 
 And been honoured from shore to 
 shore ; 
 And his journey on earth is done, — 
 
 Why, what can he ask for more ? 
 There is nought that a king can claim. 
 
 Or a poet or warrior bold. 
 Save a rhyme and a short-lived name, 
 
 And to mix with the common niuukl ! 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 THE OAK AND THE BEECH. 
 
 Fob the tender beech and the sapling 
 oak. 
 That grew by the shadowy rill. 
 You may cut down both at a single 
 stroke. 
 You may cut down which j'ou will. 
 
 But this you must know, that as long 
 as they grow. 
 Whatever change may be, 
 You can never teach either oak or 
 beech 
 To be aught but a greenwood tree. 
 
 Thomas Love Peacock. 
 
 THE POPLAB FIELD. 
 
 The poplars are felled, farewell to the 
 
 shade. 
 And the whispering sound of the cool 
 
 colonnade ; 
 The winds play no longer and sing in 
 
 the leaves. 
 Nor Ouse on his bosom their image 
 
 receives. 
 
r 
 
 Fields and Woods. 
 
 181 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed, since I last 
 
 took a view 
 Of my favourite field, and the bank 
 
 where they grew ; 
 And now in the grass behold they are 
 
 laid. 
 And the tree is my seat, that once lent 
 
 me a shade. 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another 
 
 retreat. 
 Where the hazels afford him a screen 
 
 from the heat ; 
 And the scene, where his melody 
 
 charmed mo before. 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty 
 
 no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting 
 
 away. 
 And I must ere long lie as lowly as 
 
 they ; 
 With a turf on my breast, and a stone 
 
 at my head. 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in 
 
 its stead. 
 
 The change both my heart and my 
 
 fancy employs, 
 I reflect on the frailty of man, and his 
 
 joys; 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, 
 
 we see. 
 Have a still shorter date, and die sooner 
 
 than we. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 ENGLAND'S OAK. 
 
 Let India boast its spicy trees. 
 
 Whose fruit and gorgeous bloom 
 Give to each faint and languid breeze 
 
 Its rich and rare perfume. 
 Let Portugal and haughty Spain 
 
 Display their orange-groves ; 
 And France exult her vines to train 
 
 Around her trim alcoves. 
 
 Old England has a tree as strong, 
 
 As stately as them all. 
 As worthy of a minstrel's song 
 
 III cottage and in hall. 
 'Tis not the yew-tree, though it londs 
 
 Its greenness to the grave ; 
 Nor willow, though it fondly In-nds 
 
 Ila branches o'er the wave ; 
 
 Xor birch, althou.;h its slender tress 
 
 Bo beautifully fair. 
 As graceful in its loveliness 
 
 As maiden's flowing hair. 
 'Tis not the poplar, though its heiglii 
 
 May from afar be seen ; 
 Nor beech, although its boughs be 
 dif^ht 
 
 With leaves of glossy green. 
 
 All these are fair, but they may fling 
 
 Their shade unsung by me ; 
 My favourite, and the forest's king. 
 
 The Hritish Oak shall be ! 
 Its stem, though rough, is stout and 
 sound. 
 
 Its giant branches throw 
 Their arms in shady blessings round 
 
 O'er man and boast below ; 
 
 Its leaf, though late in spring it shares 
 
 The zephyr's gentle sigh, 
 As late and long in autumn wears 
 
 A deeper, richer dye. 
 Type of an honest English heart. 
 
 It opes not at a breath, 
 But having open'd plays its part 
 
 Until it sinks in death. 
 
 Its acorns, graceful to the sight. 
 
 Are toys to childhood dear ; 
 Its mistletoe, with berries white. 
 
 Adds mirth to Christmas cheer. 
 And when we reach life's i:losing 
 stage. 
 
 Worn out with care or ill. 
 For childhood, youth, or hoary age, 
 
 Its arms are open still. 
 
 But prouder yet its glories shine, 
 
 When, in a nobler form. 
 It floats upon the heaving brine 
 
 And braves the bursting storm ; 
 Or when, to aid the work of love. 
 
 To some benighted clime 
 It bears glad tidings from above. 
 
 Of Gospel-truths sublime : 
 
 Oh ! then, triumphant in its might, 
 
 O'er waters dim and dark. 
 It seems, in Heaven's approving sigiit, 
 
 A second glorious Akic. 
 On earth the forest's lionour'd king ! 
 
 Man's castle on the sea ! 
 Wiio will, another tree may sing, 
 
 Old England's Oak for me ! 
 
 Bernard Barton. 
 
182 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 YARDLY OAK. 
 
 Thou wast a bauble once ; a cup and 
 
 ball 
 Which babes might play with ; and 
 
 the thievish jay. 
 Seeking her food, with ease might have 
 
 purloin'd 
 The auburn nut that held thee, swal- 
 
 owing down 
 Thy yet close- folded latitiide of boughs, 
 And all thine embryo vastness at a 
 
 gulp. 
 But Fate thy growth decreed : au- 
 tumnal rains. 
 Beneath thy parent tree, mellow'd the 
 
 soil. 
 Designed thy cradle ; and a skipping 
 
 deer. 
 With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, 
 
 prepar'd 
 The soft receptacle, in which secure 
 Thy rudiments should sleep the winter 
 
 through. 
 
 * * * * if :¥ 
 
 Thou fell'st mature, and in the loainy 
 
 clod, 
 Swelhng with vegetative force instinct. 
 Didst burst thine egg, as their's the 
 
 fabl'd Twins, 
 Now stars : two lobes protiuding, 
 
 pair'd exact ; 
 A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, 
 And all the elements thy puny 
 
 growth 
 Fostering propitious, thou becam'st a 
 
 twig. 
 
 Time made thee what thou wast — king 
 
 of the woods ! 
 And Time hath made thee what thou 
 
 art — a cave 
 For owls to roost in ! Once thy spread- 
 ing boughs 
 O'erhung the champaign, and the 
 
 numerous flock 
 That grazed it, stood beneath the ample 
 
 cope 
 Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from 
 
 the storm. 
 No flock frequents thee now ; thou hast 
 
 outliv'd 
 Thy popularity, and art become 
 (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a 
 
 thing 
 Forgotten as the foliage of thy youth 1 
 
 Wliile thus through all the stages thou 
 
 hast push'd 
 Of trceship — just a seedling, hid in 
 
 grass ; 
 Then twig ; then saphng, and as 
 
 century roll'd 
 Slow after century, a giant-bulk. 
 Of girth enormous with moss-cushion'd 
 
 root 
 Upheav'd above the soil, and sides 
 
 emboss'd 
 With prominent wens globose — till at 
 
 the last. 
 The rottenness, which time is charged 
 
 to inflict 
 On other mighty ones, found also 
 
 thee. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 MUSTARD SEED. 
 
 Behold this ground ! There's notliing 
 
 here 
 Save earth, — nor hast there been this 
 year 
 
 Grass, moss, nor flo\Aer, nor weed. 
 Yet in a week, b.ere shall be seen 
 Your name, dear George, in leaves of 
 green, 
 
 Spring from this round seed. 
 
 Now clear and plain before your sigb.t. 
 In this dark mould j'our name I'll 
 write. 
 
 There's every letter clear — 
 Now till the lines with mustard seed — • 
 Well done, a dunce your name might 
 read, 
 
 So plain it doth appear. 
 
 Cover the seeds beneath this mould, 
 That loolvs so dark, and damp, and 
 cold. 
 
 Until not one is seen. 
 And in a week, I dare be bound, 
 The name of Gkorge will here bo 
 found 
 
 In double leaves of green. 
 
 Though I cau write your name 
 
 gold, 
 And many a curl and flourish bold 
 
 Around the letters throw ; 
 Were I a thousand years to try. 
 To make a plant but one inch high, 
 I could not make it grow. 
 
 I 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 183 
 
 The simplest flower by which we pass 
 Deep buried in the summer grass, 
 
 Man hath not skill to make ; 
 Although he's power to build a town, 
 He cannot form the thistle's down. 
 
 Which every wind doth 9hal;e. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 THE RHODOBA. 
 
 In May, when sea-winds pierced our 
 
 sohtudes, 
 I found tlie fresh Rliodora in the woods, 
 Spreading its leafless blooms in a damp 
 
 nook. 
 To please the desert and the sluggish 
 
 brook : 
 1'lie purple petals, fallen in the pool, 
 Made the black waters with tlieir 
 beauty gay ; 
 Here night the red-bird comes his 
 plumes to cool. 
 And court the flower that cheapens his 
 array. 
 Rliodora ! if the sages ask thee why 
 Tiiis charm is wasted on the earth and 
 
 sky. 
 Dear, tell them, that if eyes were niade 
 
 for seeing, 
 Tlien beauty is its own excuse for 
 
 being. 
 Why thou were there, rival of the 
 rose ! 
 I never thought to ask ; I never 
 knew, 
 But in ray simple ignorance suppose 
 The self-same Power that brought 
 me there, brought you. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE 
 FLOWERS 
 
 The melancholy days are come, the 
 
 saddest of the year. 
 Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and 
 
 meadows brown and sear. 
 Heaped in the hollows of the grove, 
 
 the withered leaves lie dead ; 
 They rustle to the eddying gust, and 
 
 to the rabbits' tread. 
 
 The robin and the wren are flown, and 
 
 from the shrubs the jay. 
 And from the wood -tops calls the crow. 
 
 through all the gloomy day. 
 
 Where are the flowers, the fair young 
 
 flowers, that lately sprang and stood 
 In brighter liglit and softer airs, a 
 
 beauteous sisterhood ? 
 Alas ! they all are in their graves, tlie 
 
 gentle race of flowers 
 Are lying in their lowly beds, with tlic 
 
 fair and good of ours. 
 The rain is falling where they lie, but 
 
 the cold November rain. 
 Calls not, from out the gloomy eartii, 
 
 the lovely ones again. 
 
 The wind-flower and the violet, they 
 
 perished long ago. 
 And the brier-rose and the orchid died 
 
 amid the summer glow ; 
 But on the hill the golden-rod, and the 
 
 aster in the wood. 
 And the yellow sunflower by the brook 
 
 in autumn beauty stood. 
 Till fell the frost from the clear cold 
 
 heaven, as falls the plague on men, 
 And the brightness of their smile was 
 
 gone, from upland, glade, and glen. 
 
 And now when comes the calm mild 
 
 day, as still such days will come. 
 To call the squirrel and the bee from 
 
 out their winter home ; 
 When the soimd of dropping nuts is 
 
 heard, though all the trees are still. 
 And twinkle in the smoky light the 
 
 waters of the rill. 
 The south wind searches for the flowers 
 
 whose fragrance late he bore. 
 And siglis to find them in the wood and 
 
 by the stream no more. 
 
 And then I think of one who in her 
 
 youthful beauty died. 
 The fair, meek blossom tliat grew up 
 
 and faded by my side ; 
 In the cold moist earth we laid her, 
 
 V 'en the forest cast the leaf. 
 And we wept that one so lovely should 
 
 have a life so brief : 
 Yet not unmeet it was that one, like 
 
 that young friend of ours. 
 So gentle and so beautiful, should 
 
 perish with the flowers. 
 
 William CuUen Bryant. 
 
184 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 HIE AWAY. 
 
 Hie away, hie away ! 
 Over banli and over brae, 
 Where tlie copsewood is the greenest, 
 Where the fountains gUsten sheenest. 
 Where the lady ferns grow strongest, 
 "\^'^le^e the morning dew lies longest, 
 Where tlie blackcock sweetest sips it, 
 ^^'^lere the fairy latest trips it : 
 Hie to haunts right seldom seen. 
 Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green ; 
 Over bank and over brae, 
 Hie away, hie away ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 HTTITTING SONG. 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies ga^y. 
 
 On the mountain dawns the day ; 
 
 All the jolly chase is here. 
 
 With hawk and horse and hunting- 
 spear ! 
 
 Hounds are in their couples yelling, 
 
 Hawks are whistling, horns are Icnell- 
 ing, 
 
 Merrily, merrily, mingle they. 
 
 " Waken, lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
 
 The mist has left the nioimtain gray, 
 
 Springlets in the dawTi are steaming. 
 
 Diamonds on the brake are gleamini!;. 
 
 And foresters have busy been 
 
 To trace the buck in tliickct green ; 
 
 Now we come to chant our lay, 
 
 *' Waken, lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies gay. 
 To the greenwood haste away ; 
 W6 can show you where he lies. 
 Fleet of foot and tall of size ; 
 We can show the marks he made. 
 When 'gainst the oak his antlers 
 
 fray'd ; 
 You shall see him brought to bay. 
 " Waken, lords and ladies gay." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 A-HTINTINQ WE WILL GO. 
 
 The dusky night rides doiRTi the sky. 
 
 And ushers in the morn ; 
 The hounds all join in glorious cry. 
 
 The huntsman winds his horn. 
 And a-hunting we will go. 
 
 The wife aroimd her husband throws 
 Her arms to make him stay : 
 
 " My dear, it rains, it hails, it blows ; 
 You cannot hunt to-.day." 
 Yet a-hunting we will go. 
 
 Away they fly to 'scape the rout. 
 
 Their steeds they soundly switch; 
 Some are thrown in, and some thrown 
 out, 
 And some thrown in the ditch. 
 Yet a-hunting we will go. 
 
 Sly Re3niard now like lightning flies, 
 And sweeps across the vale ; 
 
 And wlien the hounds too near he s|ne3. 
 He drops his bushy tail. 
 Tlien a-hunting we will go. 
 
 Fond echo seems to like the sport. 
 
 And join the jovial cry ; 
 The woods, the hills, the sound retort. 
 
 And music fills the slty, 
 ^Hien a-hunting we do go. 
 
 At last his strength to faintness worn, 
 Poor Reynard ceases flight ; 
 
 Then, hungry, homeward we return, 
 To feast away the night. 
 And a-drinking we do go. 
 
 Ye jovial hunters in the morn 
 Prepare then for the chase ; 
 
 Rise at the sounding of the horn, 
 And health with sport embrace 
 When a-hunting we do go. 
 
 Henry Fielding. 
 
 THE HTJNTER'S SONG. 
 
 Rise ! Sleep no more • 'Tis a noble 
 
 morn ! 
 The de-KS hang tliiok on the fringed 
 
 thorn, 
 And the frost shrinks back, like a 
 
 beaten hound. 
 Under tlie steaming, steaming ground. 
 JJeliold where the billowy clouds 
 
 flow by, 
 And leave us alone in the clear gray 
 
 sky! 
 Our horses are ready and steady, — 
 
 So, ho ! 
 I'm gone like a dart from the Tartar's 
 
 bow. 
 
Fields and Woods. 
 
 18^ 
 
 Ildrk, hark! who calleih the maiden 
 
 nlorn 
 From her sleep in the woods and the 
 stubble corn ? 
 
 The horn — iJie horn I 
 The merry sweet ring of the hunter's 
 horn I 
 
 ****** 
 
 Sound, sound the horn ! To tlie 
 
 hunter good 
 What's the gully deep, or the roaring 
 
 flood ? 
 Iliglit o'er he bounds, as the wild stag 
 
 bounds. 
 At the heels of his swift, sure, silent 
 
 hounds. 
 Oh ! what delight can a mortal lack, 
 AVhen he once is firm on his horse's 
 
 liack, 
 ^\'ith his stirrups short, and his snaffle 
 
 strong ; 
 And the blast of the horn for his morn- 
 ing song ! 
 Uark. hark ! Now home I and dream 
 
 till morn 
 Of tlie bold sweet sound of the hunter's 
 
 horn I 
 
 The horn — the horn ! 
 Oh, the sound of all sounds is the 
 hunter's horn I 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 UP, TIP ! YE DAMES AND 
 LASSES GAY! 
 
 Vv, up ! ye dames and lasses gay ! 
 I To the meadows trip away. 
 
 'Tis you must tend the flocks this 
 
 morn, 
 And scare the small birds from the 
 corn. 
 Not a soul at home may stay : 
 For the shepherds must go 
 With lance and bow 
 To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 
 
 Leave the hearth and leave the house 
 To the cricket and the mouse : 
 Find grannam out a sunny seat. 
 With babe and lambkin at her feet. 
 Not a soul at home may stay : 
 For the shepherds must go 
 I With lance and bow 
 
 ■ To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 
 
 8. T. Coleridge. 
 
 THE HUNT IS UP. 
 
 Ttie hunt is up, the hunt is up, 
 
 And it is well-ingh day ; 
 And Harry our king is gone hunting 
 
 To bring his deer to bay. 
 
 The east is bright with morning light. 
 
 And darkness it is fled ; 
 And the merry horn wakes up the 
 morn 
 
 To leave his idle bed. 
 
 Behold the skies with golden dyes 
 
 Are glowing all around ; 
 The grass is green, and so are the 
 treen 
 
 All laughing at the sound. 
 
 The horses snort to be at sport, 
 
 The dogs are running free. 
 The woods rejoice at the merry noise 
 
 Of Hey tantara tee ree ! 
 
 The sun is clad to see us glad 
 
 All in our lusty green. 
 And smiles in the sky as he riseth high 
 
 To see and to be seen. 
 
 Awalce all men, I say again, 
 
 Be merry as you may ; 
 For Harry our king is gone hunting, 
 
 To bring his deer to bay. 
 
 a hawking party in the 
 oijDen time. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the merry warder's horn 
 P'ar o'er the wooded hills is borne. 
 And then out breaks a general din 
 From those without, as those within 
 Upon the terrace steps are seen 
 In such a bright array ! 
 
 The kenneled hounds' long bark is 
 
 heard. 
 The falconer talking to his bird, 
 The neighing steeds, the angry word 
 
 Of grooms impatient there. 
 But soon the bustle is dismissed. 
 The falconer sets on every wrist 
 A hooded hawk, that's stroked and 
 
 kissed 
 
 By knight and lady fair. 
 
186 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And sitting in their saddles free. 
 The brave, the fair of high degree, 
 Forth rides that gallant company, 
 
 Each with a bird on hand ; 
 And falconers with their hawking gear, 
 And other birds, bring up the rear, 
 And country-folk from far and near 
 
 Fall in and join the band. 
 
 And merrily thus in shine and shade. 
 Gay glancing through the forest glade. 
 On rides the nol«le cavalcade, 
 
 To moorlands wild and grey ; 
 And then the noble sport is high ; 
 The jess is loosed, the hood thrown by ; 
 And " leurre ! " the jolly falconers cry. 
 And wheeling round the falcons fly 
 
 Impatient of their prey. 
 
 A moment and the quarry's ta'en, 
 The falconer's cry sounds forth amain. 
 The true hawk soars and soars agafti. 
 
 Nor once the game is missed } 
 And thus the jocund day is spent. 
 In joyous sport and merriment : 
 
 And baron old were well content 
 To fell his wood, and pawn his rent. 
 For the hawk upon his wrist. 
 
 Oh, falcon proud, and goshawk gay, 
 Your pride of place has passed away. 
 The lone wood is your home by day. 
 
 Your resting perch by night ; 
 The craggy rock your castle-tower. 
 The gay green wood your "ladies' 
 
 bower," 
 Your own wild will the master power 
 
 That can control your flight ! 
 
 Yet, noble bird, old fame is thine, 
 Still liv'st thou in the minstrel's line ; 
 Still in old pictures art the sign 
 
 Of high and pure degree ; 
 And still, with kindling hearts wc read, 
 How barons came to Runnymede, 
 Falcon on T\Tist, to do the deed 
 
 That made all England free ! 
 
 Mary Howitt, 
 
HOME. 
 
 THE ECHOING GREEN. 
 The sun doth arise 
 And make happy the skies ; 
 The merry bells ring 
 To welcome the spring ; 
 The skylark and thrush. 
 The birds of the bush, 
 Sing louder around 
 To the bells cheerful sound, 
 While our sports shall be seen 
 Un the echoing groen. 
 
 Old John with white hair 
 Does laugh away care, 
 Sitting under the oak 
 Among the old folk. 
 They laugh at our play 
 And soon they all say : 
 " Such, such, were the joya 
 When we, all girls and boys, 
 In our youth-time were see" 
 On the echoing green." 
 
 Till, the little ones, weary, 
 
 Ko more can be merry ; 
 
 The Sim doth descend. 
 
 And our sports have an end. 
 
 Kound the laps of their mothers. 
 
 Many sisters and brothers. 
 
 Like birds in their nest, 
 
 Are ready for rest ; 
 
 And sport no more seen 
 
 On the echoing green. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 DEAR IS MY LITTLE NATIVE 
 VALE. 
 
 Dkar is my little native vale, 
 
 The ring-dove builds and murmurs 
 there ; 
 
 Close by my cot she t«lls her tale 
 To every passing villager ; 
 
 The squirrel leaps from tree to tree. 
 
 And shells his nuts at liberty. 
 
 In orange groves and myrtle-bowers 
 That breathe a gale of fragrance 
 round, 
 I charm the fairy-footed hours 
 
 With my loved lute's romantic 
 sound ; 
 Or crowns of living laurel weave. 
 For those that win the race at eve. 
 
 The shepherd's horn at break of day, 
 The ballet danced in twilight glade, 
 
 The canzonet and roundelay 
 
 Sung in the silent greenwood shade ; 
 
 These simple joys, that never fail, 
 
 Shall bind me to my native vale. 
 
 Samuel Rogers. 
 
 A WISH. 
 
 Mine be a cot beside a hill ; 
 
 A beehive's hum shall soothe my 
 ear ; 
 A willowy brook that turns a mill 
 
 With many a fall, shall linger near. 
 
 The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch. 
 Shall twitter from her clay-built 
 nest ; 
 Oft shall the pilgrim hft the latch. 
 And share my meal, a welcome 
 guest. 
 
 Around my ivied porch shall spring. 
 Each fragrant flower that drinks the 
 dew ; 
 
 And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing 
 In russet gown and apron blue. 
 
 The village-church among the trees. 
 Where first our marriage vows were 
 given. 
 With Hierry poiils shall swell the breeze 
 And point with taper spire to Heaven. 
 Hamud Rogers. 
 
188 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PliEASANT THINGS. 
 
 — 'Tis sweet to hear 
 At midnight on the blue and moon- 
 lit deep 
 The song and oar of Adria's gondoher. 
 By distance mellowed, o'er the waters 
 sweep ; 
 'Tis sweet to see the evening star 
 appear ; 
 'Tis sweet to listen as the night 
 winds creep 
 From leaf to leaf, 'tis sweet to view on 
 high 
 The rainbow, bared on ocean, span 
 the sky. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the watch dog's 
 honest bark, 
 Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we 
 draw near home ; 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will 
 mark 
 Our coming, and look brighter when 
 we come ; 
 'Tis sweet to be awakened by the lark, 
 Or lull'd by falling waters ; sweet 
 the hum 
 Of bees, the voice of girls, the songs of 
 birds. 
 The lisp of children, and their 
 earliest words. 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 A TEBNABIE OF LITTLES. 
 
 A LITTLE saint best fits a httle shrine, 
 A little prop best fits a little vine ; 
 As my small cruse best fits my little 
 wine. 
 
 A little seed best fits a little soil, 
 A little trade best fits a httle toil ; 
 As ray small jar best fits my httle oil. 
 
 A little bin best fits a little bread, 
 A httle garland fits a httle head ; 
 As my small stufiE best fits my little 
 shed. 
 
 A httle hearth best fits my httle fire, 
 
 A little chapel fits a httle choir ; 
 
 As my small bell best fits my httle spire. 
 
 A little stream best fits a little boat, 
 
 A httle lead best fits a httle float ; 
 
 As my small pipe best fits my httle note. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE COUNTRY LIFE. 
 
 Sweet country hfe, to such unknown 
 Whose fives are others', not their own, 
 But, serving courts and cities, be 
 Less happy, less enjoying thee : — 
 — Thou never plough'st the ocean's 
 
 foam 
 To seek and bring rough pepper home ; 
 Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove 
 To bring from thence the scorched 
 
 clove ; 
 Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, 
 Bring'st home the ingot from the west : 
 No ! thy ambition's masterpiece 
 Flies no thought higher than a fleece 
 Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear 
 All scores, and so to end the year : 
 But walk'st about thine own dear 
 
 bounds. 
 Not envying others' larger grounds 
 For well than know'st 'tis not the 
 
 extent 
 Of land makes hfe, but sweet content. 
 When now the cock, the ploughman's 
 
 horn. 
 Calls forth the hly-wristed morn. 
 Then to thy cornfields thou dost go. 
 Which though weU soil'd, yet thou dost 
 
 know 
 That the best compost for the lands 
 Is the wise master's feet and hands : 
 There at the plough thou find'st thy 
 
 team. 
 
 With a hind whistling there to them ; 
 And cheer'st them up, by singing how 
 Thy kingdom's portion is the plough ; 
 This done, then to th' enameU'd meads ' 
 Thou go'st, and as thy foot there 
 
 treads. 
 Thou seest a present God-like power 
 Imprinted in each herb and flower ; 
 And smeU'st the breath of great-eyed 
 
 kine 
 Sweet as the blossoms of the vine : 
 Here thou behold'st thy large sleek 
 
 neat 
 Unto the dew-laps up in meat ; 
 And as thou look'st, the wanton steer. 
 The heifer, cow, and ox draw near, 
 
Home. 
 
 189 
 
 These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks 
 Of sheep, safe froni the wolf and fox. 
 And find'st their belhos there as full 
 Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool ; 
 And Icav'st them, as they feed and fill, 
 A shepherd piping on a hill. 
 For sports, for pageantry and plays. 
 Thou hast thy eves and holydays ; 
 On which the young men and maids 
 
 meet 
 To exercise their dancing feet, 
 Tripping the comely country round, 
 AVith dafTodils and daisies crown'd. 
 'Jhy wakes, thy quintels, here thou 
 
 hrst, 
 'i'hy May-poles too with garlands 
 
 graced. 
 Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, 
 Thy shearing-feast, which never fail. 
 Thy harvest-home, thy wassail bowl, 
 That's toss'd up after Fox'i'th'hole, 
 Tliy mummeries, thy twclth-tide kings 
 And queens, thy Christmas revcllings, — 
 'J'hy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit, 
 And no man pays too dear for it : — 
 To these, thou hast thy times to go 
 And trace the hare i' th' treacherous 
 
 snow ; 
 Thy witty wiles to draw, and get 
 Thy lark into the trammel net ; 
 Thou hast thy cockrood and thy glade 
 To take the precious pheasant made ; 
 Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls 
 
 then 
 To catch the pilfering birds, not men. 
 
 happy hfe ! if that their good 
 The husbandmen but understood ; 
 Who all the day themselves do please 
 And younglings, with such sports as 
 
 these ; 
 And, lying down, have nought t'affright 
 Sweet sleep, that makes more short the 
 
 night. 
 
 Itoberl Ucrrick. 
 
 I have 
 A maid, my Prue, by good luck sent, 
 
 To save 
 That little, Fates me gave or lent : 
 
 A hen 
 I keep, which, crecking day by day. 
 
 Tells M'hen 
 She goes her long white eggs to lay : 
 
 A goose 
 I have, which, with jealous care. 
 
 Lets loose 
 Her tongue, to tell what danger's near : 
 
 A lamb 
 I keep, tame, with my morsels fed, 
 
 Whose dam 
 An orphan left him lately dead : 
 
 A cat 
 r keep, that plays about my house, 
 
 Grown fat 
 With eating many a miching mouse : 
 
 To these 
 A Tracy* I do keep, whereby 
 
 I please 
 The more my rural privacy : 
 
 Which are 
 But toys, to give my heart some ease. 
 
 Where care 
 None is, slight things do slightly please. 
 
 Robert Uerrick. 
 
 THE OliD CliOCK ON THE 
 
 STAIRS. 
 
 SoME\VHAT back from the village 
 
 street 
 Stands the old-fashioned country seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw ; 
 And from its station in the hall 
 An ancient time-piece says to all — 
 " For ever— never ! 
 Never — for ever ! " 
 
 HIS GBANGE, OB PRIVATE 
 WEALTH. 
 
 Though clock 
 To tell how night draws hence, I've 
 none, 
 
 A cock 
 I have to sing how day draws on : 
 
 By day its voice is low and light ; 
 But in the silent dead of night. 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 Along the ceiling, along the floor. 
 And seems to say, at each chamber 
 door — 
 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever I " 
 
 " His spaniel. 
 
190 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
 Through days of death and days of 
 
 birth 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has 
 
 stood, 
 And as if, Hke God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe — 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever 1 " 
 
 In that mansion used to be 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
 His great fires up the chimney roared ; 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeletons at the feast, 
 That warning time-piece never ceased — 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever ! " 
 
 There groups of merry children played. 
 There youths and maidens dreaming 
 
 strayed ; 
 Oh precious hours ! Oh golden prime, 
 And affluence of love and time ! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 Those hours the ancient time-piece 
 
 told— 
 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever 1 " 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white. 
 The bride came forth on her wedding 
 
 night; 
 There, in that silent room below. 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 
 And in the hush that followed the 
 
 prayer, 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair — 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever 1 " 
 
 All are scattered now and fled. 
 Some are married, some are dead ; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 " Ah ! when shall they all meet again !" 
 As in the days long since gone by. 
 The ancient time-piece makes reply — 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever I " 
 
 Never here — for ever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care. 
 And death, and time shall disappear, — 
 For ever there, but never here I 
 
 The horologe of Eternity 
 Sayeth this incessantly— 
 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never — for ever ! " 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 MY PEETTY CHIMNEY- 
 
 OENAMENTS. 
 
 " I HAVE a dog who never barks, 
 
 A cat who never mews, 
 
 A shoe- maker who never works. 
 
 Or mends a pair of shoes ; 
 
 A parrot too, who does not talk. 
 Nor do my shepherds ever walk ! 
 
 " Mister Toby see stand 
 
 With a jug in his hand. 
 How many years there he has stood 1 
 
 Never raises the mug 
 
 But keeps it so snug ! 
 When sober, he always is good. 
 
 " A shepherdess too. 
 
 With sheep not a few. 
 There sits on my shelf with a smile, 
 
 She never heeds smoke. 
 
 She never once spoke. 
 Or ever got over that stile I 
 
 " They're aU pretty indeed 
 
 And none I've to feed. 
 Yet not one would reftise a nice crust. 
 
 So all I've to do 
 
 Is to keep them in view 
 And guard them from breaking and 
 dust." 
 
 Thus Mary cried. 
 Then heavily sighed ! — 
 Her father was pleased at the whim. 
 Of addressing thus mere chinaware 
 But guessed well her thoughts when 
 she sighed 
 And could not her sorrow well bear. 
 
 An only child was she. 
 Brought up on father's knee. 
 
 Nor aunt, nor sistei', no, nor mother 
 knew, — 
 
 Of other relatives she had but few, 
 And now Uved quite alone, 
 With him, who loved his own I 
 
 1 
 
 
Home. 
 
 191 
 
 A few days after — joy to see ! 
 Tho little girl witli company, 
 
 And all alive and merry ! 
 Here was a linnet in a cage. 
 There was a parrot sage, 
 
 Eating a fine red cherry I 
 
 And see ! a kitten too ! 
 
 Her tricks not few, — 
 A lovely spaniel, brovn and white. 
 Now bounded in, to Mary's great 
 delight ! 
 
 " The linnet sang, the parrot squall'd. 
 Young puss climbed on her knee. 
 
 Obedient Kovercame when call'd, — 
 It was a sight to see ! 
 
 Upon her curly head, 
 His hand her father laid, 
 " They're j^ours, my child — and need 
 
 " I say, 
 Yourself attend, and feed them every 
 day ! " 
 
 Adelaide O'Keeffe. 
 
 THE OLD AEM-CHAIB. 
 
 I LOVE it — I love it, and who shall dare 
 
 To chide me for loving that old arm- 
 chair ! 
 
 I've treasured it long as a sainted 
 prize — 
 
 I've bedewed it with tears, I've em- 
 balmed it with sighs ; 
 
 'Tis bound by a thousand bauds to my 
 heart. 
 
 Not a tie will break, not a link will 
 start ; 
 
 Would you learn the spell ? — A mother 
 sat there. 
 
 And a sacred thing is that old arm- 
 chair. 
 
 In childhood's hour I lingered near. 
 The hallowed seat with listening ear ; 
 And gentle words that mother would 
 
 give, 
 To fit me to die, and teach me to live. 
 She told me shame would never betide 
 With truth for my creed, and God for 
 
 my Guide ; 
 She taught me to lisp my earliest 
 
 prayer. 
 As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. 
 
 I sat and watched her many a day. 
 When her eyes were dim and her locks 
 
 were grey. 
 And I almost worshipped her when 
 
 she smiled 
 And turned from her Bible to bless 
 
 her child. 
 Years rolled on, but the last one sped. 
 My idol was shattered — my earth-star 
 
 fled; 
 I learnt how much the heart can bear. 
 When I saw her die in that old arm- 
 chair. 
 
 'Tis past ! 'tis past! but I gaze on it now 
 
 AVith quivering breath and throbbing 
 brow ; 
 
 'Twas there she nursed me — 'twas there 
 she died. 
 
 And memory flows with lava tide ! 
 
 Say it is folly, and deem me weak. 
 
 While the scalding tears run down my 
 cheek ; 
 
 But I love it — I love it, and cannot 
 tear 
 
 My soul from my mother's old arm- 
 chair. 
 
 Eliza Cook. 
 
 SONO OP THE EIRE. 
 
 'Tis a sad sight 
 
 To see the year dying, 
 AVlien Autumn's last wind 
 
 Sets the yellow woods sighing : 
 
 Sighing, sighing. 
 
 When such a time cometh 
 
 T do retire 
 luto an old room 
 
 Beside a bright fire : 
 
 pile a bright fire ! 
 
 And there I sit, 
 
 Reading old things. 
 Of knights and ladies. 
 
 While tlie wind sings — 
 
 (J drearily sings ! 
 
 I never look out 
 
 Xor attend to the blast ; 
 For all to be seen 
 
 Is tlic leaves falling fast ; 
 
 Falling, falling | 
 
192 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 But close at the hearth. 
 Like a cricket sit I 
 
 Reading of summer 
 And chivalry — 
 Gallant chivalry ! 
 
 Then the clouds part, 
 
 Swallows soaring between ; 
 
 The spring is awake, 
 And the meadows are green ! 
 
 1 jump up like mad. 
 
 Break the old pipe in twain. 
 And away to the meadows, 
 
 The meadows again. 
 
 Edward FitzGerald. 
 
 And with sprigs of holly and ivy 
 We make the house look gay, 
 
 Just out of an old regard to him, — 
 For 'twas his ancient way. 
 
 We broach the strong ale barrel, 
 And bring out wine and meat ; 
 
 And thus we have all things ready. 
 Our dear old friend to greet. 
 
 And soon as the time wears round, 
 The good old carle we see. 
 
 Coming a-near — for a creditor 
 Less punctual is than he. 
 
 He comes with a cordial voice. 
 That does one good to hear ; 
 
 He shakes one heartily by the hand. 
 As he hath done many a year. 
 
 A CEREMONY FOR CANDLE- 
 MAS DAY. 
 
 Down with the rosemary and so 
 Down with the bays and mistletoe ; 
 Down with the holly, ivy, all 
 Wherewith ye dressed the Christmas 
 
 hall; 
 That so the superstitious find 
 No one least branch there left behind ; 
 For look, how many leaves then be 
 Neglected there, maids, trust to me. 
 So many goblins you shall see. 
 
 Robert Hcrrick, 
 
 OLD CHRISTMAS. 
 
 Now, he who knows old Cluristmas, 
 He knows a carle of worth ; 
 
 For he is as good a fellow, 
 As any upon the earth. 
 
 He comes warm-cloaked and coated, 
 And buttoned up to the chin ; 
 
 And soon as he comes a-nigh the door, 
 We open and let him in. 
 
 We know that he will not fail us. 
 So we sweep the liearth up clean ; 
 
 We set him the old armed-chair. 
 And a cushion whereon to ioau. 
 
 And after the little children 
 He asks in a cheerful tone. 
 
 Jack, Kate, and little Annie, — 
 He remembers them every one | 
 
 Wliat a fine old fellow he is ! 
 
 With his faculties all as clear. 
 And his heart as warm and light. 
 
 As a man's in his fortieth year ! 
 
 What a fine old fellow, in trotli ! 
 
 Not one of your griping elves. 
 Who, wdth plenty of money to spare. 
 
 Think only about themselves. 
 
 Not he ! for he loveth the children. 
 
 And holiday begs for all ; 
 And comes with his pockets full of gifts, 
 
 For the great ones and the small. 
 
 With a present for every servant, — ■ 
 For in giving he doth not tire, — 
 
 From the red-faced jovial butler. 
 To the girl by the kitchen fire. 
 
 And he tells us witty old stories. 
 And singeth with might and main ; 
 
 And we talk of the old man's visit. 
 Till the day that he comes again. 
 
 Oh ! he is a kind old fellow. 
 For though the beef be dear, 
 
 He giveth the parish pauper's, 
 A good dinner once a year. 
 
Home. 
 
 193 
 
 And all the ■workhouse children, 
 He sets them down in a row. 
 
 And giveth them raie plum pudding, 
 And twopence apiece also ! 
 
 Oh, could you have seen those paupers. 
 Have heard those children yoimg, 
 
 You would wish with them, that 
 Cin-istmas 
 Came often and tarried long ! 
 
 He must be a rich old follow, — 
 Wliat money he gives away ! 
 
 There is not a lord in England 
 Could equal him any day ! 
 
 Good luck nnto old Cliristmas, 
 
 And long life, let us sing, 
 For he doth more good unto the poor, 
 
 Than many a crowned king ! 
 
 Mary Hoivitt. 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN THE OliDEN 
 
 TIME. 
 
 If EAP on more wood ! — the wind is 
 
 chill ; 
 But let it whistle as it will, 
 We'll keep our Ciu-istmas merry still. 
 
 Each age has deem'd the new-born 
 year 
 The fittest time for festal cheer : 
 And well our Christian sires of old 
 Loved when the year its course had 
 
 roll'd. . 
 And brought blithe Christmas back 
 
 again, 
 Witli all his hospitable train. 
 Domestic and religious rite 
 (lave honour to the hoi}' night ; 
 On Christmas Evo the bells were 
 
 rung ; 
 On Christmas Eve the mass was 
 
 sung : 
 That only night in all the year. 
 Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. 
 The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen ; 
 The hall was dress'd with holly gnen ; 
 Forth to the wootl did merry-men go. 
 To gather in the mistletoe. 
 
 Then open'd wide the Baron's hall 
 To vassal, tenant, serf, and all ; 
 Power laid his rod of rule aside. 
 And Ceremony doff'd his pride. 
 The heir, with roses in his shoes, 
 That night might village partner 
 
 choose ; 
 The lord, underogating, share 
 The vulgar game of " post and pair." 
 All hail'd, with uncontroU'd delight 
 And general voice, the happy night, 
 That to the cottage, as the Crown, 
 Brought tidings of salvation down. 
 
 The fire, with well-dried logs supplied. 
 Went roaring up the chimney wide ; 
 The huge hall-table's oaken face, 
 Scrubb'd till it shone, the day to grace. 
 Bore then upon its massive board 
 No mark to part the squire and lord. 
 Then was brought in the lusty brawn, 
 By old blue-coated serving- man ; 
 Then the grim boar's head frown'd on 
 
 high. 
 Crested with bays and rosemary. 
 Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell. 
 How, when, and where, the monster 
 
 fell ; 
 ^^'hat dogs before his death he tore. 
 And all the baiting of the boar. 
 The wassail round, in good brown bowls, 
 Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 
 There the huge sirloin reek'd ; hard by 
 Plum-porridge stood, and Christmas 
 
 pie ; 
 Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce. 
 At sucli high tide, her savoury goose. 
 Then came the merry maskers in. 
 And carols roar'd with blithesome din ; 
 If unmelodious was the song. 
 It was a hearty note, and strong. 
 Who lists n\ay in their mumming see 
 Traces of ancient mystery ; 
 White shirts supplied the masquerade, 
 And smutted cheeks the visors made ; — 
 But, ! what maskers, richly dight. 
 Can boast of bosoms half so light ! 
 England was merry England, when 
 Old Christmas brought his sports again. 
 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest 
 
 ale ; 
 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale ; 
 A Christmas gambol oft could cheer 
 The poor man's heart through lialf the 
 
 year. 
 
 Sir Walirr Scolt. 
 13 
 
194 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 CEREMONIES FOR CHRIST- 
 
 MAS. 
 
 Come, bring with a noise. 
 
 My merry, merry boys, 
 The Christmas log to the firing. 
 
 While my good dame she 
 
 Bids ye all be free. 
 And drink to your heart's desiring. 
 
 With the last year's brand, 
 
 /iight the new block, and 
 For good success in hJs spending, 
 
 On your psalteries play 
 
 That sweet luck may 
 Come while the log is a-tendiug. 
 
 Drink now the strong beer. 
 Cut the white loaf here. 
 
 The while the meat is a-shredding ; 
 For the rare mince-pie, 
 And the plums stand !n% 
 
 To fill the paste that's a-kneading. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE DESERTED VILLAGE. 
 
 Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the 
 
 plain. 
 Where health and plenty cheered the 
 
 labouring swain ; 
 Where smiling spring its earliest visits 
 
 paid, 
 And parting summer's lingering bloom 
 
 delaj'ed ; 
 Dear lovely bowers of innocence and 
 
 ease, 
 Seats of my youth, when every sport 
 
 could please ! 
 How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
 Where humble happiness endeared each 
 
 scene ; 
 How often have I paused on every 
 
 charm — 
 Tlie sheltered cot, the cultivated farm. 
 The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 
 The decent church that topp'd the 
 
 neighbouring hill. 
 The hawthorn- bush, with seats beneath 
 
 the shade, 
 For talking age and whispering lovers 
 
 made ! 
 How often have I blessed the coning 
 
 day. 
 
 When toil remitting lent ita turn to 
 
 play. 
 And all the village train, from labour 
 
 free. 
 Led up their sports beneath the 
 
 spreading tree : 
 While many a pastime, circled in the 
 
 shade. 
 The young contended as the old 
 
 surveyed ; 
 And many a gambol frolicked o'er the 
 
 ground. 
 And sleights of art and feats of strength 
 
 went round ; 
 And still, as each repeated pleasure 
 
 tired. 
 Succeeding sports tlie mirthful band 
 
 inspired ; 
 The dancing pair that simply sought 
 
 renown. 
 By holding out to tire each other down ; 
 The swain, mistrustless of his smutted 
 
 face.. 
 Wliile secret laughter titter'd round the 
 
 place ; 
 The bashful virgin's side-long loolis of 
 
 love. 
 The matron's glance that would those 
 
 looks reprove. 
 These were thy charms, sweet village ! 
 
 sports like these. 
 With sweet succession, taught e'en toil 
 
 to please ; 
 These round ihy bowers their cheerfvil 
 
 influence shed. 
 These ivere thy charms — but all these 
 
 charms are fled. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 FATHER IS COMING. 
 
 The clock is on the stroke of si.T. 
 
 The father's A\ork is done ; 
 Sweep up the hearth, and mend the fire, 
 
 And put the kettle on : 
 The wild niglit-wind is blowing cold. 
 'Tis dreary crossing o'er the wold. 
 
 He is crossing o'er the wold apace. 
 He is stronger than the storm ; 
 
 He does not feel t!ie cold, not he, 
 His lioart it is so warm ; 
 
 For fatlier's heart is stout and true 
 
 As ever human bosom knew 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 i 
 
Home 
 
 195 
 
 He makes all toil, all hardship light ; 
 
 Would all men were the saine ! 
 80 ready to be pleased, so kind, 
 
 So very slow to blame ! 
 Folks need not be unkind, austere ; 
 For love hath readier will than fear. 
 
 Nay, do not close the shutters, cliild. 
 
 For far along the lane 
 Tiie little window looks, and he 
 
 Can see it shining plain ; 
 I've heard him say he loves to mark 
 The cheerful firelight, through the 
 dark. 
 
 Catchinga up of legs and arms, 
 Throwings back and small alarms, 
 (Jlutching fingers — straightening jerks. 
 Twining feet, whose each toe works, 
 Kickings up and straining risings. 
 Mother's ever new surprisings. 
 Hands all wants, and looks all wonder 
 At all things the heavens under. 
 Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings. 
 That have more of love than loving^. 
 Mischiefs done with such a wiiuiiiig 
 Archness, that we prize sucli sinning. 
 
 William Cox Lieiuiftt. 
 
 And we'll do all that father likes ; 
 
 His wishes are so few ; 
 Would they were more ; that every 
 hour 
 
 Some wish of his I knew ! 
 I'm sure it makes a happy day. 
 When I can pleaae him any way. 
 
 I know he's coming by this sign, 
 
 Tliat baby's almost wild. 
 See how he laughs, and crows, and 
 stares — 
 
 Heaven bless the merry child ! 
 His father's self in face and limb. 
 And father's heart is strong in hitn. 
 
 Hai-k ! hark ! I hear his footsteps now. 
 He's through the garden gate ; 
 
 Run. little Bess, and ope the door, 
 And do not let him wait. 
 
 Shout, baby, shout ! and clap thy 
 hands. 
 
 For father oa the threshold stands. 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 BABY MARY. 
 
 Cheeks as soft as July peaches ; 
 Lips wliose dewy scarlet teaclies 
 Poppic.-i paleness ; round large eyes 
 Ever great witii new surprise. 
 Minutes tilled with shadeless gladness. 
 Minutes ju-<t as brimmed with sadness, 
 Happy smiles and wailing cries. 
 Crows and laughs and tearful eyes. 
 Lights and shadows swifter form 
 Than on wind-swept autumn corn. 
 Ever some new tiny notion. 
 Making every limb all motion. 
 
 POBESIGHT. 
 
 OB THE CHARGE OF A CHILD TO HIS 
 YOUNGER COMPANION. 
 
 That is work of waste and ruin. 
 Do as Charles and I are doing ! 
 
 Strawberry blossoms, one and all. 
 We must spare them — here are nia;iy ; 
 
 Look at it — the flower is small. 
 Small and low, though fair as any. 
 Do not touch it ! summers two 
 I am older, Anne, than you. 
 
 Pull the primrose. Sister Anne ! 
 Pull as many as you can. 
 
 Here are daisies, take your fill, 
 Pansies and the cuckoo-flower ; 
 
 Of the lofty daffodil 
 Make your bed, and make j'our bower ; 
 Fill your lap, and fill your bosom, 
 Only spare the strawberry- blossom. 
 
 Primroses, the Spring may love them — 
 Summer knows but little of them ; 
 
 Violets, a barren kind, 
 Withered on the ground must lie ; 
 
 Daisies leave no fruit beliind 
 When the pretty flow'rets die. 
 Pluck them, and another year 
 As many will be blooming here. 
 
 God has given a kindlier power. 
 To the favoured strawberry-flower. 
 
 When the months of Spring are fletl 
 Hither let us bentl our walk ; 
 
 liUrking berries, ripe and red. 
 Then will hang on every stalk, 
 ji^ach within its leafy bower ; 
 And for that promise, spare the flower. 
 
 Willidm W'nrf.iirorth. 
 
 13* 
 
196 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY. 
 
 He ne'er had seen one earthly sight ; 
 Tlie sun, the clay ; the stars, the night ; 
 Or tree, or butterfly, or flower, 
 Or fish in stream, or bird in bower, 
 Or woman, man, or child. 
 
 And yet he neither drooped nor pined. 
 Nor had a melancholy mind ; 
 For God took pity on the boy. 
 And was his friend ; and gave him joy 
 Of which we nothing know. 
 
 His mother, too, no doubt, above 
 Her other children him did love ! 
 For, was she here, or was she there, 
 She thought of him with constant care, 
 And more than mother's love. 
 
 And proud was she of heart, when, clad 
 In crimson stockings, tartan plaid, 
 And bonnet with a feather gay. 
 To Kirk he on the Sabbath day. 
 Went hand in hand with her. 
 
 A dog, too, had he ; not for need, 
 But one to play with and to feed ; 
 Wiiich would have led him, if bereft 
 Of company or friends, and left 
 Without a better guide. 
 
 And then the bag- pi pes he could blow ; 
 And t!ius from house to house would go. 
 And all were pleased to hear and see ; 
 For none made sweeter melody 
 Than did the poor blind boy. 
 
 William Wordsworth, 
 
 THE CHILDLESS FATHEB. 
 
 " Up, Timothy, iip with your staff and 
 
 away ! 
 Not a soul in the village this morning 
 
 will stay : 
 'I'he hare has just started from 
 
 Hamilton's grounds, 
 And Skiddaw is glad with the cry of 
 
 the hounds." 
 
 Of coats, and of jackets, grey, scarlet, 
 
 aud green, 
 ( )a tlie slopes of the pastiu'es all 
 
 colours were seen ; 
 With their comely blue aprons and 
 
 caps white as snow. 
 The girls on the hills made a holiday 
 
 Bhow. 
 
 Fresh sprigs o*^ green box- wood, not six 
 
 months before, 
 Fill'd the funeral basin at Timothy's 
 
 door ; 
 A coffin through Timothy's threshold 
 
 had past ; 
 One Child did it bear, and that Child 
 
 was his last. 
 
 Now fast up the dell came the noise 
 
 and the fray. 
 The horse and the horn, and the hark ! 
 
 hark ! away ! 
 Old Timothy took \ip his staff, and lie 
 
 shut. 
 With a leisurely motion, the door of 
 
 his hut. 
 
 Perhaps to himself at that moment 
 
 he said : 
 ** The key I must take, for my Ellen is 
 
 dead." 
 But of this, in my ears, not a word did 
 
 he speak ; 
 And he went to the chase with a tear 
 
 on his cheek. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 UPON A CHILD THAT DIED 
 
 Here she lies, a pretty bud. 
 Lately made of flesh and blooil ; 
 Who, as soon fell fast asleep. 
 As her little eyes did peep. 
 (Jive iier strewings, but not stir 
 The eartii that lightly covers her. 
 
 Robert llerrick; 
 
 WE ABE SEVEN. 
 
 — A SIMPLE Child, 
 
 That lightly draws its breath. 
 And feels its life in every liiub. 
 What should it know of death ? 
 
 I met a little Cottage Girl : 
 
 She was eiglit years old, she said ; 
 
 Her hair was thick with many a turl 
 That clustered round her head. 
 
 She had a rustic, woodland air. 
 
 And she was wildly clad ; 
 Hvr eyes were fair, and very fair, 
 
 — Her beauty made me glad. 
 
Home. 
 
 197 
 
 " Sisters and brothers, little raaid, 
 
 How many may yon be ? " 
 " How many ? Seven in all," she said, 
 And wondering looked at me. 
 
 " And where are they ? I pray you 
 tell ; " 
 
 She answered, " Seven are we ; 
 And two of us at Conway dwell, 
 
 And two are gone to sea. 
 
 " Two of us in the churchyard lie, 
 
 My sister and my brother ; 
 And, in the churchyard cottage, I 
 
 Dwell near them with my motlier." 
 
 " You say that two at Conway dwell, 
 
 And two are gone to sea ; 
 Yet ye are seven ! I pray you tell. 
 
 Sweet maid, how this may bo ? " 
 
 Then did the little maid reply, 
 " Seven boys and girls are we ; 
 
 Two of us in the churchyard lie. 
 Beneath the churchyard tree." 
 
 " You run about, my little maid, 
 Yom- limbs they are alive ; 
 
 If two are in the churchyard laid, 
 Then ye are only five." 
 
 " Their graves are green, they may he 
 seen," 
 The little maid replied ; 
 " Twelve steps or more from my 
 mother's door. 
 And they are aide by side. 
 
 " My stockings there I often knit, 
 
 Aly kerchief there I hem ; 
 And there upon the grouml I sit. 
 
 And sing a song to them. 
 
 " And often after sunset, sir. 
 
 When it is light and fair, 
 I take my little porringer. 
 
 And eat my supjier there. 
 
 " The first that died was sister Jane ; 
 
 In bed she moaning lay. 
 Till God released her of her paiu, 
 
 And then she went away. 
 
 " So in the churchyard she was laid ; 
 
 And, when the grass was dry, 
 Togetlier round her grave we played, 
 
 -My brother John and I. 
 
 " And when the ground was white 
 with snow. 
 
 And I could run and slide ; 
 My brother John was forced to go. 
 
 And he lies by her side." 
 
 " How many are you, then," said I, 
 " If they two are in heaven ? " 
 
 Quick was the little maid's reply, 
 " Oh, master ! we are seven." 
 
 *' But they are dead ; those two art- 
 dead ! 
 
 Their spirits are in heaven ! " 
 'Twas throwing words away; for still 
 The little maid would have her will, 
 
 And said, " Nay, we are seven ! " 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE FIRST GRIEF. 
 
 " O, CALL my brother back to me ; 
 
 I cannot play alone; 
 The summer comes with flowers and 
 bee — 
 
 Where is my brother gone ? 
 
 " The butterfly is glancing bright 
 Across the sunbeam's track ; 
 
 I care not now to chase its Hight, 
 O, call my brother back ! 
 
 " The flowers run wild — the flowers we 
 sowed 
 
 Around our garden-tree ; 
 Our vine is drooping with its load ; 
 
 O, call him back to me ! " 
 
 " He would not hear my voice, faircliild, 
 
 He may not come to thee ; 
 The face that once like spriug-tinu' 
 smiled 
 
 On earth no more thou'lt see. 
 
 " A rose's brief bright life of jo}'. 
 
 Such unto him was given ; 
 Go — thou must play alone, my boy — 
 
 Thy brother is in heaven J " 
 
 " And has he left the birds and flowers ? 
 
 And must I call in vain V 
 And through the long, long summer 
 hours, 
 
 Will he not come again 2 
 
198 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " And bj' the brook, and in the glade, 
 Are all our wanderings o'er ? 
 
 O, wliile my brother with me played. 
 Would I had loved him more ! " 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hi wans. 
 
 THE GEAVES OF A HOUSE- 
 HOLD. 
 
 They grew in beauty, side by side. 
 They filled one home with glee ; 
 
 Their graves are severed, far and wide, 
 ]iy mount, and stream, and sea. 
 
 The same fond mother bent at night 
 O'er each fair sleeping brow ; 
 
 She had each folded flower in sight — 
 Where are those dreamers now ? 
 
 One 'midst the forest of the W^est, 
 
 By a dark stream is laid — 
 The Indian knows his place of rest 
 
 Far in the cedar shade. 
 
 The sea, the blue lone sea, hath one — 
 He lies where pearls lie deep ; 
 
 He was the loved of all, yet none 
 O'er his low bed may weep. 
 
 One sleeps where southern vines are 
 dressed 
 
 Above the noble slain ; 
 He wrapt his colours round his breast 
 
 On a blood-red field of Spain. 
 
 And one — o'er her the myrtle showers 
 Its leaves by soft winds fanned ; 
 
 She faded 'midst Italian flowers — 
 The last of that bright band. 
 
 And parted thus they rest, who played 
 Beneath the same green tree ; 
 
 Whose voices mingled as they prayed 
 Around one parent knee ! 
 
 They that with smiles lit up the hall. 
 And cheered with song the hearth — 
 
 Alas ! for love, if thou wert all, 
 And naught beyond, oh Earth ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hetnana. 
 
 THE BETTER LAND. 
 
 " I HEAR thee speak of the better 
 
 land ; 
 Thou call'st its children a happy 
 
 band ; 
 Mother ! O ^^here is that radiant 
 
 shore ? 
 Shall we not seek it, and weep no 
 
 n\ore ? 
 Is it where tlie flower of the o.ange 
 
 blows. 
 And the fire-flies dance through the 
 mjTtle-boughs ? " 
 " Not there — not there, my child ! " 
 
 " Is it where the feathery palm-trees 
 
 rise. 
 And the date grows ripe under sunny 
 
 skies ? 
 Or midst the green islands of glittering 
 
 seas, 
 W^here fragrant forests perfume the 
 
 breeze. 
 And strange bright birds on th.eir 
 
 starry wings 
 Bear the rich hues of all glorious 
 
 thing.s ? " 
 " Not there — not there, my child I " 
 
 "Is it far away, in S07ne region o'd, 
 Where the rivers wander o'er sands 
 
 of gold ?— 
 W^here the burning rays of the ruby 
 
 shine. 
 And the diamond lights up the secret 
 
 mine. 
 And the pearl gleams forth from the 
 
 coral strand ? 
 Is it there, sweet mother, that better 
 
 land ? " 
 " Not there, not there, my child ! 
 
 " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle 
 
 boy ! 
 Ear hath not heard its deep songs of 
 
 joy: 
 Dreams cannot picture a world so fair ; 
 Sorrow and death may not enter there ; 
 Time doth not breatiie on its fadeless 
 
 bloom. 
 For beyond the clouds, and beyond 
 
 the tomb, 
 — It is there — it is there, my child ! " 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hej/taiis. 
 
Home. 
 
 199 
 
 THE COtTNTRY PARSON. 
 
 Near yonder coj)sc, wlieie once the 
 
 garden smiled. 
 And still wiiere many a garden flower 
 
 grows wild ; 
 There, where a few torn shrubs the 
 
 place disclose, 
 The village preacher's modest mansion 
 
 rose. 
 A man he was, to all the country dear, 
 And passing rich with fort}' pounds a 
 
 year, 
 Remote from towns he ran his godly 
 
 race, 
 Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to 
 
 cliange, his place : 
 Un]iractised he to fav.n, or seek for 
 
 power 
 By doctrines fashioned to the varying 
 
 hour ; 
 Far other aims his heart had learnt to 
 
 prize, 
 More skilled to raise the wretched than 
 
 to rise. 
 His house was known to all the vagrant 
 
 train, 
 He cliid their wanderings, but relieved 
 
 tlu ir pain ; 
 The long-remeUiberd beggar was his 
 
 guest, 
 Whose beard descending, swept his 
 
 aged breast ; 
 The ruined spendthrift, now no longer 
 
 |iroud. 
 Claimed kindred there, and had his 
 
 claims allowed, 
 The broken soldier, kindly bid to 
 
 stay, 
 Sat by Ills fire, and talked the niglit 
 
 away ; 
 I Wept o'er his wounds, or, talcs of 
 
 sorrow done, 
 [Shouldered his crutch, and showed 
 
 how fields were won. 
 Pleasefl witli his guests, the good man 
 
 learned to glow, 
 And quite forgot their vices in their 
 
 woe ; 
 Careless their merits or their faults to 
 
 scan. 
 His pity gave ere charity began. 
 
 Thus to relieve the wretched was his 
 
 pride. 
 And e'en his failings leaned to virtue's 
 
 side ; 
 
 But in his duty prompt at every call, 
 •He watched and wept, he prayed and 
 
 felt, for all. 
 And, as a bird each fond endearment 
 
 tries. 
 To tempt its new-fledged offspring to 
 
 the skies ; 
 He tried each art, reproved each dull 
 
 delaj'. 
 Allured to brighter worlds, and led the 
 
 way 
 
 Beside the bed where parting life was 
 
 laid. 
 And sorrow, guilt, and pains, by turns 
 
 dismayed. 
 The reverend champion stood. At his 
 
 control, 
 Despair and anguish fled the struggling 
 
 soul ; 
 Co7nfort came down the trembling 
 
 wretch to raise, 
 And his last faltering accents whispered 
 
 praise. 
 
 At church with meek and unaffected 
 
 grace. 
 His looks adorned the venerable 
 
 place ; 
 Truth from his lips prevailed with 
 
 double sway. 
 And fools, who cauie to scoff, remained 
 
 to praj'. 
 The service past, around the pious 
 
 man, 
 With steady zeal, each honest rustic 
 
 ran ; 
 E'en children followed, with endearing 
 
 wile. 
 And plucked his gown, to share the 
 
 good man's smile 
 His ready smile a parent's warmth 
 
 expressed ; 
 Their welfare pleased him, and their 
 
 cares distressed ; 
 To them his heart, his love, his griefs, 
 
 were given. 
 But all his serious thoughts had rest in 
 
 heaven : 
 As some tall cliff that lifts its awful 
 
 form. 
 Swells from the vale, and midway leaves 
 
 the storm, 
 Though round its breast the rolling 
 
 clouds are spread. 
 Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
200 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 Under h spreading chestnut tree 
 The village smithy stands ; 
 
 The smitli, a mighty man is lie, 
 With large and sinewy hands ; 
 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 
 
 His face is like the tan ; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat. 
 
 He earns whate'er he can, 
 And looks the whole world in the face, 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till 
 night. 
 You can hear his bellows blow ; 
 You can hear him swing his heavy 
 sledge, 
 With measured beat and slow, 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 
 Look in at the open door ; 
 They love to see the flaming forge. 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that lly 
 
 Like chaff from a thicshing-lioor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church. 
 
 And sits among his boys ; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach. 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice 
 Singing in the village choir. 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more. 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And wath his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of Ms eyes. 
 
 Toiling — rej oicing — sorrowing, 
 Onward through life he goes ; 
 
 Each morning sees some task begun. 
 Each evening sees its close ; 
 
 Something attempted, something done. 
 Has earned a night's repose 
 
 Tlianks, thanks to thee, my worthy 
 friend, 
 
 For the lesson thou hast taught ! 
 Tli:is at the tiaming forge of life 
 
 < )ur fortunes must be wrought ; 
 Til us ou its soundmg anvil shaped 
 
 i;ach burning deed and thought | 
 
 iltnry W'uds worth Long fellow. 
 
 i 
 
INSECTS, BIRDS, AND BEASTS. 
 
 INSECTS. 
 
 Observe the insect race, ordained 
 
 to keep 
 The lazy Sabbath or a half-year's sleep 
 Entombed beneath the filmy web they 
 
 lie. 
 And wait the influence of a kinder sky. 
 When vernal sunbeams pierce their dark 
 
 retreat. 
 The heaving tomb distends with vital 
 
 lieat ; 
 The full-formed brood, impatient of 
 
 their cell. 
 Start from their trance and burst their 
 
 silken shell ; 
 Trembhng awhile they stand, and 
 
 scarcely dare 
 To launch at once upoji the untried 
 
 air ; 
 At length assured, they catch the 
 
 favcviring gale. 
 And leave their sordid spoils, and high 
 
 in ether sail. 
 
 Lo ! the bright train their radiant 
 
 wings unfold, 
 With silver fringed and freckled o'er 
 
 with gold. 
 On the gay bosom of some fragrant 
 
 flower 
 Tiiey, idly fluttering, live their little 
 
 hour ; 
 Their life all pleasure, and their task 
 
 all play. 
 All spring their age, and sunshine all 
 
 their day. 
 
 What atom forms of insect life appear ! 
 And who can follow Nature's pencil 
 
 here ? 
 Their wings ^ith azure, green, and 
 
 purple glossed. 
 Studded with coloured eyes, with 
 
 gems embossed, 
 
 Inlaid with pearl, and marked with 
 
 various stains 
 Of lively crimson through their dusky 
 
 veins. 
 Some shoot hke Uving stars athwart 
 
 the night 
 And scatter from their wings a vivid 
 
 light. 
 To guide the Indian to his tawny 
 
 loves. 
 As through the wood with cautious 
 
 steps he moves. 
 
 See the proud giant of the beetle 
 
 race ; 
 What shining arms his polished limbs 
 
 enchase ! 
 Like some stern warrior, formidably 
 
 bright. 
 His steely sides reflect a gleaming 
 
 hght ; 
 On his large forehead spreading horns 
 
 he wears ; 
 And high in air the branching antlers 
 
 bears ; 
 O'er many an inch extends his wide 
 
 domain. 
 And his rich treasury swells with 
 
 hoarded grain. 
 
 Anna Letitia Barbauld. 
 
 THE TOAD'S JOURNAL.* 
 
 In a land for antiquities greatly 
 
 renowned, 
 A traveller had dug wide and deep 
 
 under groimd 
 
 * It is rel:iteil by the tniTeller Belzoni, in the 
 iii.n-utivc of liis discoveries in 1-gMit, that hav- 
 iiiL' succeeded in clenrins a p:.ss go to the 
 enti; lue of an ancient Temple whicli had for 
 i ges I een buried in the 8;md, the firet object 
 that presented itself upon entering was a living 
 toad of enormous size. The first twelve linea 
 of the poem are by some unknown hand. 
 
202 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 A temple for ages entombed to 
 
 disclose — 
 When lo ! he disturbed in its secret 
 
 repose 
 A toad, from whose journal it plainly 
 
 appears 
 It had lodged in that mansion some 
 
 thousands of years. 
 The roll, which this reptile's long 
 
 historj'^ records, 
 A treat to the sage antiquarian 
 
 affords : 
 The sense by obscure hieroglyphics 
 
 concealed. 
 Deep learning, at length, with long 
 
 labour revealed. 
 The first thousand years as a specimen 
 
 take ; — 
 The dates are omitted for brevity's 
 
 sake. 
 " Crawled forth from some rubbish, 
 
 and winked with one eye ; 
 Half opened the other, but could not 
 
 tell why ; 
 Stretched out my left leg, as it felt 
 
 rather queer. 
 Then drew all together and slept for 
 
 a year. 
 Awakened, felt chilly — crept under a 
 
 stone ; 
 Was vastly contented with living 
 
 alone. 
 One toe became wedged in the stone 
 
 Uke a peg. 
 Could not get it away — had the cramp 
 
 in my leg ; 
 Began half to wish for a neighbour 
 
 at hand 
 To loosen the stone, which was fast 
 
 in the sand ; 
 Pulled harder — then dozed, as I found 
 
 'twas no use ; — 
 Awoke the next summer, and lo ! 
 
 it was loose. 
 Crawled forth from the stone when 
 
 completely awake ; 
 Crept into a corner and grinned at a 
 
 snake. 
 Retreated, and found that I needed 
 
 repose ; 
 Curled up my damp limbs and prepared 
 
 for a doze : 
 Fell sounder to sleep than was usual 
 
 before. 
 And did not wake for a century or 
 
 more ; 
 But had a sweet dream, as I rather 
 
 believe : — 
 
 Methought it was light, and a fine 
 
 summer's eve ; 
 And I in some garden deliciously 
 
 fed 
 In the pleasant moist shade of a 
 
 strawberry bed. 
 There fine speckled creatures claimed 
 
 kindred with me. 
 And others that hopped, most en- 
 chanting to see. 
 Here long I regaled with emotion 
 
 extreme ; — 
 Awoke — disconcerted to find it a 
 
 dream ; 
 Grew pensive — discovered that life is 
 
 a load ; 
 Began to get weary of being a toad ; 
 Was fretful at first, and then shed a 
 
 few tears." — 
 Here ends the account of the first 
 
 thousand years. 
 
 It seems that life is all a void. 
 On selfish thought alone employed : 
 That length of days is not a good, 
 Unless their use be understood ; 
 While if good deeds one year engage. 
 That may be longer than an age : 
 But if a year in trifles go. 
 Perhaps you'd spend a thousand so. 
 Time cannot stay to make us wise — 
 We must improve it as it flies. 
 
 Ja7ie Taylor. 
 
 THE GLOW-WORM.* 
 
 Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, 
 
 A worm is known to stray. 
 That shows by night a lucid beam. 
 
 Which disappears by day. 
 
 Disputes have been, and still prevail. 
 From whence its rays proceed ; 
 
 Some give that honour to his tail, 
 And others to his head. 
 
 But this is sure — the hand of Night, 
 
 That kinilles up the skies. 
 Gives him a modicum of light. 
 
 Proportioned to his size. 
 
 « I'roin the Lutiu ot Vincent Bourne. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 203 
 
 Perhaps indulgent nature meant, 
 
 Jiy such a lamp bestowed, 
 To hid the traveller, as he went, 
 
 J5e careful where he trod ; 
 
 Nor crush a worm whose useful light 
 Might serve, however small. 
 
 To show a stumhling-stone by night. 
 And save liim from a fall. 
 
 \\'liate"er she meant, this truth divine 
 
 Is legible anil plain, 
 'Tis power Almighty bids him shine, 
 
 Nor bids him shine in vain. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 THE LADY-BIRD IN THE 
 HOUSE. 
 
 Oh ! lady-bird, lady-bird, why do you 
 
 roam 
 So far from your children, so far from 
 
 your home ? 
 Why do you, who can revel all day 
 
 in the air. 
 And the sweets of the grove and the 
 
 gartlen can share. 
 In the fold of a leaf who can find a 
 
 green bower. 
 And a palace enjoy in the tube of a 
 
 flower — 
 Ah ! why, simple lady-bird, why do 
 
 you venture 
 The dwellings of men so familiar to 
 
 enter ? 
 Too soon you may find that your trust 
 
 is misplaced, 
 When by some cruel child you are 
 
 wantonly chased ; 
 And your bright scarlet coat, so be- 
 
 spotted with black, 
 Is torn by his barbarous hands from 
 
 your back : 
 Ah ! then you'll regret you were 
 
 tempted to rove 
 From the tall climbing hop, or the 
 
 hazel's thick grove. 
 And will fondly remember each arbour 
 
 and tree, 
 W lure lately you wanderetl contented 
 
 and free : — 
 Then Hy, simple lady -bird ! — fly away 
 
 home. 
 No more from your nest and your 
 children to roam. 
 
 Charlotte Smith. 
 
 THE SNAIL. » 
 
 To grass or leaf, or fruit or wall. 
 The snail sticks close, nor fears to fall. 
 As if he grew there, house and all 
 Together. 
 
 Within that house secure he hides. 
 When danger imminent betides. 
 Of storm, or otlier harm besides 
 Of weather. 
 
 Give but his horns the slightest touch. 
 His self-collecting power is such, 
 He shrinks into his house with much 
 Displeasure. 
 
 Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone, 
 Except himself, has chattels none. 
 Well satisfied to be his own 
 
 Whole treasure. 
 
 Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads, 
 Nor partner of his banquet needs. 
 And if he meets one, only feeds 
 The faster. 
 
 Who seeks him must be worse than 
 
 blind 
 (He and his house are so combined). 
 If, finding it, he fails to find 
 Its master. 
 
 Willinm Cowper. 
 
 THE WORM. 
 
 TuRX, turn thy hast}' foot aside, 
 \or crush that helpless worm ! 
 
 The frame thy wayward looks deride 
 Required a (Jod to form. 
 
 The common lord of all that move. 
 From whom thy being flow'd, 
 
 A portion of His boundless love 
 On that poor worm bestow'd. 
 
 The son, the moon, the stars, He made 
 
 For all His creatures free ; 
 And spread o'er earth the grassy blade, 
 
 For worms as well as thee. 
 
 Let them enjoy their little day. 
 Their humble bliss receive ; 
 
 O ! do not lightly t.'ke away 
 The life thou canst not give ! 
 
 Thomas Gishorne. 
 
 • From the Latiu of Vincent Bourne. 
 
204 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPEB. 
 
 Happy insect ! what can be 
 
 In happiness compared to thee ? 
 
 Fed with noui'ishment divine, 
 
 The dewy morning's gentle wine ! 
 
 Nature waits upon thee still, 
 
 And thy verdant cup does fill ; 
 
 'Tis fill'd wherever thou dost tread. 
 
 Nature's self's thy Ganymede. 
 
 Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing. 
 
 Happier than the happiest king ! 
 
 All the fields which thou dost see. 
 
 All the plants belong to thee. 
 
 All that summer hours produce, 
 
 Fertile made with early juice : 
 
 Man for thee does sow and plough ; 
 
 Farmer he and landlord thou ! 
 
 Thou dost innocently joy. 
 
 Nor does thy luxury destroy. 
 
 The shepherd gladly heareth thee, 
 
 More harmonious than he. 
 
 Thee, coimtry hinds with gladness hear, 
 
 Prophet of the ripened year : 
 
 Thee Phoebus loves and does inspire ; 
 
 Phoebus is himself thy sire. 
 
 To thee of all things upon earth. 
 
 Life is no longer than thy mirth. 
 
 Happy insect ! happy thou. 
 
 Dost neither age nor winter know ; 
 
 But when thou'st drunk, and danced, 
 
 and svmg 
 Thy fill, the flowery leaves among 
 (Voluptuous and wise withal, 
 Epicmrean animal) 
 Sated with the summer feast 
 Thou retir'st to endless rest. 
 
 Ahralmm Cowley. 
 
 TO THE GRASSHOPPEB AND 
 THE CRICKET. 
 
 Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, 
 
 Catching your heart up at the feel 
 of June : 
 
 Sole voice that's heard amidst the 
 lazy noon. 
 
 When even the bees lag at the sum- 
 moning brass ; 
 
 And you, warm Uttle housekeeper, 
 who class 
 
 With those who think the candle's 
 come too soon, 
 
 Loving the fire, and with your trick- 
 some tune 
 
 Nick the glad silent moments as they 
 
 pass ! 
 O sweet and tiny cousins, that 
 
 belong 
 One to the fields, the other to the 
 
 hearth. 
 Both have your sunsliine ; both, 
 
 though small, are strong 
 At your clear hearts ; and both seem 
 
 given to earth 
 To sing in thoughtful ears their 
 
 natural song — 
 In doors and out, summer and 
 
 winter. Mirth. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 THE GRASSHOPPEB AND 
 THE CRICKET. 
 
 The poetry of earth is never dead : 
 
 When all the birds are faint A^'ith 
 the hot sun. 
 
 And hide in cooling trees, a voice 
 will run 
 
 From hedge to hedge about the new- 
 mown mead : 
 
 That is the grasshopper's — he takes 
 the lead 
 
 In summer luxury — he has never done 
 
 With his dehghts, for when tired 
 out with fun. 
 
 He rests at ease beneath some pleasant 
 weed. 
 
 The poetry of earth is ceasing never : 
 
 On a lone winter evening, when the 
 frost 
 
 Has wrought a silence, from the stove 
 there shrills 
 
 The Cricket's song, in warmth in- 
 creasing ever. 
 
 And seems to one in drowsiness half 
 lost. 
 
 The grasshopper's among the grassy 
 hills. 
 
 John Keals. 
 
 THE CRICKET.* 
 Little inmate, full of mirth, 
 Chirpijig on my kitchen hearth, 
 Wheresoe're be thy abode 
 Always harbinger of good : 
 Pay we for thj^ warm retreat 
 With a song more soft and sweet ; 
 In return thou shalt receive 
 Such a strain as I can give. 
 
 * irom tUe latia of Vinceat Bourne. 
 
I 
 
 Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 205 
 
 I 
 
 Thus thy praise shall be expressed. 
 Inoffensive, welcome guest ! 
 While the rat is on the scout 
 And the mouse with curious snout. 
 With -what vermin else infest 
 Every dish and spoil the best; 
 Frisking thus before the fire 
 Thou hast all thy heart's desire. 
 
 Though in voice and shape they be 
 Formed as if akin to thee, 
 Thou surpassest, happier far, 
 Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
 Theirs is but a summer song. 
 Thine endures the winter long. 
 Unimpaired, and shrill, and clear, 
 Melody throughout the year. 
 
 Neither night nor da-mi of day 
 Puts a period to thy play : 
 Sing, then — and extend thy span 
 Far beyond the date of man. 
 Wretched man, whose years are spent 
 In repining discontent. 
 Lives not, aged though he be. 
 Half a span, compared with thee. 
 
 William Cowper, 
 
 TO A CRICKET. 
 
 Voice of summer, keen and shrill. 
 Chirping round ray winter fire. 
 Of thy song I never tire, 
 
 Weary others as they will. 
 
 For thy song with summer's filled — 
 Filled with sunshine, filled with June ; 
 Firelight echo of that noon 
 
 Heard in fields when all is stilled 
 In the golden light of May, 
 Bringing scents of new-mown hay, 
 Hees, and birds, and flowers away, 
 
 Piitiiee, hannt my fireside still, 
 
 \'oice of summer, keen and slirill, 
 
 William Cox Bennett. 
 
 THE BTTTTBRFLY'S FIRST 
 FLIGHT. 
 
 Thott has burst from thy prison, 
 
 Bright child of the air. 
 Like a spirit just risen 
 
 From its mansion of care. 
 
 Thou art joyously winging 
 
 Thy first ardent flight. 
 Where the gay lark is singing 
 
 Her notes of delight : 
 
 Where the simbeams are throwing 
 
 Their glories on thine, 
 Till thy colours are glowing 
 
 With tints more divine. 
 
 Then tasting new pleasure 
 In summer's green bowers. 
 
 Reposing at leisure 
 On fresh-open'd flowera. 
 
 Or delighted to hover 
 
 Around them, to see 
 Whose charms, airy rover. 
 
 Bloom sweetest for thee ; 
 
 And fondly inhaling 
 
 Their fragrance, till day 
 
 From thy bright eye is failing 
 And fading away. 
 
 Then seeking some blossom 
 
 Which looks to the west. 
 Thou dost find in its bosom 
 
 Sweet shelter and rest. 
 
 And there dost betake thee 
 
 Till darkness is o'er, 
 And the sunbeams awake thee 
 
 To pleasure once more. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 I've watched you now a full half-hour, 
 Self-poised upon that yellow flower ; 
 And, Uttle butterfly, indeed, 
 I know not if you sleep or feed. 
 
 How motionless ! — ^not frozen seas 
 
 More motionless ; and then. 
 What joy awaits you when the breeze 
 Hath found you out among the trees. 
 And calls you forth again ! 
 
 This plot of orchard ground is ours. 
 My trees they are, my sister's flowera ; 
 Here rest your wings when they are 
 
 weary. 
 Here lodge as in a sanctuary I 
 
206 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Come to us often, fear no wrong, 
 Sit near ua on the bough ! 
 
 We'll talk of sunshine and of song. 
 
 And summer tlays when we were young ; 
 
 Sweet childish days that were as long 
 As twenty days are now. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Stay near me — do not take thy flight ! 
 A little longer stay in sight ! 
 Much converse do I find in thee. 
 Historian of my infancy ! 
 Float near me ; do not yet depart ! 
 
 Dead times revive in thee : 
 Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art, 
 A solemn image to my heart. 
 
 My father's family ! 
 
 Oh ! pleasant, pleasant were the days. 
 The time when, in our childish plays. 
 My sister Emmeline and I 
 Together chased the butterfly ! 
 A very hunter did I rush 
 
 Upon the prey — with leaps and 
 springs 
 I followed on from brake to bush. 
 But she, God love her, feared to brush 
 
 The dust from off its wings. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE BUTTERFLY AND THE 
 BEE. 
 
 Methought I heard a butterfly 
 
 Say to a labouring bee ; 
 " Thou hast no colours of the sky 
 
 On painted wings hke me." 
 
 " Poor child of vanity ! those dyes, 
 And colours bright and rare," 
 
 With mild I'eproof, the bee replies 
 "Are all beneath my care. 
 
 "Content I toil from morn to eve, 
 
 And scorning idleness, 
 To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave 
 
 The vanity of dress." 
 
 William Lisle Bowles. 
 
 "WHERE THE BEE SUCKS." 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 In a cowsUp's bell I lie : 
 There I couch, when owls do cry. 
 (Jn the bat's back I do fly. 
 After summer, merrily : 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the 
 Ijough. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THE INNOCENT THIEF.* 
 
 Not a flower can be found in the fields, 
 Or the spot that we till for our 
 pleasure. 
 From the largest to least, but it 
 yields 
 The bee, never wearied, a treasure. 
 
 Scarce any she quits unexplored, 
 With a dihgence truly exact ; 
 
 Yet steal what she may for her hoard, 
 Leaves evidence none of the fact. 
 
 Her lucrative task she pursues. 
 
 And pilfers with so much atldress, 
 That none of their odour they lose. 
 
 Nor charm by their beauty the less. 
 
 Nor thus inoffensively preys 
 
 The canker-worm, indwelling foe ! 
 
 His voracity not thus allays 
 
 The sparrow, the finch, or the crow. 
 
 The worm more expensively fed. 
 The pride of the garden devours ; 
 
 And birds peck the seeds from the bed. 
 Still less to be spared than the flowers. 
 
 But she with much delicate skill. 
 Her pillage so fits for her use. 
 
 That the chemist in vain with his still, 
 Would labour the like to produce. 
 
 Then grudge not her temperate meals. 
 
 Nor a benefit blame as a theft. 
 Since, stole she not all that she steals. 
 Neither honey nor wax would be 
 left. 
 
 William Cow per. 
 
 i'rom tlie Liitiu of Vincent Bourne. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 207 
 
 SONG OF THE BEES. 
 
 We watch for tlie light of the morn to 
 break. 
 And colour the eastern sky 
 W itli its blended hues of saffron and 
 
 lake ; 
 Then say to each other, " Awake ! 
 
 awake ! 
 For our winter's honey is all to make. 
 And our bread for a long supply." 
 
 And off we hie to the hill and dell, 
 To the field, to the meadow and 
 
 bower ; 
 We love in the columbine's horn to 
 
 dwell. 
 To dip in the hly with snow-white 
 
 bell. 
 To search for the balm in its fragrant 
 
 cell, 
 The mint and the rosemary flower. 
 
 Wc seek the bloom of the eglantine. 
 Of the painted thistle and brier ; 
 
 And follow the steps of the wandering 
 vine, 
 
 Whether it trail on the earth supine. 
 
 Or round the aspiring tree- top twine. 
 And aim at a state still higher. 
 
 While each, on the good of her sister 
 bent, 
 Is busy, and cares for all, 
 Wc hope for an evening of heart's 
 
 content 
 In the winter of life, without lament 
 That summer is gone, or its hours 
 misspent. 
 And the harvest is past recall. 
 
 Hannah Flagg Gould. 
 
 Thou wert working late, thou busy, 
 busy bee ! 
 
 After the fall of the cistus flower. 
 When tlie primrose of evening was 
 
 ready to burst, 
 I heard thee last, as I saw thee first ; 
 
 In the silence of t!ie evening hour. 
 Heard I thee, thou busy, busy bee ! 
 
 Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy bee! 
 
 Late and early at employ ; 
 Still on thy golden stores intent. 
 Thy summers in keeping and hoarding 
 is spent, 
 Wliat thy winter will never enjoy. 
 Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, 
 busy bee ! 
 
 Little dost thou think, tliou busy, 
 busy bee ! 
 What is the end of thy toil, 
 When the latest flowers of the ivy 
 
 are gone. 
 And all thy work for the year is done. 
 
 Thy master comes for the spoil ; 
 Woe then for thee, thou busy, busy 
 bee } 
 
 Robert Soulhey. 
 
 TO A FL.Y. 
 
 Bdsy, curious, thirsty Fly, 
 Drink with me, and drink as I ; 
 Freely welcome to my cup, 
 (Jould'st thou sip, and sip it up. 
 Make the most of life you may ; 
 Life is short, and wears away. 
 
 Both alike are mine and thine, 
 Hast'ning quick to their decline : — 
 Thine's a summer: mine's no more. 
 Though repeated to three-score :— 
 Three-score summers, when they're gone 
 Will api^ear as short as one. 
 
 William Oldya. 
 
 TO A BEE. 
 
 Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, 
 busy bee ! 
 
 As abroad I took my early way. 
 Before the cow from her resting-place 
 Had risen up, antl left her trace 
 
 On the meadow, with dew so gay. 
 Saw I thee, thou, busy, busy bee ! 
 
 MISTER FLY. 
 
 What a sliarp little fellow is Mister Fly, 
 He goes wiien he pleases, low or high, 
 And can walk just as well with his 
 feet to the sky 
 As I can on the floor ; 
 
208 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 At the window he comes 
 With a buzz and a roar, 
 And o'er the smooth glass 
 Can easily pass 
 
 Or through the keyhole of the door. 
 He eats the sugar, and goes away. 
 Nor ever once aaks what there is to 
 
 pay ; 
 And sometimes he crosses the tea- 
 pot's steam, 
 And comes and plunges his head in 
 
 the cream ; 
 Then on the edge of the jug he stands, 
 .Ind cleans his wings with his feet 
 
 and hands. 
 This done, through the window he 
 
 hurries away. 
 And gives a buzz, as if to saj% 
 " At present I have'nt a minute to 
 
 stay. 
 But I'll peep in again in the course 
 of the day." 
 Then again he'll fly 
 Where the sunbeams lie. 
 And neither stop to shake hands 
 Nor bid good-bye : 
 Such a strange little fellow is Master 
 
 Fly. 
 
 Who goes where he pleases, low or 
 high, 
 
 And can walk on the ceiling 
 
 Without ever feeling 
 A fear of tumbling down " sky-high." 
 
 Thovms Miller. 
 
 THE PLY. 
 
 Little fly. 
 Thy summer's play, 
 My thoughtless hand 
 Has brush'd away. 
 
 Am not I 
 A fly like thee T 
 Or art not thou 
 A man like me T 
 
 For I dance, 
 And drink and sing, 
 Till some blind hand 
 Shall brush my wing. 
 
 If thought is life 
 
 And strength and breath. 
 
 And the want 
 
 Of thought is death ; 
 
 Then am I 
 A happy fly 
 If I live 
 Or if I die. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE TRUE STOBY OF WEB- 
 SPINNER. 
 
 Web-spixner was a miser old. 
 
 Who came of low degree ; 
 His body was large, his legs were thin. 
 
 And he kept bad company ; 
 And his visage had the evil look 
 
 Of a black felon grim ; 
 To all the country he was known. 
 
 But none spoke well of him. 
 His house was seven stories high. 
 
 In a corner of the street. 
 And it always had a dirty look. 
 
 When other homes were neat ; 
 Up in his garret dark he lived. 
 
 And from the windows high. 
 Looked out in the dusky evenmg 
 
 Upon the passers by. 
 Most people tliought he lived alone. 
 
 Yet many have averred 
 That dismal cries from out his house 
 
 Were often loudly heard ; 
 And that none living left his gate. 
 
 Although a few went in ; 
 For he seized the very beggar old. 
 
 And stripped him to the skin. 
 And though he prayed for mercy, 
 
 Yet mercy ne'er was shown — 
 The miser cut his body up. 
 
 And picked him bone from bone. 
 Thus people said, and all believed 
 
 The dismal story true ; 
 As it was told to me, in truth, 
 
 I tell it so to you. 
 
 There was an ancient widow — 
 
 One Madgy de la Moth, 
 A stranger to the man, or she 
 
 Had ne'er gone there in troth : 
 But she was poor and wandered out. 
 
 At night-fall in the street. 
 To beg from rich men's tables 
 
 Dry scraps of broken meat. 
 So she knocked at old Web-Spinner's 
 door 
 
 With a modest tap, and low. 
 And down stairs came he speedily 
 
 Like an arrow from a bow. 
 
I 
 
 f " Walk in, walk in, mother," said he, 
 , And shut the door behind — 
 »• She thought, for such a gentleman, 
 I That he was wondrous kind. 
 I But ere the midnight clock had tolled, 
 I Like a tiger of the wood, 
 ' He had eaten the flesh from off her 
 hones. 
 And drunk of her heart's blood ! 
 
 \nw after this foul deed was done, 
 
 A little season's space, 
 I The Burly Baron of Bluebottle 
 
 Was riding from the chase. 
 The sport was dull, the day was hot, 
 t The sun was sinking down, 
 Wiien wearily the Baron rode 
 
 Into the dusty town. 
 Says he, " I'll ask a lodging. 
 
 At the first house 1 come to ; " 
 With that, the gate of Wcb-Spinner 
 
 Came suddenly in view : 
 Loud was the knock the Baron gave : 
 
 Down came the churl with glee ; 
 Saj's Bluebottle, " Good Sir, to-night 
 
 I ask your courtesy ; 
 I am wearied by a long day's chase — 
 
 iSIy friends are far behind." 
 " You may need them all," said Web- 
 Spinner, 
 
 " It runneth in my mind." 
 " A Baron am I," said Bluebottle ; 
 
 " From a foreign land I come ; " 
 " I thought as much," said Web- 
 vSpinner, 
 
 " Fools never stay at home ! " 
 Says the Baron, " Churl, what meaneth 
 this ? 
 
 I defy you, villain base ! " 
 And he wished the while, in his in- 
 most heart. 
 
 He was safely from the place. 
 Web- Spinner ran and locked the door. 
 
 And a loud laugh laughed he. 
 With that, each one on the other 
 sprang. 
 
 And they wrestled furiously. 
 The Baron was a man of might, 
 
 A swordsman of renown ; 
 But the Miser had the stronger arm, 
 
 And kept the Baron down. 
 Then out he took a little cord. 
 
 From a pocket at his side. 
 And with many a crafty, cruel knot. 
 
 His hands and feet he tied ; 
 And bound liim down unto the floor. 
 
 And said in savage jest, 
 
 Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 209 
 
 " Tiiere is heavy work for you in 
 store ; 
 
 So, Baron, take your rest ! " 
 Then up and down his house he went. 
 
 Arranging dish and platter. 
 With a dull and heavy countenance. 
 
 As if nothing were the matter. 
 At length he seized on Bluebottle, 
 
 That strong and burly man. 
 And, with many and many a desperate 
 tug. 
 
 To hoist him up began : 
 And step by step, and step by step. 
 
 He went with heavy tread ; 
 But ere he reached the garret door. 
 
 Poor Bluebottle was dead 
 
 Now all this while, a magistrate, 
 
 Wlio lived in a house hard by. 
 Had watched Web-Spinner's cruelty 
 
 Through a window privily : 
 So in he burst, tlirough bolts and bars. 
 
 With a loud and thundering sound. 
 And vowed to burn the house with fire, 
 
 .And level it with the ground ; 
 But the wicked churl, who all his life 
 
 Had looked for such a day. 
 Passed through a trap-door in the wall, 
 
 And took himself away. 
 But where he went, no man could tell : 
 
 'Twas said that under ground 
 He died a miserable death — 
 
 But his body ne'er was found. 
 They pulled his house down, stick 
 and stone, 
 
 " For a caitiff vile as he," 
 Said they, " within our quiet town 
 
 Shall not a dweller be ! " 
 
 Mary HowiU. 
 
 THE LOCUST. 
 
 The locust is fierce, and strong, and 
 
 grim, 
 .\nd a mailed man is afraid of him : 
 He comes like a winged shape of 
 
 dread. 
 With his shielded back and his armed 
 
 head, 
 And his double wings for hasty flight, 
 And a keen, unwearying appetite. 
 
 He comes with famine and fear along. 
 An army a million million strong ; 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The Goth anrl the Vandal, and dwarfish 
 
 Hun, 
 With their swarming jjeople, wikl 
 
 and dun. 
 Brought not the dread that the locust 
 
 brings. 
 When is heard the rush of their myriad 
 
 wings. 
 
 From the deserts of burning sand 
 
 they speed, 
 Where the Lions roani and the Serpents 
 
 breed, 
 Far over the sea, away, away ! 
 And they darken the sun at noon of 
 
 day. 
 Like Eden the land before them they 
 
 find, 
 But they leave it a desolate waste 
 
 behind. 
 
 The peasant grows ]iale when he sees 
 
 them come. 
 And standeth before them weak and 
 
 dumb ; 
 For tliey come like a raging fire in 
 
 power, 
 Antl eat up a havest in half an hour ; 
 And the trees are bare, and the land 
 
 is brown. 
 As if trampled and trod by an army 
 
 down. 
 
 There is terror in every monarch's 
 
 eye, 
 When he hears that this terrible foe 
 
 is nigh ; 
 For he knows that the might of an 
 
 armed host 
 Cannot drive the spoilers from out 
 
 his coast. 
 That terror and famine his land 
 
 await. 
 And from north to south 'twill be 
 
 desolate. 
 
 Tluis, the ravening locust is strong 
 
 and grim ; 
 And what were an armed man to 
 
 him ? 
 Fire turneth him not, nor sea prevents. 
 He is stronger by far than the elements ! 
 The broad green earth is his jjrostrate 
 
 proy, 
 And he darkens the sun at the noon 
 
 of the day. 
 
 Mary Houitt.^ 
 
 THE NAHTILUS. 
 
 Where southern suns and 
 
 I 
 
 winds 
 
 prevail. 
 And undulate the summer seas, 
 The Nautilus expands his sail. 
 
 And scuds before the freshening 
 
 breeze. 
 
 Oft is a little squadron seen 
 
 Of mimic ships, all rigged complete ; 
 Fancy might think the fairy-queen 
 
 Was sailing with her elfin fleet. 
 
 With liow much beauty is designed 
 Each channeled bark of purest 
 white ! 
 
 With orient pearl each cabin lined. 
 Varying with every change of light 
 
 Wliile with his little slender oars, 
 His silken sail and tapering ma3t, 
 
 T!i dauntless mariner explores 
 Tlie dangers of the ^^atery waste ; 
 
 Prepared, sliould tempests rend the sky. 
 From harm his fragile bark to keep, 
 
 He furls his sail, his oars lays by. 
 And seeks his safety in the deep. 
 
 Then safe on ocean's shelly bed. 
 
 He hears the storm above him roar, 
 
 'Mid groves of coral glowing red, 
 
 And rocks o'erhung with madrepore 
 
 So let us catch life's favouring gale ; 
 
 But, if fate's adverse winds be rude 
 Take calmlj' in the adventurous sail, 
 
 And find repose in solitude. 
 
 Charlotte Smith. 
 
 THE KITTEN. 
 
 Wanton droll, whose harmless play 
 Beguiles the rustic's closing day, 
 Wiien drawn the evening fire about. 
 Sit aged crone and thoughtless lout. 
 And child upon his tlu-ee-foot stool 
 Waiting till his supper cool. 
 And maid, whose cheek out-blooms the 
 
 rose, 
 As bright the blazing fagot glows ; 
 Come show thy tricks and sportive 
 
 graces, 
 Thus circled round with merry faces, 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 211 
 
 Backward coil'd, and crouching low, 
 With glaiiiiEc eye-balls watch tliy foe. 
 The house-wife's spindle whirling round, 
 Or thread or straw, that on tlu; ground 
 Its shadow throws, by urcliin sly 
 Held out to lure thy roving eye ; 
 Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring 
 Upon the futile, faithless thing ; 
 Now, wheeling round with bootless 
 
 skill, 
 Thy bo-ppcp tail provokes thee still. 
 As oft heyoiul thy curving side 
 Its jetty tip is seen to glide. 
 And see ! tlie start, the jet, the bound. 
 The giddy scamper round and round, 
 Witli leap, and jerk, and high curvet, 
 And many a whu-Jing somerset ; 
 But, stopppfi the while thy wanton play. 
 Applauses now thy feats repay ; 
 For now, beneath some urchin's hand. 
 With modest pride thou tak'st 1 liy 
 
 stand, 
 Wiiiie many a stroke of fondness glides 
 .Mong thy back and tabby sides. 
 Dilated swells thy glossy fur, 
 Anfl loudly sings thy busy purr ; 
 As, tuning v;ell the equal sound. 
 Thy clutching feet be-pat the ground. 
 And all their harmless claws disclose. 
 Like prickles of an early rose ; 
 While softly from thy whisker'd cheek 
 Thy half-closed ej'cs peer mild and 
 
 uieek. 
 
 Joanna Baillie. 
 
 THE KITTEN AT PLAY. 
 
 See the kitten on the wall. 
 Sporting with the leaves that fall. 
 Withered leaves, one, two, and three 
 Falling from the elder-tree. 
 Through the calm and frosty air 
 Of the morning bright and fair. 
 
 See the kitten, how slie starts. 
 Crouches, stretches, paws and darts 
 With a tiger-leap half way 
 Now she meets her coming prey. 
 Lets it go as fast and then 
 Has it in her power again. 
 
 Now slie works with three and four. 
 Like an Indian conjurer ; 
 Qu'ck as he 'n feats of art. 
 
 Gracefully she plays her i)art ; 
 Yet were gazing thousands there. 
 What would little Tabby care Y 
 
 WiUiam Wordsworth. 
 
 THE RETIRED CAT. 
 
 A poet'.s cat, sedate and grave 
 As poet well could wish to have. 
 Was much addicted to inquire 
 For nooks to which she miuht retire, 
 And \\here, secure as mouse in chink. 
 She might repose, or sit and think 
 
 Sometimes ascending, deboimair. 
 An apple-tree, or lofty pear, 
 Ivodgcd with convenience in the fork 
 She watched the gardener at his work ; 
 Sometimes her ease and solace sought 
 In an old empty watering-pot ; 
 Tliere, wanting nothing but«a fan. 
 To seem some nymph in her sedan. 
 Apparelled in exactest sort. 
 And ready to be borne to court. 
 
 But love of change it seems has place 
 Not only in our wiser race ; 
 Cats also feel, as well as we. 
 That passion's force, and so did she. 
 Her climbing, she began to find, 
 Exposed her too much to the wind. 
 And the old vitensil of tin 
 Was cold and comfortless within : 
 She therefore wished, instead of those. 
 Some place of more secure repose, 
 Wiiere neither cold might come, nor air 
 Too rudely wanton with her hair. 
 And sought it in the likeliest mode 
 Within her master's snug abode. 
 
 A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
 With linen of the softest kind — 
 A drawer impending o'er the rest. 
 Half open, in the top-most chest. 
 Of depth enough, and none to spare. 
 Inviting her to slumber there. 
 Puss, with delight beyond expression, 
 Surveyed the scene and took possession. 
 Then resting at her ease, ere long. 
 And lulled by her own hum-drum song, 
 
 She left the cares of life behind. 
 And slept as she would sleep her last ; 
 
 When in cau»e, housewifely inclined, 
 
 14* 
 
212 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The chambermaid, and shut it fast ; 
 By no malignity impelled. 
 But all unconscious \?hom it held. 
 Awakened by the shock, cried Puss, 
 " Was ever cat attended thus ! 
 The open drawer was left I see, 
 Merely to prove a nest for me ; 
 For soon as I was well composed. 
 Then came the maid, and it was closed. 
 How smooth these kerchiefs and how 
 
 sweet ; 
 Oh ! what a delicate retreat, 
 I will resign myself to rest. 
 Till Sol declining in the west. 
 Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, 
 Susan will come and let me out." 
 
 The evening came, the sun descended. 
 And Puss remained still imattended. 
 The night rolled tardily away 
 (With her, indeed, 'twas never day). 
 The sprightly moon her course renewed. 
 The evening grey again ensued ; 
 And Puss came into mind no more 
 Than if entombed the day before. 
 With hunger pinched, and pinched 
 
 for room. 
 She now presaged approaching doom, 
 Nor slept a single wink or purred. 
 Conscious of jeopardy incurred. 
 
 That night, by chance, the poet 
 
 watching. 
 Heard an inexplicable scratching ; 
 His noble heart went pit-a-pat. 
 And to himself he said, " What's 
 
 that ? " 
 He drew the curtain at his side. 
 And forth he peeped, but nothing 
 
 spied ; 
 Yet, by his ear directed, guessed 
 Something imprisoned in the chest, 
 And doubtful what, with prudent care. 
 Resolved it should continue there. 
 At length a voice which well he knew, 
 A long and melancholy mew. 
 Saluting his poetic ears. 
 Consoled him and dispelled his fears. 
 He left his bed, he trod the floor, 
 And 'gan in haste the drawers exj)lore. 
 The lowest first, and without stop 
 The rest in order, to the top ; 
 For 'tis a truth well known to most, 
 That whatsoever thing is lost. 
 We seek it ere it come to light 
 In every cranny but the right. 
 
 Forth skipped the cat, not now replete. 
 As erst, with airy self-conceit. 
 Nor in her own fond apprehension 
 A theme for all the world's attention ; 
 But sober, modest, cured of all 
 Her notions so hyperbolical. 
 And wishing for her place of rest 
 Anything rather than a chest. 
 Then stepped the poet into bed 
 With tliis reflection in his head : 
 
 Beware of too sublime a sense 
 Of your own worth and consequence ! 
 The man who dreams himself so great. 
 And his importance of such Aveight, 
 That all around in all that's done. 
 Must move and act for him alone. 
 Will learn in school of tribulatiou. 
 The folly of his expectation. 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 INDUSTRY OF ANIMALS. 
 
 The lute- voice birds rise with the light. 
 Their nestling young to feed. 
 
 Pursue the insects in their flight, 
 Or pluck the feathery seed. 
 
 The golden-belted humming bee 
 
 Goes toiling hour by hour. 
 Over the moor and distant lea. 
 
 Wherever grows a flower. 
 
 With weary journeys up and down. 
 He home his honej' brings. 
 
 From gardens in the distant town. 
 And while he labours sings. 
 
 The long- tailed field-mouse to the wood 
 Makes journeys many a score. 
 
 And in a granary piles his food. 
 And hoards his wintry store. 
 
 Within the hollow of a tree 
 
 The nimble squirrel hides 
 His meat and nuts right cunningly. 
 
 And for the cold provides. 
 
 His home the mole makes underground. 
 With runs and chambers crossed. 
 
 And galleries circling round and round. 
 In which you would be lost. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 213 
 
 Although the swallow in her nest 
 Displays such art and skill. 
 
 She has no tools save her white breast, 
 And small sharp-pointed bill. 
 
 There's not an insect crawls or flies 
 But what has work to do. 
 
 And the same God their want supplies 
 Who watcheth over you. 
 
 No single thing did God create. 
 
 But he for it gave food, 
 And whether it be small or great, 
 
 " He saw that it was good." 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 INCIDENT. 
 
 CHARACTERISTIO OF A FAVOURITE DOO. 
 
 On his morning rounds, the master 
 
 Goes to learn how all tilings fare ; 
 Searches pasture after pasture. 
 
 Sheep and cattle eyes m ith care : 
 And for silence or for talk, 
 
 He hath comrades in his walk ; 
 Four dogs, each pair of different 
 
 breed. 
 Distinguished two for scent, and two 
 
 for speed. 
 
 See a hare before him started ! 
 Off they fly in earnest chase ; 
 Every dog is eager-hearted ; 
 All the four are in the race : 
 , And the hare whom they pursue 
 i' Knows from instinct what to do ; 
 Her hope is near ; no turn she 
 makes; 
 But, hke an arrow, to the river takes. 
 
 Deep the river was, and crusted 
 
 Tninly by a one night's frost. 
 But the nimbler hare has trusted 
 
 To the ice, and safely crossed ; 
 She hath crossed, and without heed 
 
 All are following at full speed ; 
 When lo ! the ice, so thinly spread. 
 Breaks — and the gieyhound. Dart, is 
 
 over-head I 
 
 Better fate have Prince and Swallow : 
 See tlicra cleaving to the sport 1 
 
 Music hath no heart to follow. 
 Little Music she stops short. 
 
 She hath neither wish nor heart ; 
 
 Hers is now another part : 
 A loving creature she, and brave ! 
 And fondly strives her struggling 
 
 friend to save. 
 
 From the brink her paw she stretches. 
 
 Very hands, as you would say. 
 And afflicting moans she fetches 
 
 As he breaks the ice away 
 For herself she hath no fears : 
 
 Him alone she sees and hears. 
 Makes efforts and complainings, nor 
 
 gives o'er , 
 
 Until her fellow sank, and reappeared 
 
 no more. 
 
 William Wordnwurlh. 
 
 THE DOG AND THE WATER 
 LIL>Y. 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft airs 
 
 Swept Ouse's silent tide. 
 When, 'scaped from literary cares, 
 
 I wandered on his side. 
 
 My spaniel, prettiest of his race, 
 
 And high in pedigree 
 (Two nymphs, adorned with every 
 grace. 
 
 That spaniel found for me). 
 
 Now wantoned lost in flags and reeds. 
 
 Now starting into sight. 
 Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 
 
 With scarce a slower flight. 
 
 It was the time when Ouse displayed 
 
 His hUes newly blown ; 
 Their beauties I intent surv-eyed, 
 
 And one I wished my own. 
 
 With cane extended, far I sought 
 
 To steer it close to land ; 
 But still the prize, though nearly 
 caught. 
 
 Escaped my eager hand. 
 
 Beau marked my unsuccessful pains. 
 
 With fixt considerate face. 
 And puzzling set his puppy brains 
 
 To comprehend the case. 
 
214 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 But ■with a chirrup clear and strong. 
 
 Dispersing all his dream, 
 I thence withdrew, and followed long 
 
 The windings of the stream. 
 
 My ramble finished, I returned. 
 
 Beau trotting far before, 
 The floating T\Teath again discerned. 
 
 And plunging left the sliore. 
 
 I saw him with that lily cropped. 
 
 Impatient swim to meet 
 M3' quick approach, and soon he 
 dropped 
 
 The treasure at my feet. 
 
 Charmed with the sight, the world, 
 I cried, 
 
 Shall hear of this thy deed : 
 My dog shall mortify the pride 
 
 Of man's superior breed : 
 
 Biit chief mj'self I will enjoin. 
 
 Awake at duty's call. 
 To show a love as prompt as thine, 
 
 To Him who gives me all. 
 
 William Coiv^ier. 
 
 ON A SPANIEL CALLED 
 
 "BEATJ" KILLING A YOUNG 
 
 BIED. 
 
 A SPAKiEL, Beau, that fares like you. 
 
 Well fed, and at his ease. 
 Should wiser be than to pursue 
 
 Each triHe that he sees. 
 
 But you have killed a tiny bird 
 
 ^Vhich hew not till to-day. 
 Against my orders, when you heard 
 
 Forbidding you the prey. 
 
 Nor did you kill that you might eat 
 
 And ease a doggish pain ; 
 For him, though chased with furious 
 heat, 
 
 Yon left where he was slain. 
 
 Xor Avas he of the thievish sort, 
 Or one whom blood allures. 
 
 But innocent was all his spurt 
 Whom you have torn for jours. 
 
 My dog ! what remedy remains. 
 Since teach you all ! can. 
 
 I see you, after all my pains, 
 So much resemble m.in. 
 
 William Coicper. 
 
 BEAU'S BEPLY. 
 
 i^lR, when I flew to seize the bird 
 fn spite of j'our command, 
 
 A louder voice than yours I heard 
 And harder to withstand. 
 
 You cried, " Forbear ! " — but in mj" 
 breast 
 
 A mightier cried, " Proceed ! " — 
 'Twas -Nature, sir, whose strong behest 
 
 Impelled me to the deed. 
 
 Yet much as Nature I respect, 
 
 I ventured once to break 
 (As you perhaps may recollect) 
 
 Her precept for your sake ; 
 
 And when your linnet on a day, 
 
 Passing his prison door. 
 Had fluttered all his strength awaj'. 
 
 And panting, jiressed the floor; 
 
 Well knowing him a sacred thing. 
 
 Not destined to my tooth, 
 I only kissed his ruffled wing. 
 
 And licked the feathers smooth. 
 
 Let my obedience then excuse 
 
 .M3' disobedience now ; 
 Nor some reproof yourself refuse 
 
 From j'our aggrieved Bow-wow ; 
 
 If killing birds be such a crime 
 
 (Which I can hardly *ep). 
 Wiiat think 30U, sir, of killing Time 
 
 With verse addressed to me ? 
 
 William Cowper, 
 
 THE WOODMAN'S DOG. 
 
 Forth goes tiie wooihnan, leaving 
 
 unconcerned 
 The cheerful haunts of man, to wield 
 
 the axe. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 21o 
 
 And drive the wedge in yonder forest 
 
 (Ii'ear, 
 I'l-oni morn to eve his solitary task. 
 Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with 
 
 pointed ears, 
 And tail cropped short, half lurcher and 
 
 half cur, 
 His dog attends him. Close behind 
 
 his heel 
 Now creeps he — slow ; and now, with 
 
 many a frisk 
 Wide scampering, snatches up the 
 
 drifted snow 
 With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with 
 
 his snout. 
 Then shakes his powdered coat, and 
 
 barks for joy. 
 Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy 
 
 churl 
 Moves right towards the mark, nor 
 
 stops for aught ; 
 But now and then, with pressure of 
 
 his thumb. 
 To adjust the fragrant charge of a 
 
 short tube 
 That fumes beneath his nose ; the 
 
 trailing cloud 
 Streams far behind him scenting all 
 
 the air. 
 
 William Cowper, 
 
 AN EPITAPH. 
 Here lies one who never drew 
 Blood himself, yet many slew ; 
 Gave the gun its aim, and figure 
 Made in field, yet ne'er pulled trigger. 
 Armed men have gladly made 
 Him their guide, and him obeyed ; 
 At his signified desire. 
 Would advance, present, and fire. 
 Stout he was, and large of limb. 
 Scores have fied at sight of him ; 
 And to all this fame he rose 
 Only following his nose. 
 Keptune was he called, not he 
 Who controls the boisterous sea. 
 But of happier command, 
 Keptune of the furrowed land ; 
 And your wonder vain to shorten, 
 FoirUcr to Sir John Throckmorton. 
 
 William Cou'per. 
 
 FIDELITY. 
 
 A BARKING sound the shepherd hears. 
 
 A cry as of a dog or fox ; 
 
 He halts, and searches with his eye 
 
 Among the scattered rocks : 
 
 And now at distance can discern 
 
 A stirring in a brake of fern ; 
 
 And instantly a dog is seen. 
 
 Glancing through that covert green. 
 
 The Dog is not of mountain breed ; 
 
 Its motions, too, are wild and shy ; 
 
 With something, as the shepherd thinks. 
 
 Unusual in its cry : 
 
 Xor is there any one in sight 
 
 All round, in hollow or on height ; 
 
 Xor shout nor whistle strikes his ear — 
 
 WTiat is the creature doing here ? 
 
 It was a cove, a huge recess, 
 
 That keeps, till June, December's snow ; 
 
 A lofty precipice in front, 
 
 A silent tarn below ; 
 
 Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, 
 
 Remote from public road or dwelling, 
 
 Pathway, or cultivated land ; 
 
 From trace of liuman foot or hand. 
 
 There sometimes doth a leaping l]sh 
 Send through the tarn a^ lonely cheer: 
 The crags repeat the raven's croak. 
 In symphony austere : 
 Thither the rainbow comes, the cloud 
 ..'Vnd mists that spread the fiying shroud 
 And sunbeams ; and the sounding blast. 
 That if it could would hurry past-- 
 But that enormous barrier holds it fast. 
 
 Not free from boding thoughts, a while 
 The Shepherd stood ; then makes his 
 
 way 
 O'er rocks and stones, following the Dog 
 As quickly as he may ; 
 Nor far had gone before he found 
 A human skeleton on the ground ! 
 The appall'd discoverer with a sigh 
 Looks round, to learn the history. 
 
 From those abrupt and perilous rocks 
 
 The Man had fallen— that place of fear ! 
 
 At length upon the Shepherd's mind 
 
 It breaks and all is clear : 
 
 He instantly recalled the name, 
 
 And who he was, and whence he came ; 
 
 Remembered, too, the very day 
 
 On which the Traveller passed that way. 
 
216 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 3ut hear a wonder, for whose sake 
 
 This lamentable tale I tell — 
 
 A lasting monument of worda 
 
 This -wonder merits well. 
 
 The Dog, which still was hovering nigh. 
 
 Repeating the same timid cry. 
 
 This Dog had been, tlirough tlnee 
 
 months' space, 
 A dweller in that savage place ! 
 
 Yes, proof was plain that since the day 
 When tliis ill-fated Traveller died. 
 The Dog had watched about the spot. 
 Or by his master's side : 
 How nourished here through such long 
 
 time 
 He knows, who gave that love sublin\e. 
 And gave that strength of feeling, great 
 Above all human estimate. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 TO A D0&. 
 
 Dear faithful object of my tender care. 
 Whom but my partial eyes none 
 
 fancy fair ; 
 May I unblamed display thy social 
 
 mirth. 
 Thy modest virtues, and domestic 
 
 worth : 
 Thou silent, humble flatterer, yet 
 
 sincere. 
 More swayed by love than interest 
 
 or fear ; 
 Solely to })\eaae thy most ambitious 
 
 view. 
 As lovers fond, and more than lovers 
 
 true. 
 Who can resist those dumb beseeching 
 
 eyes, 
 Where genuine eloquence persuasive 
 
 lies ? 
 Those eyes, when language fails, dis- 
 play thy heart 
 Beyond the pomp of piu-ase and pride 
 
 of art. 
 Thou safe companion, and almost a 
 
 friend. 
 Whose kind attachment but with life 
 
 shall end — 
 Blest were mankind if many a prouder 
 
 name 
 Could boast thy grateful truth and 
 
 spotless fame ! 
 
 Anna Letitia Barbauld, 
 
 THE MOUSE'S PETITIOIT. 
 
 FOUND IN A TBAP WHERE HE HAD BEKN 
 CONFINED ALL NIGHT. 
 
 Oh ! hear a pensive prisoner's prayer. 
 
 For liberty that sighs ; 
 And never let thine heart be shut 
 
 Against the WTetch's cries. 
 
 For here forlorn and sad I sit, 
 
 Within the wiry grate ; 
 And tremble at the approaching morn, 
 
 Which brings impending fate. 
 
 If e'er thy breast with freedom glow'd. 
 And spurn'd a tyrant's chain. 
 
 Let not thy strong oppressive force 
 A free-born Mouse detain. 
 
 O ! do not stain with guiltless blood 
 
 Thy hospitable hearth ; 
 Nor triumph that thy wiles betrayed 
 
 A prize so little worth. 
 
 The scattered gleanings of a feast 
 
 My frugal meals supply : 
 But if thine unrelenting heart 
 
 ■That slender boon deny. 
 
 The cheerful light, the vital air. 
 Are blessings widely given ; 
 
 I^et nature's commoners enjoy 
 The common gifts of Heaven. 
 
 The well-taught philosophic mind 
 
 To all compassion gives ; 
 Cast round the world an equal eye. 
 
 And feel for all that lives. 
 
 If mind, as ancient sages taught, 
 
 A never dying flame. 
 Still sliifts through matter's varying 
 forms, 
 
 In every form the same : 
 
 Beware, lest in the worm you crush, 
 
 A brother's soul you And ; 
 And tremble lest thy luckless hand 
 
 Dislodge a kindred mind. 
 
 Or, if this transient gleam of day 
 
 Be all of life we share ; 
 Let pity plead within thy breast. 
 
 That little all to spare. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 217 
 
 So may thy hospitable board 
 
 With health and peace be crowned ; 
 And every charm of heart-felt ease 
 
 Beneath thy roof be found. 
 
 So, when Destruction lurks unseen. 
 Which men like mice may share ; 
 
 Maj' some kind angel clear thy path. 
 And break the hidden snare. 
 
 A7ina Letitia Barbauld. 
 
 THE WOUNDED HARE. 
 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy barbarous 
 art, 
 And blasted be thy murder-aiming 
 
 eye; 
 May never pity soothe thee with a 
 sigh. 
 Nor ever pleasure glad thy cruel 
 heart ! 
 
 — Go, live, poor wanderer of the wood 
 and field. 
 The bitter little that of life remains ; 
 No more the tliickening brakes and 
 verdant plains 
 To thee shall home, or food, or pastime 
 yield. 
 
 Seek, mangled wretch, some place of 
 wonted rest. 
 No more of rest, but now thy dying 
 
 bed ! 
 The sheltering rushes whistling o'er 
 thy head, 
 The cold earth with thy bloody bosom 
 prest. 
 
 Oft as by winding Nith, I, musing, 
 wait 
 The sober eve, or hail the cheerful 
 
 dawn, 
 I'll miss thee sporting o'er the dewy 
 lawn. 
 And curse the ruffian's aim, and mourn 
 thy hapless fate. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew 
 Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo; 
 
 Old Tiney, siu"liest of his kind. 
 Who, nursed with tender care, 
 
 And to domestic bounds confined. 
 Was still a wild Jack hare. 
 
 Though duly from my hand he took 
 
 His pittance every night 
 He did it with a jealous look. 
 
 And, when he could, would bite. 
 
 His diet was of wheaten bread. 
 And milk, and oats, and straw ; 
 
 Thistles, or lettuces instead. 
 With sand to scour his maw. 
 
 On twigs of hawthorn he regaled. 
 
 On pippins russet peel. 
 And, when his juicy salads failed. 
 
 Sliced carrot pleased him well. 
 
 A Tiu-key carpet was his lawn. 
 Whereon he loved to bound 
 
 To skip and gambol hke a fawn 
 And swing his rump around. 
 
 His frisking was at evening hours, 
 
 For then he lost his fear. 
 But most before approaching showers 
 
 Or when a storm drew near. 
 
 Eight years and five round-rolling 
 moons. 
 
 He thus saw steal away. 
 Dozing out all his idle noons. 
 
 And every night at play. 
 
 I kept him for his humour's sake. 
 
 For he would oft beguile 
 My heart of thoughts that made it ache. 
 
 And force me to a smile. 
 
 But now beneath this walnut shade. 
 He finds his long, last home. 
 
 And waits in snug concealment laid. 
 Till gentler Puss shall come. 
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE. 
 
 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er 
 pursue. 
 Nor swifter greyhound follow. 
 
 He, still more aged, feels the shocks 
 From which no care can save. 
 
 And, partner once of Tiney's box. 
 Must soon partake his grave. 
 
 William Cotvper. 
 
218 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE MONKEY. 
 
 Look now at his odd grimaces, 
 Saw you e'er such comic faces ? 
 Now like learned judge sedate. 
 Now with nonsense in his pate. 
 
 Look now at him. Shly peep. 
 He pretends he is asleep — 
 Fast asleep upon his bed, 
 With his arm beneath his h'.ad. 
 
 Ha ! he is not half asleep. 
 See, he shly takes a peep ! 
 Monkey, though yoirr eyes are shut, 
 You could see this little nut. 
 
 There, the little ancient man 
 Cracks as fast as e'er he can ; 
 Now, good-bye, you funny fellow. 
 Nature's primest Punchinello ! 
 
 Mary Howitl. 
 
 liAMBS AT PliAY. 
 
 Say, ye that know, ye who have felt 
 
 and seen 
 Spring's morning smiles and soul- 
 
 enhvening green, 
 Say, did you give the thrilling transport 
 
 way ? 
 Did your eye brighten, when young 
 
 lambs at ])!ay 
 Leaped o'er your path with animated 
 
 pride. 
 Or gazed in meri-y clusters by your 
 
 side ? 
 Ye who can smile — to wisdom no dis- 
 grace. 
 At the arch meaning of a kitten's face : 
 If spotless innocence, and infant mirth. 
 Excites to praise or gives reflection 
 
 birth ; 
 In shades like these pursue your 
 
 favourite joy, 
 'Midst Nature's revels, sports that never 
 
 cloy. 
 A few begin a short but vigorous 
 
 race. 
 And Indolence, abashed, soon flies 
 
 the place : 
 Thus challenged forth, see thither, 
 
 one by one, 
 
 From every side assembhng playmates 
 
 run ; 
 A thousand wily antics mark their 
 
 stay, 
 A starting crowd, impatient of delay : 
 Like the fond dove from fearful prison 
 
 freed. 
 Each seems to say, " Come, let us try 
 
 our speed." 
 Away they scour, impetuous, ardent, 
 
 strong. 
 The green tui'f trembling as they bound 
 
 along ; 
 Adown the slope, then up the hillock 
 
 chmb, 
 Where every molehill is a bed of 
 
 thyme ; 
 There, panting, stop ; yet scarcely 
 
 can refrain, 
 A bird, a leaf, will set them off again : 
 Or, if a gale with strength unusual 
 
 blow. 
 Scattering the wild-briar roses into 
 
 snow. 
 Their httle hmbs increasing efforts 
 
 try, 
 Like the torn flower, the fair assem-_ 
 
 blage fly. 
 Ah, fallen rose ! sad emblem of their 
 
 doom ; 
 Frail as thyself, they perish while they 
 
 bloom 1 
 
 Bobert Bloomfidd. 
 
 THE BliOOD HORSE. 
 
 Gamarka is a dainty steed, 
 
 Strong, black, and of a noble bi'eed. 
 
 Full of fire, and full of bone. 
 
 All his line of fathers known ; 
 
 Fine his nose, his nostrils thin. 
 
 But blown abroad by the pride within I 
 
 His mane, a stormy river flowing. 
 
 And his eyes hke embers glowing 
 
 In the darkne-ss of the night. 
 
 And his pace as swift as light. 
 
 Look — around his straining throat, 
 Crace and shifting beauty float ! 
 Sinewy strength is in his reins, 
 And the red blood gallops through 
 
 his veins. 
 Richer, redder, never ran 
 Through the boasting heart of man. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 219 
 
 He can trace his lineage hiulicr 
 Than the Boiii) on dare aspire. — • 
 Douglas, Guznu u, or the Guelpli, 
 Or O'Brien's blood itself ! 
 
 He, who hath no peer, was born, 
 Here, upon a red Slarch morn ; 
 l>ut his famous fathers dead 
 Were Arabs all, and Arab bred. 
 And the last of that great line 
 Trod like one of race divine ! 
 And yet — he was but friend to one, 
 Who fed him at the set of sun, 
 J3y some lone fountain fringed with 
 
 green : 
 With him, a roving Bedouin, 
 He lived (none else would he obey 
 Through all the hot Arabian day). — 
 And died untamed, upon the sands 
 Where Balkh amidst the desert stands ! 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 THE SaUIRREIi. 
 
 " The squirrel is happy, the squirrel 
 is gay," 
 Little Henry exclaim'd to his 
 brother ; 
 " He has nothing to do or to think of 
 but play. 
 And to jump from one bough to 
 another." 
 
 But William was older and wiser, and 
 knew 
 That all play and no work would not 
 answer. 
 So he ask'd what the squirrel in winter 
 must do, 
 If he spent all the summer a dancer. 
 
 " The squirrel, dear Harry, is merry and 
 wise, 
 For true wisdom and mirth go to- 
 gether ; 
 He lays up in summer his winter 
 supplies. 
 And then he don't mind the cold 
 weather."' 
 
 litrnard liarlon. 
 
 THE SQUIRREIj. 
 Drawn from his refuge in some lonely 
 
 elm 
 That age or injmy hath hollowed 
 
 deep. 
 
 Where, in his bed of wool and matted 
 
 leaves. 
 He has outslept the winter, ventures 
 
 forth 
 To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm 
 
 sun : 
 He sees me, and at once, swift as a 
 
 bird, 
 The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full ot 
 
 play. 
 
 Ascends the neighbouring beech : there 
 
 whisks his brush. 
 And perks his ears, and stamps and 
 
 cries aloud. 
 With all the prettiness of feigned alarm 
 And anger insignificantly fierce.. 
 
 William Cotvper. 
 
 THE CAMEL. 
 
 Camel, thou art good and mild. 
 Might' st be guided by a child ; 
 Thou wast made for usefulness, 
 ]\Ian to comfort and to bless : 
 Thou dost clothe him ; thou dost 
 
 feed ; 
 Thou dost lend to him thy speed ; 
 And through wilds of tractless sand, 
 In the hot Arabian land. 
 Where no rock its shadow throws, 
 AV'here no cooling water flows. 
 Where the hot air is not stirred 
 By the wing of singing bird ; 
 There thou goest, untired and meek, 
 Day by day, and week by week, 
 AVitli thy load of precious things — 
 Silks for merchants, gold for kings. 
 Pearls of Ormuz, riches rare. 
 Damascene and Indian ware — 
 Bale on bale, and heap on heap — 
 Freighted like a costly ship ! 
 And when week by week is gone. 
 And the traveller journeys on 
 Feebly ; when his strength is fled. 
 And his hope and heart seem dead. 
 Camel, thou dost turn thine eye 
 On him kindly, soothingly. 
 As if thou wouldst, cheering, say, 
 " .fourney on for this one day — 
 Do not let thy heart despond I 
 There is water j'et beyoncl ! 
 1 can scent it in the air — 
 Do not let thy heart despair ! " 
 And thou guids't the traveller there. 
 
 Mary Ilowitl. 
 
220 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE Lioisr. 
 
 Lion, thou art girt with might f 
 King by uncontested right ; 
 Strength, and majesty, and pride. 
 Are in thee personified ! 
 Slavish doubt, or timid fear. 
 Never came thy spirit near ; 
 What is it to fly, or bow 
 To a mightier than thou. 
 Never has been known to thee. 
 Creature, terrible and free ! 
 
 Power the mightiest gave the Lion, 
 Sinews hke to bands of iron ; 
 Gave him force which never failed ; 
 Gave a heart that never quailed. 
 Triple-mailed coat of steel, 
 Plates of brass from head to heel. 
 Less defensive were in wearing. 
 Than the Lion's heart of daring ; 
 Nor could towers of strength impart 
 Trust like that which keeps his heart. 
 
 When he sends his roaring forth. 
 Silence falls upon the earth ; 
 For the creatures, great and small. 
 Know his terror-breathing call ; 
 And, as if by death pursued, 
 Leave him to a soUtude. 
 
 Lion, thou art made to dwell 
 In hot lands, intractable. 
 And thyself, the sun, the sand. 
 Are a tyrannous triple band ; 
 Lion-king and desert throne. 
 All the region is your own ! 
 
 Mary HotvitL 
 
 THE TIGEB. 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
 In the forests in the night, 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? 
 
 In what distant deeps or skies 
 Biurnt the fire of thine eyes ? 
 On what wings dare he aspire ? 
 What the hand dare seize the fire ? 
 
 And what shoulder and what art, 
 Could twist the sinews of thy heart ? 
 
 And when thy heart began to beat. 
 What dread hand ? and what dread 
 feet? 
 
 What the hammer ? what the chain ? 
 In what furnace was thy brain ? 
 What the anvil ? what dread grasp 
 Dares its deadly terrors clasp ? 
 
 When the stars threw down their spears. 
 And water'd heaven with their tears. 
 Did he smile his work to see ? 
 Did he who made the lamb make thee ? 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 
 In the forests of the night. 
 What immortal hand or eye 
 Dare frame thy symmetry ? 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE GIBIi AND HEB FAWN". 
 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first 
 
 I it at my fingers nursed ; 
 
 And as it grew, so every day 
 
 It wax'd more white and sweet than 
 
 they :— 
 It had so sweet a breath ! and oft 
 I blush'd to see its foot more soft 
 And white, — shall I say, — than my 
 
 hand ? 
 Nay, any lady's of the land ! 
 It is a wondrous thing how fleet 
 'Twas on those Mttle silver feet : 
 With what a pretty skipping grace 
 It oft would challenge me the race : — 
 And when 't had left me far away 
 'Twould stay, and run again, and 
 
 stay : 
 For it was nimbler much than hinds. 
 And trod as if on the four winds. 
 
 I have a garden of my own, 
 
 But so with roses overgrown 
 
 And lihes, that you would it guess 
 
 To be a little wilderness : 
 
 And all the spring-time of the year 
 
 It only loved to be there. 
 
 Among the bed of lilies I 
 
 Have sought it oft, where it should 
 
 he; 
 Yet could not, till itself would rise. 
 Find it, although before mine eyes : — 
 For in the flaxen hhes' shad 
 It hke a bank of hhes laid. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 221 
 
 Upon the roses it would feed. 
 Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed : 
 And then to me 'twould boldly trip. 
 And print those roses on my lip. 
 But all its chief delight was still 
 On roses thus itself to fill, 
 And its pure virgin limbs to fold 
 In whitest sheets of lilies cold : — 
 Had it lived long, it would have been 
 LiUcs without, — roses within. 
 
 Andrew 31 ar veil. 
 
 THE KID. 
 
 A TEAR bedews my Delia's eye 
 To think yon playful kid must die ; 
 From crystal spring and flowery mead 
 Must, in his prime of hfe, recede. 
 
 Erewhile in sportive circles, round 
 She saw him wheel, and frisk, and 
 
 bound ; 
 From rock to rock pursue his way. 
 And on the fearful margin play. 
 
 Pleased on his various freaks to dwell. 
 She saw him climb my rustic cell ; 
 Thence eye my lawns with verdure 
 
 bright. 
 And seem all ravished at the sight. 
 
 She tells with what delight he stood 
 To trace his footsteps in the flood : 
 Then skipped aloof with quaint amaze. 
 And then drew near again to gaze. 
 
 She tells me how with eager speed. 
 He flew to bear my vocal reecl ; 
 And how with critic face profound, 
 And steadfast ear, devoured the sound. 
 
 His every froHc, hght as air. 
 Deserves the gentle Delia's care ; 
 And tears bedew her tender eye 
 To think the playful kid must die. 
 
 William Shenslone. 
 
 SING ON, BLITHE BIRD ! 
 
 I've plucked the berry from the bush, 
 the brown nut from the tree, 
 
 But heart of happy little bird ne'er 
 broken was by me- 
 
 I saw them in their curious nests, 
 
 close couching, slyly peer 
 With their wild eyes, hke glittering 
 
 beads, to note if harm were near ; 
 I passed them by, and blessed them all ; 
 
 I felt that it was good 
 To leave unmoved the creatures small 
 
 whose home was in the wood. 
 
 And here, even now, above my head, a 
 
 lusty rouge doth sing ; 
 He pecks his swelling breast and neck, 
 
 and trims his little wing. 
 He will not fly ; he Icnows full well, 
 
 while chirping on that spray, 
 I would not hai-m him for a world, or 
 
 interrupt his lay. 
 Sing on, sing on, blithe bird ! and fill 
 
 my heart with summer gladness ; 
 It has been aching many a day with 
 
 measures full of sadness ! 
 
 WiUiam Motherwell. 
 
 THE BIRD. 
 
 A Nursery Song. 
 
 " BiRDFE, Birdie, will you pet ? 
 Sununer-time is far away yet. 
 You'll have silken quilts and a velvet 
 
 bed. 
 And a pillow of satin for your head ! " 
 
 "I'd rather sleep in the ivy wall ; 
 No rain comes through, tho' I hear it 
 
 fall; 
 The sun peeps gay at dawn of day. 
 And I sing, and wing away, away ! " 
 
 " Oh, Birdie, Birdie, will you pet ? 
 Diamond-stones and amber and jet 
 We'll string for a necklace fair and fine. 
 To please this pretty bird of mine!" 
 
 " O thanks for diamonds, and thanks 
 
 for jet, 
 But here is something daintier yet — 
 A feather-necklace round and round. 
 That I wouldn't sell for a thousand 
 
 pound 1 " 
 
 " Oh, Birdie, Birdie, won't you pet 7 
 We'll buy you a dish of silver fret, 
 A golden cup and an ivory seat. 
 And carpets soft beneath your feet." 
 
222 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " Can rnnning water be drunk from 
 
 gold ? 
 Can a silver dish the forest hold ? 
 A rocking twig is the finest chair. 
 And the softest paths lie through the 
 
 air^ 
 (j!ood-bye, good-bye to my lady fair ! " 
 
 William Allinoham. 
 
 Or haply, as the branches wave. 
 The little round of tender bills 
 
 Is raised, the due repast to crave 
 Of her who all their memory lills. 
 
 John Keble. 
 
 THE CAGED BIBD. 
 
 Oh ! M'ho would keep a little bird 
 
 confined 
 When cowshp-bells and nodding in the 
 
 wind. 
 When every hedge as with " gooil- 
 
 morrow " rings, 
 And, heard from wood to wood, the 
 
 blackbird sings ? 
 Oh ! who would keep a little bird 
 
 confined 
 In his cold wiry prison ? — Let him fly. 
 And hear him sing, " How sweet is 
 
 liberty ! " 
 
 William Lisle Bowles. 
 
 THE liARK AND THE 
 
 NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the merry lark. 
 
 That bidrf a blithe good-morrow ; 
 But sweeter to hark, in the twinkling 
 dark. 
 
 To the soothing song of son-ow. 
 O Xi'^^itingale ! what doth she ail ? 
 
 And is she sad or jolly ? 
 For ne'er on earth was sound of mirth 
 
 So hke to melancholy. 
 
 The merry lark, he soars on high, 
 
 Xo worldly thought o'ertakes him ; 
 He sings aloud to the clear blue sky. 
 
 And the daylight that awakes him. 
 As sweet a lay, as loud, as gay. 
 
 The nightingale is trilling ; 
 With feeling bliss, no less than his. 
 
 Her little heart is thrillinsr. 
 
 THE BIBD'S NEST. 
 
 Behold the treasure of the nest. 
 The winged mother's hope and 
 pride : 
 See how they court her downy breast. 
 How soft they slumber, side by 
 side. 
 
 Strong is the life that nestles there. 
 But into motion and deUght 
 
 It may not burst, till soft as air 
 
 It feel Love's brooding, timely might. 
 
 Now steal once more across the lawn. 
 Stoop gently through the Cyprus 
 bough. 
 And mark which way life's feelilo 
 dawn 
 Works in their little hearts, and 
 how 
 
 Still closer and closer, as you pry, 
 They nestle 'neath their motlur's 
 plume. 
 
 Or with a faint forlorn half-cry. 
 Shivering bewail her empty room. 
 
 Yet ever and anon, a sigh 
 
 Peers through her lavish mirtli ; 
 For the lark's bold song is of the sky, 
 
 And her's is of the earth. 
 By day and night she tunes her lay, 
 
 To drive away all sorrow ; 
 For bliss, alas ! to-night must pass. 
 
 And woe may come to-morrow. 
 
 Hartley Colcridye. 
 
 THE SKYLABK. 
 
 Bird of the wilderness, 
 15111 hcr^ome and cumberless, 
 
 Sweet ho thy matin o'er moorland and 
 lea! 
 Emblem of happiness. 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
 
 Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay and loud. 
 Far in the downy cloud 
 Love gives it energy, love gave it 
 birth 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 22o 
 
 Where, on thy dewy wing. 
 Where art tliou journej'ing ? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on 
 earth. 
 
 O'er fell and fountain sheen, 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green. 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the 
 day, 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim, 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim, 
 Musical cherub, roar, singing, away ! 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes. 
 Low in the heather blooms 
 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of 
 love be ! 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
 
 Oh to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 James Hogg. 
 
 TO A SKYLARK. 
 
 Hail to thee, bhthe spirit ! 
 
 Bird thou never wert. 
 That from heaven, or near it, 
 Pourest thy full heart 
 In profuse strains of unpremeditated 
 art. 
 
 Higher still and higher 
 
 From the earth thou springest 
 Like a cloud of fire ; 
 
 The blue deep thou wingest 
 And singing still dost soar, and soaring 
 ever singest. 
 
 In the golden lightning 
 
 Of the sunken sun. 
 O'er which clouds are l)ri.:^htening. 
 Thou dost float and run ; 
 Like an unbodied joy whose race is 
 just begun. 
 
 Tile pale purple even 
 
 -Melts around thy flight : 
 Li ke a star of heaven. 
 In the broad dayhght 
 Thou art imseen, but yet I hear thy 
 shrill dehght. 
 
 Keen as are the arrows 
 Of that silver sphere 
 
 Whose intense lamp narrows 
 In the white dawn clear. 
 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is 
 there. 
 
 All the earth and air 
 
 With thy voice is loud. 
 As, when night is bare. 
 From one lonely cloud 
 The moons rains out her beams, and 
 heaven is overflowed. 
 
 What thou art we know not ; 
 
 What is most Uke thee ? 
 From rainbow clouds there flow not 
 Drops so bright to see. 
 As from thy presence showers a rain ot 
 melody. 
 
 Like a poet hidden 
 
 In the hght of thought. 
 Singing hymns unbidden. 
 Till the world is wrought 
 To sympathy with hopes and fears it 
 heeded not : 
 
 Like a high-born maiden 
 
 In a palace tower. 
 Soothing her love-laden 
 Soul in secret hour 
 With music sweet as love, which over- 
 flows her bower : 
 
 Like a glow-worm golden 
 
 In a dell of dew. 
 Scattering unbeholden 
 Its at^rial hue 
 Among the flowers and grass, which 
 screen it from the view : 
 
 Like a rose embowered 
 
 In its own green leaves. 
 By warm winds deflowered. 
 Till the scent it gives 
 Makes faint with too much sweet these 
 heavy-winged thieves : 
 
 Sound of vernal showei's 
 
 On the twinkling grass. 
 Rain -awakened flowers. 
 All that ever was 
 Joyous and clear, and fresh, thy music 
 iloth surpass : 
 
 Teach us, sprite or bird. 
 
 What sweet thoughts are thine • 
 I have never beard 
 
224 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Praise of love or wine 
 Tliat panted forth a flood of rapture 
 so divine. 
 Chorus Hymeneal, 
 
 Or triumphal chaunt. 
 Matched with thine would be all 
 But an empty vaunt, 
 A thing wherein we feel there is some 
 hidden want. 
 
 What objects are the fountains 
 
 Of thy happy strain ? 
 What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 
 What shapes of sky or plain ? 
 What love of thine own kind ? what 
 ignorance of pain ? 
 
 With thy clear keen joyance 
 
 Languor cannot be : 
 Shadow of annoyance 
 Never came near thee : 
 rhou lovest : but ne'er knew love's 
 sad satiety. 
 
 Waking or asleep. 
 
 Thou of death must deem 
 Things more true and deep 
 Than we mortals dream. 
 Or how could thy notes flow in such 
 a crystal stream ? 
 
 We look before and after 
 
 And pine for what is not : 
 Our sincerest laughter 
 
 With some pain is fraught ; 
 Our sweetest songs are those that tell 
 of saddest thought. 
 
 Yet if we could scorn 
 
 Hate, and pride, and fear ; 
 If we were things born 
 Not to shed a tear, 
 I know not how thy joy we ever should 
 come near. 
 
 Better than all measures 
 
 Of delightful sound, 
 Better than all treasures 
 That in books are found. 
 Thy skill to poet were, thou scomer 
 of the ground ! 
 
 Teach me half the gladness 
 
 That my brain must know. 
 Such harmonious madness 
 
 From my lips would flow. 
 The world sliould listen, then as I am 
 listening now 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 O Blackbird ! sing me something 
 well : 
 While all the neighbours shoot thee 
 
 round, 
 I keep smooth plats of fruitful 
 ground. 
 Where thou may'st warble, eat, and 
 dwell. 
 
 The espaliers and the standards all 
 Are thine ; the range of lawn and 
 
 park. 
 The unnetted black-hearts ripen 
 dark. 
 All thine, against the garden wall. 
 
 Yet, tho' I spared ye all the spring. 
 Thy sole delight is, sitting still. 
 With that gold dagger of thy bill 
 
 To fret the summer jenneting. 
 
 A golden bill ! the silver tongue. 
 Cold February loved, is dry : 
 Plenty corrupts the melody 
 
 That made thee famous once, when 
 young. 
 
 And in the sultry garden-squares. 
 Now thy flute-notes are changed to 
 
 coarse, 
 I hear thee not at all, or hoarse 
 
 As when a hawker hawks his wares. 
 
 Take warning ! he that will not sing 
 While yon sun prospers in the blue, 
 Shall sing for want, ere leaves are 
 new. 
 
 Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 MY DOVES. 
 
 My little doves have left a nest 
 
 Upon an Indian tree. 
 Whose leaves fantastic take their rest 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 226 
 
 Or motion from the sea ; 
 For, ever there the sca-M-inds go 
 With siinHt paces to and fro. 
 
 The tropic flowers looked up to it. 
 The tropic stars looked down. 
 
 And there my little doves did sit 
 With feathers softly brown. 
 
 And glittering eyes that showed their 
 right 
 
 To general Nature's deep delight. 
 
 yiy little doves were ta'en away 
 From that glad nest of theirs. 
 
 Across an ocean rolling grey. 
 And tempest-clouded airs. 
 
 .My little doves who lately knew 
 
 The sky and wave by warmth and 
 blue. 
 
 And now, within the city prison 
 
 In mist and chillness pent, 
 With sudden upward look they listen 
 
 For sounds of ))ast content. 
 For lapse of water, smell of breeze, 
 Ur nut-fruit falling from the trees. 
 
 Elizabeth Banelt Browning. 
 
 "I HAD A DOVE." 
 
 I HAD a dove, and the sweet dovo 
 
 died ; 
 And I have thought it died of 
 
 grieving ; 
 0, what could it grieve for ? Its feet 
 
 were tied 
 With a ribbon thread of my own 
 
 hand's weaving. 
 Sweet httle red feet ! why should you 
 
 die ? 
 Why would you leave me, sweet bird ! 
 
 why? 
 You lived alone in the forest tree : 
 Why, pretty thing ! would you not 
 
 live with me ? 
 I kissed you oft and gave you white 
 
 peas ; 
 Why not Uve sweetly, as in the green 
 trees ? 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 THE DEAD SPARKOW. 
 Tell me not of joy ! there's none 
 Now my little sparrow's gone : 
 
 He just as you. 
 Would sigh and woo. 
 He would chirp and Hatter me ; 
 He would hang the wing awhile — 
 Till at length he saw me smile : 
 Oh ! how sullen he would be I 
 
 He would catch a crumb, and then 
 Sporting, let it go again ; 
 He from my hp 
 Would moisture sip ; 
 He would fiom my trencher feed ; 
 Then would hop, and then would run, 
 And cry " phillip " when he'd done ! 
 Oh ! whose heart can choose but 
 bleed ? 
 
 Oh ! how eager would he fight, 
 And ne'er hurt, though he did bite ! 
 No morn did pass. 
 But on my glass 
 He would sit, and mark and do 
 What I did ; now ruffle all 
 His feathers o'er, now let them fall : 
 And then straightway sleek them too. 
 
 Where will Cupid get his darts 
 Feathered now, to pierce our hearts 
 Now this faithful bird is gone ; 
 Oh ! let mournful turtles join 
 With loving red- breasts, and com- 
 bine 
 To sing dirges o'er his stone ! 
 
 William CartmrigJU. 
 
 SPARROWS, SELF- 
 DOMESTICATED. * 
 
 IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 XoNE ever shared the social feast, 
 Or as an inmate or a guest. 
 Beneath the celebrated dome, 
 Where once Sir Isaac had his home, 
 W'ho saw not (and with some delight 
 Perhaps he viewed the novel sight) 
 How numerous, at the tables there. 
 The sparrows beg their daily fare. 
 For there, in every nook and cell. 
 Where such a family may dwell, 
 Sure as the vernal season comes 
 Their nest they weave in hope of 
 
 crumbs. 
 Which, kindly given, may serve with 
 
 food 
 Convenient their unfeathered brood ! 
 
 * from tlie Latin ol Yiucent Bo anie 
 
 *5 
 
226 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And oft, as with its summons clear 
 The warning bell salutes their ear, 
 Sagacious listeners to the sound. 
 They flock from all the fields around. 
 To reach the hospitable hall. 
 None more attentive to the call. 
 Arrived, the pensionary band, 
 Hopping and chirping close at hand 
 Solicit what they soon receive, 
 The sprinkled, plenteous donative. 
 Thus is a multitude, though large. 
 Supported at a trivial charge ; 
 A single doit would overpay 
 The expenditure of every day. 
 And who can grudge so small a grace 
 To suppliants, natives of the place ? 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 TO A HEDGE-SPABROW. 
 
 Little flutt'rer ! swifter flying. 
 Here is none to harm thee near ; 
 
 Kite, nor hawk, nor school-boy prying ; 
 Little flutt'rer ! cease to fear. 
 
 One who would protect thee ever, 
 From the school-boy, kite and hawk. 
 
 Musing, now obtrudes, but never 
 Dreamt of plunder in his walk. 
 
 He no weasel, steahng slyly, 
 
 Woidd permit thy eggs to take ; 
 
 Nor the polecat, nor the wily 
 Adder, nor the writhed snake. 
 
 May no cuckoos, wandering near thee. 
 Lay her egg within thy nest ; 
 
 Nor thy young ones, born to cheer thee. 
 Be destroyed by such a guest ! 
 
 Little flutt'rer ! swiftly flying. 
 Here is none to harm thee near ; 
 
 Kite, nor hawk, nor school- boy prying ; 
 Little flutt'rer ! cease to fear. 
 
 THE N-IQHTINGALE. 
 
 As it fell upon a day 
 In the merry month of May, 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow and plants did spring, 
 
 Everything did banish moan, 
 
 Save the Nightingale alone. 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Lean'd her breast against a thorn. 
 
 And there sung the dolefullest ditty 
 
 That to hear it was great pity. 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry ; 
 
 Tereu, Tereu, by and b}' : 
 
 That to hear her so complain 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shewn 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 — Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in 
 
 vain. 
 None takes pity on thy pain : 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee ; 
 Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer 
 
 thee ; 
 King Pandion, he is dead. 
 All thy friends are lapp'd in lead. 
 All thy fellow birds do sing 
 Careless of th}' sorrowing. 
 Even so, poor bird, hke thee 
 None alive will pity me. 
 
 Bichard Bdnijivhl. 
 
 ODE TO THE CTTCKOO. 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove ! 
 
 Thou messenger of spring ! 
 Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat. 
 
 And woods thy welcome sing. 
 
 What time the daisy decks the green. 
 Thy certain voice we hear ; 
 
 Hast thou a star to guide thy path. 
 Or mark the rolhng 3'ear ? 
 
 Delightful visitant, with thee 
 
 I hail the time of flowers, 
 And hear the soimd of music sweet 
 
 From birds among the bowers. 
 
 The school-boy wandering through the 
 wood 
 
 To pull the primrose gay. 
 Starts the new voice of spring to hear, 
 
 And imitates the lay. 
 
 What time the pea puts on the bloom 
 
 Thou flicst tiiy vocal vale 
 An annual guest in other laiuls, 
 
 Another spring to hail. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 227 
 
 Sweet bird, thy bower is ever green, 
 
 Thy sky is ever clear ; 
 Tliou hast no sorrow in thy song. 
 
 No winter in thy year ! 
 
 O ootikl I fly, I'd fly with tliee ! 
 
 VV'e'il make with joyous wing, 
 Onr annual visit o'er the globe. 
 
 Companions of the spring 
 
 Michael Bruce. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOO. 
 
 O BLITHE new-comer ! I liave heard, 
 
 I hear thee and rejoice. 
 O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee Bird, 
 
 f)r but a wandering Voice ? 
 
 While I am lying on the grass 
 
 Thy twofold shout I hear ; 
 From hill to hill it seems to pass. 
 
 At once far oft' and near. 
 
 '{'hough babbling only, to the vale, 
 Of sunshine and of flowers. 
 
 Thou bringest unto me a tale 
 Of visionary hours. 
 
 Thrice ■welcome, darling of the Spring ! 
 
 Even yet thou art to me 
 No Bird, but an invisible Thing, 
 
 A voice, a mystery. 
 
 The same whom iii my Schoolboy days 
 
 I listened to ; that cry 
 Whic-h made me look a thousand ways. 
 
 In bush, and tree, and sky. 
 
 To seek thee did I often rove 
 
 'i'iirough woods and on the green. 
 
 And thou wert still a hope, a love, 
 Still longed for, never seen. 
 
 And I can hsten to thee yet ; 
 
 Can lie upon the plain 
 And listen till I do beget 
 
 'J'hat golden time again. 
 
 O blessed Bird ; the earth we pace 
 
 Again appears to be 
 An unsubstantial, faery place. 
 
 That is fit home for Thct^ ! 
 
 William Wurdsuorth. 
 
 THE BIRDS OF TASSAGE. 
 
 Birds, joyous binls of the wandering 
 
 • wing ! 
 
 Whence is it ye come with the flowers 
 
 of spring ? 
 — " \\q come from the shores of the 
 
 grecni old Nile, 
 From the land where the roses of 
 
 Sliaron smile. 
 From the palms that wave throu'ih 
 
 the Indian sky, 
 From the myrrh-trees of glowing 
 
 Araby. 
 
 " We have swept o'er cities in song 
 
 renowned, 
 Silent they lie witli the desert round ! 
 We have crossed tlie proud rivers 
 
 whose tide hath rolled 
 All (lark with the warrior-blood of old ; 
 And each woi-n wing hath regained 
 
 its home 
 Under peasant's roof or monarch's 
 
 dome." 
 
 And what have ye found in the mon- 
 arch's dome. 
 
 Since last ye traversed the blue sea's 
 foam ? 
 
 — " We have found a change ; — we have 
 found a pall, 
 
 And a gloom o'ershadowing the ban- 
 quet hall ; 
 
 And a mark on the floor as of life- 
 drops si)iit ; — 
 
 Nought looks the same save tiie nest 
 w^e built." 
 
 Oh ! joyous birds, it hath ever been 
 
 so ; 
 T'hiough the halls of kings doth th.e 
 
 tempest go, 
 But the huts of hamlets lie still and 
 
 deep, 
 And the hills o'er th.cir quiet, a vigil 
 
 keep : — 
 Say, wha-t have ye found in the 
 
 peasant's cot 
 Since last ye parted from that sweet 
 
 spot ? 
 
 " .A change we have found then-, and 
 
 many a change, 
 Faces and footstejis, and all things 
 
 strange ; 
 
 15* 
 
228 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Gone are the heads of the silvery hair. 
 And the young that Avere have a brow 
 
 of care ; 
 And the place is hushed where the' 
 
 children played ; 
 N'ought looks the same save the nest we 
 
 made." 
 
 Sad is your tale of the beautiful 
 earth. 
 
 Birds that o'ersweep it in po\\'er and 
 mirth ; 
 
 Yet through the wastes of the track- 
 less air 
 
 Ye have a guide, and shall ive despair ? 
 
 Ye over desert and deep have passed. 
 
 So may we reach our bright home 
 at last. 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hetnans. 
 
 THE FIRST SWAIiliOW. 
 
 The gorse is yellow on the lieath ; 
 
 The banks with speed-well flowers 
 are gay ; 
 The oaks are budding, and beneath, 
 The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath. 
 
 The silver wreath of May. 
 
 The welcome guest of settled spring. 
 
 The swallow, too, is come at last ; 
 Just at svinset, when thrushes sing, 
 I saw her dash with rapid wing, 
 And hailed her as she passed. 
 
 Come, summer visitant, attach 
 To mj' reed roof your nest of clay. 
 
 And let my ear your music catch, 
 I^ow twittering underneath the 
 
 thatch. 
 At the grey dawn of day. 
 
 Charlotte Smith. 
 
 THE SWALIiOW. 
 
 Swallow ! that on rapid wing 
 Swecp'st along in sportive ring, 
 Now here, now there, now low, now 
 
 high. 
 Chasing keen the painted fly : — 
 Could r skim away with thee 
 Over land and over sea. 
 
 What streams would flow, what cities 
 
 rise ! 
 What landscapes dance before mine 
 
 eyes ! 
 First from England's southern shore 
 'Cross the channel we would soar. 
 And our venturous course advance 
 To the plains of sprightly France ; 
 Sport among the feathered choir 
 On the verdant banks of Loire ; 
 Skim Garonne's majestic tide. 
 Where Bordeaux adorns his ride; 
 Cross the towering Pjnrenees, 
 'IVIid myi'tle grove and orange trees ; 
 Enter then the wild domain 
 Where wolves prowl round the flocks 
 
 of Spain, 
 Where silkworms spin, and olives grow. 
 And mules plod surely on and slow. 
 Steering thus for many a day 
 Far to south our course away. 
 From Gibraltar's rocky steep. 
 Dashing o'er the foaming deep. 
 On sultry Afric's fruitful shore 
 We'd rest at length, our journey o'er, 
 Till vernal gales should gently play. 
 To waft us on our homeward way. 
 
 I/acy Aikin. 
 
 THE S"WALIiOW AND RED- 
 BREAST. 
 
 The swallows, at the close of day. 
 When autumn shone wath fainter i-a}% 
 Around the chimney circling flew, 
 Ei'c yet they bade a long adieu 
 Tu climes, where soon the winter drear 
 Sliould close an uurejoicmg year. 
 NoW' with swift wing they skim aloof, 
 Now settle on the crowded roof, 
 As counsel and advice to take, 
 Ere they the chilly north forsake ; — 
 Then one, disdainful, turned his eye 
 Upon a red-breast twittering nigh. 
 And thus began with taimting scorn : — 
 " Thou household imp, obscure, forlorn. 
 Through the deep winter's dreary day. 
 Here, dull and shivering, shalt thou 
 
 stay. 
 Whilst we, who make the world our 
 
 home. 
 To softer climes impatient roam. 
 Where summer still on some green isle 
 Rests, with her sweet and lovely smile. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 229 
 
 Thus, speeding far and far away, 
 We leave behind the shortening day." 
 
 " 'Tis true," the red-breast answered 
 
 meek, 
 " No other scenes I ask, or seek ; 
 To every cliange alike resigned, 
 I fear not the cold winter's wind. 
 When spring returns, the circling year 
 Shall find me still contented here ; 
 But whilst my warm affections rest 
 W'ithin the circle of my nest, 
 I learn to pity those that roam, 
 And love the more my humble liome." 
 
 Williatit, Lisle Buwles. 
 
 He is the friend of our summer glad- 
 ness ; 
 What hinders then that ye should be 
 Playmates in the sunny weather. 
 And fly about in the air together ? 
 His beautiful wings in crimson are drest, 
 
 A crimson as bright as thine own : 
 If thou wouldst be happy in thy nest, 
 O pious bird ! whom man loves best. 
 
 Love him, or leave him alone ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON" A ROBIN- 
 REDBREAST 
 
 Tpead lightly here, for here, 'tis said. 
 When piping winds are hush'd around, 
 A small note wakes from underground. 
 Where now his tiny bones are laid. 
 Nor more in lone or leafless groves. 
 With ruffled wing and faded breast. 
 His friendless, homeless spirit roves ; 
 Gone to the world where birds are 
 
 blest ! 
 Where never cat glides o'er the green. 
 Or school-boy's giant form is seen ; 
 But love, and joy, and smiling Spring 
 Inspire their little souls to sing ! 
 
 Samuel Ilogera. 
 
 THE REDBREAST CHASINQ A 
 BUTTERFLY. 
 
 Can this be the bird to man so good, 
 That, after their bewildering. 
 Covered w ith leaves the little children 
 
 So painfully in the wood ? 
 
 What ailed thee, Robin, that thou 
 couldst pui-sue 
 
 A beautiful creature 
 
 That is gentle by nature ? 
 
 Beneath the summer sky. 
 
 From flower to flower let him fly ; 
 'Tis all that he wishes to do. 
 
 The chcerer thou of our in-door sadness. 
 
 THE HORNED OWL. 
 
 In the hollow tree in the old grey 
 tower. 
 The spectral owl doth dwell ; 
 Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine 
 hour ; 
 But at dusk he's abroad and well : 
 Not a bird of the forest e'er mates 
 with him ; 
 All mock him outright by day ; 
 But at night, when the woods grow still 
 and dim. 
 The boldest will shrink away. 
 
 O, when the night falls, and roosts 
 
 the fowl. 
 Then, then is the reign of the 
 horned owl ! 
 
 And the owl hath a bride who is fond 
 and bold. 
 And loveth the wood's deep gloom ; 
 And with eyes like the shine of the 
 moonshine cold 
 She awaiteth her ghastly groom ! 
 Not a feather she moves, not a carol 
 she sings. 
 As she waits in her tree so still : 
 But when her heart heareth his flapping 
 wings, 
 She hoots out her welcome shrill ! 
 O, when the moon shines, and dogs 
 
 do howl. 
 Then, then is the joy of the horned 
 owl. 
 
 Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy 
 plight ! 
 The owl hath his share of good : 
 If a prisoner he be in the broad day- 
 light. 
 He is lord in the dark green wood J 
 
230 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Nor lonely the bird, nor his ghastly 
 
 mate ; 
 They are each unto each a pride — - 
 riirice fonder, perhaps, since a strange 
 
 dark fate 
 Hath rent them from all beside ! 
 So when the night falls, and dogs do 
 
 howl. 
 Sing ho ! for the reign of the horned 
 
 owl ! 
 We know not alway who are kings by 
 
 day, 
 But the king of the night is the ))old 
 
 brown owl. 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 One have I mark'd, the happiest guest 
 In all this corner of the blest. 
 Hail to thee, far above the rest 
 
 In joy of voice and pinion, 
 Thovi Linnet ! in thy green array. 
 Presiding spirit here to day. 
 Dost lead the revels of the May, 
 
 And this ia thy dominion. 
 
 Wliile thus before my eyes he gleams, 
 A brother of the leaves he seems, 
 When in a moment forth he teems. 
 
 His little song in gushes : 
 As if it pleas'd him to disdain 
 And mock the form which he did feign. 
 While he was dancing with the train 
 
 Of leaves among the bushes. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE OWL. 
 
 When cats run home and light is 
 come. 
 And dew is cold upon the ground. 
 And the far-off stream is dumb. 
 And the whirring sail goes round. 
 And the whirring sail goes round ; 
 Alone and warming his five wits. 
 The white owl in the belfrj^ sits. 
 
 Wlien merry milkmaids click the latch, 
 And rarely smells the new-mown hay. 
 And the cock hath sung beneath the 
 thatch 
 Twice or thrice his roundelay. 
 Twice or thrice liis roundelay ; 
 Alone and warming his five wits. 
 The wliite owl in the belfry sits. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE GREEN lilWNET. 
 
 that 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs, 
 
 shed 
 Their snow-white blossoms on my liead, 
 With brightest sunshine roimd me 
 spread 
 Of Spring's unclouded weather ; 
 In this sequester'd nook how sweet 
 To sit upon my orchard seat ! 
 And fiowers and birds once more to 
 greet, 
 My last year's friends together. 
 
 A WREN'S NEST. 
 
 Among the dwellings framed by birds 
 In field or forest with nice care. 
 
 Is none that \\SX\\ the little Wi'en's 
 In snugness can compare. 
 
 No door the tenement requires. 
 And seldom needs a laboured roof ; 
 
 Yet is it to the fiercest sun 
 Imper^aous and storm proof. 
 
 So warm, so beautiful withal. 
 In perfect fitness for its aim. 
 
 That to the kind by special grace 
 Their mstinct surely came. 
 
 And when for their abodes they seek 
 
 An opportune recess. 
 The hermit has no finer eye 
 
 For shadowy quietness. 
 
 These find, 'raid ivied abbey-walls, 
 A canopy in some still nook ; 
 
 Others are pent- housed by a brae 
 That overhangs a brook. 
 
 There to the brooding bird, her mate 
 Warbles by fits his low clear song ; 
 
 And by the busy streamlet both 
 Are sung to all day long. 
 
 Or in sequestered lanes they build. 
 When, till the flitting bird's return. 
 
 Her eggs within the nest repose, 
 Like relics in an urn. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 231 
 
 But still, where general choice is good, 
 Tliere is a better and a best ; 
 
 And, among fairest objects, some 
 Are fairer than the rest. 
 
 This, one of those small builders proved 
 In a green covert, where, from out 
 
 The forcliead of a pollard oak, 
 The leafy antlers sprout. 
 
 For Slie who planned the mossy lodge, 
 Mistrusting her evasive skill. 
 
 Had to a Primrose looked for aid 
 Her wishes to fulfil. 
 
 Hitrh on the trunks' projecting brow. 
 And fixed an infant's span above 
 
 Tlie budding flowers, peeped forth the 
 nest, 
 'J'iie prettiest of the grove | 
 
 Tlie treasure proudly did I show 
 
 To some whose minds without disdain 
 
 ( 'an turn to little things ; but once 
 Looked up for it in vain. 
 
 'Tis gone — a rutloless spoiler's prize. 
 Who needs not beauty, love or song, 
 
 'Tis gone ! (so seemed it) and we 
 grieved 
 Indignant at the wrong. 
 
 Just three days after, passing by 
 In cleaner light the moss-built cell 
 
 I saw, espied its shady mouth. 
 And felt that all was well. 
 
 The Primrose for a veil has spread 
 The largest of her upright leaves ; 
 
 And thus for purposes benign, 
 A simple flower deceives. 
 
 Concealed from friends who might 
 disturb 
 
 Thy quiet with no ill intent. 
 Secure from evil eyes and hands, 
 
 Or barbarous plunder bent. 
 
 Rest, Mother-bird ! and when thy 
 
 young 
 Take flight, and thou art free to roam. 
 When withered is the Guardian Flower, 
 And empty thy late home. 
 
 Think how ye prospered, thou and 
 thine. 
 Amid the unviolated grove 
 Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft 
 In foresight, or in love. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 SOIilliOaUY OF A WATER- 
 WAGTAIIi. 
 
 " Hear your sovereign's proclamation, 
 
 All good subjects, young and old ! 
 
 I'm the Lord of the Creation, 
 
 I — a water-wagtail bold ! 
 
 All around, and all you see. 
 
 All the world was made for me ! 
 
 " Yonder sun, so proudly shining. 
 Rises — when I leave my nest ; 
 And, behind the hills declining. 
 Sets — when I retire to rest, 
 ^lorn and evening, thus you see. 
 Day and night, were made for me ! 
 
 " Vernal gales to love invite me ; 
 Summer sheds for me her beams ; 
 Autumn's genial scenes delight me ; 
 Winter paves with ice my streams ; 
 All the year is mine you see. 
 Seasons change like moons for jAie ; 
 
 " On the heads of giant mountains. 
 
 Or beneath the shady trees ; 
 
 By the banks of warbling fountains 
 
 I enjoy myself at ease : 
 
 Hills and valleys, thus you see. 
 
 Groves and rivei's, made for me ! 
 
 " Boundless are my vast dominions ; 
 
 I can hop, or swim, or fly ; 
 
 When I please, my towering pinions 
 
 Trace my empire through the sky : 
 
 Air and elements, you see. 
 
 Heaven and earth, were made for jie ! 
 
 " Birds and insects, beasts and fishes. 
 All their humble distance keep ; 
 Man, subservient to my wishes. 
 Sows the harvest which I reap : 
 INIighty man himself, you see. 
 All that breathe, were made for me | 
 
 " 'Twas for my accoramodatioa 
 Nature rose when I was born ; 
 Should I die — the whole creation 
 
232 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Back to nothing -would return : 
 Sun, moon, stars, the world, you see. 
 Sprung — exist — will fall with me." 
 
 Here the pretty prattler, ending. 
 Spread his wings to soar away ; 
 But a cruel hawk, descending, 
 I'oimced him up — a helpless prey. 
 Couldst thou not, poor wagtail, see 
 That the hawk was made for thee ? 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 TO THE CBOW. 
 
 Say, weary bird, whose level flight, 
 Thus at the dusky hour of night 
 
 Tends through the midnight air. 
 Why yet beyond the verge of day 
 Is lengthened out thy dark delay, 
 
 Adding another to the hours of care ? 
 
 The wren within her mossy nest 
 Has hushed her little brood to rest ; 
 
 The wood wild pigeon, rocked on high, 
 Has cooed his last soft noto of love, 
 And fondly nestles by his dove. 
 
 To guard their downy young from 
 an inclement sky. 
 
 Haste bird, and nurse thy callow brood. 
 They call on heaven and thee for food, 
 
 Bleak — on some cliff's neglected 
 tree ; 
 Haste weary bird, thy lagging flight — 
 It is the chilling hour of night. 
 
 Fit hour of rest for thee. 
 
 To spicy groves, where he had won 
 His plumage of resplendent hue. 
 
 His native fruits, and skies, and suu. 
 He bade adieu. 
 
 For these he changed the smoke of turf 
 A heathery land and misty sky. 
 
 And turned on rocks and raging surf 
 His golden eye. 
 
 But petted, in our climate cold 
 He live and chattered many a day ; 
 Until with age, from green and gold 
 His wings grew grey. 
 
 At last when blind and seeming dumb. 
 He scolded, laughed, and spoke no 
 more, 
 
 A Spanish stranger chanced to come 
 To Mulla's shore. 
 
 He hailed the bird in Spanish speech. 
 The bird in Spanish speech replied. 
 
 Flapped round the cage with joyous 
 screech. 
 Dropped down and died. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 THE PARROT AND THH 
 
 WREN". 
 
 ▲ CONTRAST. 
 I. 
 
 Within her gilded cage confined 
 
 I saw a dazzling Belle, 
 A parrot of that famous kind. 
 
 Whose name is Non-Pareil. 
 
 THE PARROT. 
 
 The deep affections of the breast. 
 That Heaven to Uving things im- 
 parts, 
 
 Arc not exclusively possessed 
 By human hearts. 
 
 A parrot from the Spanish main. 
 Full young, and early caged, came 
 o'er 
 
 With bright wings, to the bleak domain 
 Of Mulla's* shore . 
 
 • MuUa.—The island of Mull, one of the 
 Hebrides. 
 
 Like beads of glossy jet her eyes j 
 And smoothed by Nature's skill. 
 
 With pearl or gleaming agate vies 
 Her finely-curved bill. 
 
 Her plumy mantle's living hues 
 In mass opposed to mass. 
 
 Outshine the splendour that imbues 
 The robes of pictured glass. 
 
 And, sooth to say, an after Mate 
 Did never tempt the choice 
 
 Of feathered thing most delicate 
 In figure and in voice. 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 233 
 
 But, exiled from Australian bowers, 
 
 And singleness her lot, 
 She trills her song with tutored powers. 
 
 Or mocks each casual note. 
 
 No more of pity for regreta 
 
 With which she may have striven J 
 Now but in wantonness she frets, 
 
 Or spite, if cause be given ; 
 
 Arch, volatile, a sportive bird 
 
 By social glee inspired ; 
 Ambitious to be seen or heard, 
 
 And pleased to be admired. 
 
 IL 
 
 This moss-lined shed, green, soft and 
 dry. 
 Harbours a self-contented wren. 
 Not shunning man's abode, tliough shy. 
 Almost as thought itself, of human 
 ken. 
 
 Strange places, coverts uncndeared. 
 She never tired ; the very nest 
 
 In which the Child of Spring was reared. 
 Is warmed, thro' winter by her 
 feathery breast. 
 
 To the bleak winds she sometimes gives 
 A slender unexpected strain ; 
 
 Proof that the hermitess still lives, 
 Though she appear not, and be .sought 
 in vain. 
 
 Say, Dora ! tell me, by yon placid moon, 
 if called to choose between the 
 favoured pair, 
 Which would you be — the bird of the 
 saloon 
 By lady-fingers tended with nice care, 
 Caressed, applauded, upon dainties fed. 
 Or Nature's Darkling of this mossy 
 shed i 
 
 William Wordswort/t^ 
 
 THE DYING SWAN. 
 
 The plain was grassy, wild and bare, 
 Wide, wild, and open to the aii", 
 \V'hich had built up everywhere 
 An under-roof of doleful gray. 
 
 With an inner voice the river ran, 
 Adown it floated a dying swan. 
 
 And loudly did lament. 
 It was the middle of the day. 
 Ever the weary wind went on. 
 
 And took the reed-tops as it went. 
 
 Some blue peaks in the distance rose, 
 And white against the cold-white sky, 
 Shone out their crowning snows. 
 
 One willow over the river wept. 
 And shook the wave as the wind did 
 
 sigh; 
 Above in the ^vind was the swallow. 
 Chasing itself at its own wild will, 
 And far thro' the marish green and 
 still 
 The tangled water-courses slept. 
 Shot over with purple, and green, and 
 yellow. 
 
 The wild swan's death-hymn took the 
 
 soul 
 Of that waste place with joy 
 Hidden in sorrow: at first to the ear 
 The warble was low, and full and clear : 
 And floating about the under sky. 
 Prevailing in weakness, the coronach 
 
 stole 
 Sometimes afar, and sometimes anear. 
 But anon her awful jubilant voice. 
 With a music strange and manifold, 
 Flow'd forth on a carol free and bold 
 A-! when a mighty people rejoice 
 Witli shawms, and with cymbals, and 
 
 harps of gold. 
 And the tumult of their acclaim ia 
 
 roU'd 
 Thro' the open gates of the city afar. 
 To the shepherd who watcheth the 
 
 evening star. 
 
 And the creeping mosses and clamber- 
 ing weeds. 
 
 And the willow-branches hoar and 
 dank. 
 
 And the wavy swell of the soughing 
 reeds. 
 
 And the wave- worn horns of the 
 echoing bank. 
 
 And the silvery marish-flowers that 
 throng 
 
 The desolate creeks and pools among. 
 
 Were flooded over with eddying song. 
 
 Lord Tennyson, 
 
234 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE THBUSH'S NEST. 
 Within a thick and spreading haw- 
 thorn bush, 
 That overhung a mole-hill large and 
 round, 
 I heard from morn to morn a merry 
 thrush 
 Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank 
 the sound 
 With joy ; and oft, an unintruding 
 guest, 
 I watch'd her secret toils from day 
 to day, 
 How true she warp'd the moss to form 
 her nest. 
 And modell'd it within with wool 
 and clay. 
 And bye and bye, like heath-bolls gilt 
 with dew, 
 There lay her shining eggs as bright 
 as flowers. 
 Ink-spotted over, shells of green and 
 blue ; 
 And there I witness'd, in the summer 
 hours, 
 A brood of nature's minstrels chirp 
 and fly. 
 Glad as the sunshine and the laiigh- 
 ing sky. 
 
 John Clare. 
 
 Where on the mighty river banks, 
 
 La Plate and Amazon, 
 The cayman, like an old tree trunk. 
 
 Lies basking in the sun ; 
 
 Tliere builds her nest the Humming- 
 bird, 
 
 Witliin the ancient wood — 
 Her nest of silky cotton do\vn. 
 
 And rears her tiny brood. 
 
 She hangs it to a slender twig. 
 Where waves it light and free. 
 
 As the campanero tolls his song, 
 And rocks the mighty tree. 
 
 All crimson ia her shining breast, 
 
 Like to the red, red rose ; 
 Her wing is the changeful green and blue 
 
 That the neck of the peacock shows. 
 
 Thou, happy, happy Humming-bird, 
 No winter round thee lours ; 
 
 Thou never saw'st a leafless tree. 
 Nor land without sweet flowers. 
 
 A reign of summer joyfulness 
 
 To thee for life is given ; 
 Thy food, the honey from the flower, 
 
 Thy dritik, the dew from heaven ! 
 
 Mary Howilt. 
 
 THE HUMMUrG-BIRD. 
 
 The Humming-bird ! the Humming- 
 bird ! 
 
 So fairy-like and bright ; 
 It lives among the sunny flowers, 
 
 A creature of delight ! 
 
 In the radiant islands of the East, 
 Where fragrant spices grow, 
 
 A thousand, thousand Humming-birds 
 Go glancing to and fi-o. 
 
 Like living fires they flit about. 
 
 Scarce larger than a bee. 
 Among the broad palmetto leaves. 
 
 And through the fan-palm tree. 
 
 And in those wild and verdant woods. 
 Where stately moras tower. 
 
 Where hangs from branching tree to 
 tree 
 The scarlet passion-flower; 
 
 THE GOIiDFINCH STABVED 
 
 IN HIS CAGE. 
 
 Time was when I was free as air. 
 The thistle's downy seed my fare, 
 
 IVIy drink the morning dew ; 
 I perched at will on every spray. 
 My form genteel, my plumage gay, 
 
 My strains for ever new. 
 
 But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain. 
 And form genteel, were all in vain. 
 
 And of a transient date ; 
 For, caught, and caged, and starved to 
 
 death, 
 In dying sighs my little breath 
 
 Soon passed the wiry grate. 
 
 Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes. 
 And thanks for this eflectual close 
 And cure of every ill ! 
 
Insects, Birds, and Beasts. 
 
 235 
 
 Wore cruelty could none express ; 
 And I, if you had shown me less. 
 Had been your prisoner still. 
 
 William Cow per. 
 
 THE 
 
 CHAFFINCH'S 
 SEA. 
 
 NEST AT 
 
 I.v Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare, 
 The history chanced of late — 
 
 The history of a wedded pair, 
 A chaffinch and his mate. 
 
 Tiie spring drew near, each felt a 
 breast 
 With genial instinct filled ; 
 Tlicy paired, and would have built a 
 nest. 
 But found not where to build. 
 
 Tlie heatlis uncovered, and the moors, 
 Except with snow and sleet. 
 
 Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores. 
 Could yield them no retreat. 
 
 Long time a breeding-place they sought. 
 Till both grew vexed and tired ; 
 
 At length a ship arriving brought 
 The good so long desired. 
 
 A ship ! could such a restless thing 
 Afford them place of rest ? 
 
 Or was the merchant charged to bring 
 The homeless birds a nest ? 
 
 Husli ; — silent readers profit most — 
 
 This racer of the sea 
 Proved kinder to tliem tlian the coast, — 
 
 It served them with a tree. 
 
 But such a tree ! 'twas shaven deal, 
 
 The tree they call a mast ; 
 And had a hollow with a wiieel. 
 
 Through which the tackle passed. 
 
 Within that cavity, aloft, 
 Their roofless home they fixed ; 
 
 Formed with materials neat and soft. 
 Bents, wool, and featliers mixed. 
 
 Four ivory eggs sonu pave its floor, 
 With russet specks bedight : 
 
 The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, 
 And lessens to the sight. 
 
 Tlie mother-bird is gone to sea 
 As she had changed her kind ; 
 
 But goes the male ? Far wiser, he 
 Is iloubtless left behind. 
 
 No : — soon as from ashore he saw 
 The winged mansion move, 
 
 He flew to reach it, by a law 
 Of never-failing love ; 
 
 Then percliing at his consort's side, 
 Was briskly borne along ; 
 
 The billows and the blasts defied. 
 And clieered her with a song. 
 
 The seaman, with sincere delight. 
 His feathered shipmate eyes. 
 
 Scarce less exulting in the sight 
 Tlian when he tows a prize. 
 
 For seamen much believe in signs. 
 And, from a chance so new, 
 
 Eacli some approaching good divines ; 
 And may his hopes be true I 
 
 WiUiam Cow par. 
 
 TO A "WATER FOWIi. 
 
 Whither, 'midst falling dew. 
 While glow the heavens with the last 
 
 steps of day. 
 Far through their rosy depths dost 
 thou pursue 
 Thy solitary way ? 
 
 \'ainly the fowler'.'^ eye 
 Might mark tliy distant flight to do 
 
 thee wrong, 
 As, darkly painted on the crimson sky. 
 
 Thy figm-e floats along. 
 
 Seek'st thou the plasiiy brink 
 Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide. 
 Or where the rocking billows rise and 
 suik 
 
 On the chafed ocean side ? 
 
 There is a Power whose care 
 Teaches thy way along that pathless 
 
 coast. 
 The desert and illimitable air, — 
 
 Lone wandering but aot lost. 
 
236 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 All day thy \dngs have fann'd, 
 At that far height the cold thin atmo- 
 sphere. 
 Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome 
 land, 
 Though the dark night is near. 
 
 And soon that toil shall end ; 
 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, 
 
 and rest 
 And scream among thy fellows ; reeds 
 shall bend 
 Soon o'er thy shelter'd nest. 
 
 Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven 
 Hath swallow'd up thy form : yet on 
 
 my heart 
 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast 
 given, 
 And shall not soon depart. 
 
 He, who from zone to zone 
 Guides through the boundless sky thy 
 
 certain flight. 
 In the long way that I must tread alone, 
 
 Will lead my steps aright. 
 
 William CuUen Bryant. 
 
 THE SEA-MEW. 
 
 How joyously the young sea-mew 
 Lay dreaming on the,waters blue, 
 Whereon our little bark had thrown 
 A little shade, the only one. 
 But shadows ever man pursue. 
 
 Familiar with the waves and free 
 As if their own white foam were he, 
 His heart upon the heart of ocean 
 Lay learning all its mystic motion, 
 And throbbing to the tlirobbing sea. 
 
 We were not cruel, yet did sunder 
 His white wing from the blue waves 
 
 under. 
 And bound it while his fearless eyes 
 Shone up to ours in calm surprise. 
 As" deeming us some ocean wonder. 
 
 We bore our ocean bird unto 
 A grassy p.lace where he might view 
 The flowers that curtsey to the bees, 
 The wa\nng of the tall green trees, 
 The falling of the silver dew. 
 
 But flowers of earth were pale to him 
 Who had seen the rainbow fishes swim ; 
 And when earth's dew around him lay. 
 He thought of ocean's winged spray. 
 And his eye waxed sad and dim. 
 
 The green trees round him only made 
 A prison with their darksome shade. 
 And drooped his wing, and mourned he 
 For his own boundless glittering sea — 
 Albeit he knew not they could fade. 
 
 He lay dovra. in his grief to die. 
 (First looldng to the sea-like sky 
 That hath no waves,) because, alas ! 
 Our human touch did on him pass. 
 And, with our touch, our agony. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 THE STOBMY PETBEL. 
 
 A THOUSAND miles from land are we. 
 Tossing about on the roaring sea ; 
 From billow to bounding billow cast. 
 Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast : 
 The sails are scattered abroad like 
 
 weeds ; 
 The strong masts shake like quivering 
 
 reeds ; 
 The mighty cables, and iron chains, 
 The hull, which all earthly strength 
 
 disdains, 
 They strain and they crack, and hearts 
 
 like stone 
 Their natural proud strength disown. 
 
 Up and down ! Up and down ! 
 From the base of the wave to the 
 
 billow's crown, 
 And amidst the flashing and feathery 
 
 foam. 
 The Stormy Petrel finds a home — 
 A home, if such a place may be, 
 For her who lives on the wide, wide sea. 
 On the craggy ice, in the frozen air 
 And only seeketh her rocky lair. 
 To warm her young, and to teach them 
 
 to spring 
 At once o'er the waves on their stormy 
 
 wingl 
 
 Barry CorwmU. 
 
HUMOROUS VERSE 
 
 THE JOVIAIi WELSHMEN". 
 
 There were three jovial Wclsluiieii, 
 As I have heard them say. 
 
 And they would go a-hiinting 
 Upon St David's day. 
 
 All the day they hunted. 
 But nothing could they find ; 
 
 But a ship a-sailing, 
 A-sailing vvith the wind. 
 
 One said it was a ship. 
 
 The other he said nay ; 
 The third said it was a house. 
 
 With the chimney blown away. 
 
 And all the night they hunted. 
 And nothing could they find 
 
 But the moon a-gliding 
 A-gliding with the wind. 
 
 One said it was the inoou. 
 
 The other he said nay ; 
 The otlier said it was a cheese, 
 
 The half o't cut away. 
 
 And all the day they hunted, 
 And nothing could they find 
 
 But a hedgehog in a bramble bush. 
 And that they left behind. 
 
 The first said it was a hedeo-hog. 
 
 The second he said nay : 
 The third it was a pin-cushion 
 
 And the pins stuck in wrong way. 
 
 And all the night they hunted. 
 And nothing could thej' find 
 
 But a hare in a turnip- field. 
 And that they left behind. 
 
 The first said it was a hare. 
 
 The second he said nay ; 
 The third said it was a calf. 
 
 And the cow had run away. 
 
 And all the day they hunted, 
 And nothing could they find 
 
 But an owl in a holly-tree, 
 And that they left behind. 
 
 One said it was an owl. 
 
 The other he said nay ; 
 The third said twas an old man. 
 
 And his beard gi'owing grey. 
 
 CAPTAIIT REECE. 
 
 Of all the ships upon the blue. 
 No ship contained a better crew 
 Than that of worthy Captain Reecb, 
 Commanding of The Mantelpiece. 
 
 He was adored by all his men, 
 Foi- woftiiy Captain Reece, r.n.. 
 Did all tliat lay within him to 
 Promote the comfort of his crew. 
 
 Tf ever they were dull or sad 
 Tlieir captain danced to them like mad. 
 Or told to make the time pass by 
 Droll legends of his infancy. 
 
 A feather bed had every man, 
 ^^'arm slippers and hot-water can. 
 Brown Windsor from the captain's store, 
 A valet, too, to every four. 
 
 Did they with thirst in summer burn 
 IjO ! seltzogenes at every turn. 
 And all on very sultry days 
 Cream ices handed round on trays. 
 
 Then currant wine and ginger pops 
 Stood handily on all the " tops ; " 
 And also, with amusement rife, 
 A " Zoetrope, or Wheel of Life." 
 
238 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 New volumes came across the sea, 
 From Mister Mudie's libiaree ; 
 The Times and Saturday Review 
 Beguiled the leisure of the crew. 
 
 Kindhearted Captain Reece, k.n.. 
 Was quite devoted to his men ; 
 In point of fact, good Captain Reecb 
 Beautified The Mantelpiece. 
 
 One summer eve at half-past ten, 
 He said (addressing all his men) : 
 " Come teU me, please, what I can do 
 To please and gratify my crew. 
 
 " By any reasonable plan 
 I'll make you happy if I can ; 
 My own convenience count as nU : 
 It is my duty and I will." 
 
 Then up and answered William Lee, 
 The kindly captain's coxswain he, 
 A nervous, shy, close-spoken man, 
 He cleared his thi-oat and thus began : 
 
 " You have a daughter,CAPTAiN Reece, 
 Ten female cousins and a niece, 
 A ma, if what I'm told is true. 
 Six sisters, and an aunt or two. 
 
 " Now somehow, sir, it seems to me. 
 More friendly like we all should be, 
 If you united of 'em to 
 Unmarried members of the crew. 
 
 If you'd ameliorate our life, 
 Let each select from them a wife ; 
 And as for nervous me, old pal. 
 Give me your omu enchanting gal ! " 
 
 Good Captain REECE.that wortliy man. 
 Debated on his coxswain's plan : 
 " I quite agree," he said, " Oh ! Bill ; 
 It is my duty, and I will. 
 
 " My daughter, that enchanting gurl. 
 Has just been promised to an earl. 
 And all my other familee 
 To peers of various degree. 
 
 " But what are dukes and viscounts to 
 The happiness of all my crew ! 
 The word I gave I'll fulfil ; 
 It is my duty, and I will. 
 
 " As you desire it shall befall, 
 'HI settle thousands on you all, 
 
 And I shall be despite my hoard, 
 The only bachelor on board." 
 
 The boatswain of The Mantelpiece, 
 He blushed and spoke to Captain 
 
 Reece : 
 *' I beg your honoiu-'s leave," he said, 
 " If you should wish to go and wed, 
 
 " I have a widowed mother who 
 Would be the very thing for you — 
 8he long has loved you afar : 
 She washes for you, Caftain R." 
 
 The Captain saw the dame that day — 
 Addressed her in his playful way : 
 " And did it want a wedding ring ? 
 It was a tempting ickle sing ! 
 
 "Well, well, the chaplain I will seek, 
 We'll all be married this day week, 
 At yonder church upon the hill ; 
 It is my duty, and I will ? " 
 
 The sisters, cousins, aunts, and niece, 
 And widowed ma of Captain Reece, 
 Attended there as they were bid ; 
 It was their duty, and they did. 
 
 If. S. Gilbert. 
 
 AN EliEGY ON THE DEATH 
 OF A MAD DOG 
 
 Good people all, of every sort, 
 
 Give ear unto my song. 
 And if you find it wondrous short, 
 
 It cannot hold you long. 
 
 In Islington there was a man 
 Of whom the world might say, 
 
 Tliat still a godly race he ran. 
 Whene'er he went to pray. 
 
 A kind and gentle heart he had. 
 To comfort friends and foes ; 
 
 The naked every day he clad. 
 When he put on his clothes. 
 
 And in that town a dog was found. 
 
 As many dogs tliere be. 
 Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound 
 
 And curs of low degree. 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 239 
 
 Tin's dog and man at first were friends, 
 
 But wlien a pique began. 
 The dog, to gain some private ends. 
 
 Went mad and bit the man. 
 
 Around from all the neighbouring 
 streets 
 
 The wondering neighbours ran. 
 And swore the dog liad lost his wits, 
 
 To bite so good a man. 
 
 The wound it seemed both sore and sad 
 
 To every Cliristian eye ; 
 And while they swore the dog was mad. 
 
 They swore the man would die. 
 
 But soon a wonder came to light. 
 That show'd the rogues they lied ; 
 
 The man recovered of the bite 
 The dog it was that died. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmilh, 
 
 Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent, 
 Again she stretch'd, again she bent, 
 
 Nor knew the gulf between 
 (Maligant Fate sat by, and smil'd). 
 The slipp'ry verge her feet beguiled. 
 
 She tumbled headlong in. 
 
 Kight times emerging from the flood 
 Slie mew'd to every wat'ry god 
 
 Some speedy aid to send. 
 Xo Dolpliin came, no Nereid stirrVl ; 
 Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard. 
 
 A fav'rite has no friend ! 
 
 From hence, ye beauties, undeceived. 
 Know, one false step is ne'er retrieval, 
 
 And be with caution bold. 
 Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes 
 And heedless hearts, is lawful prize. 
 
 Nor all that glitters gold. 
 
 Tliomus Gray. 
 
 ODE ON THE DEATH OF A 
 FAVOURITE CAT DROWNED 
 IN A TUB OF GOLD FISHES 
 
 'TwAS on a lofty va.se's side 
 
 Where China's gayest art had dyed 
 
 The azure flower."? that blow ; 
 Demurest of the tabby kind. 
 The pensive Selima, reclin'd, 
 
 Gaz'd on the lake below. 
 
 Her conscious tail her joy declar'd ; 
 The fair round face, the snowy beard. 
 
 The velvet of her paws. 
 Her coat that with the tortoise vies, 
 Her ears of jet and emerald eyes. 
 
 She saw : and purred applause. 
 
 Still had she gaz'd ; but midst the tide 
 Two angel forms were seen to glide. 
 
 The genii of the stream : 
 Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue. 
 Through richest purple to the view, 
 
 Betray'd a golden gleam. 
 
 The hapless Nymph with wonder saw ; 
 A whisker first, and then a claw. 
 
 With many an ardent wish. 
 She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the 
 
 prize : 
 What female heart can gold despise ? 
 
 What cat's averse to tish V 
 
 AN ELEGY ON THE GLORY 
 OF HER SEX, MRS. MARY 
 BLAIZE. 
 
 Good people all with one accord 
 Lament for Madame Blaize, 
 
 Who never wanted a good word. 
 From those who spoke her praise. 
 
 The needy seldom pass'd her door. 
 And always found her kind ; 
 
 She freely lent to all the poor — 
 Who left a pledge behind. 
 
 She strove the neighbourhood to please, 
 With manners wondrous winning. 
 
 And never foUow'd wicked ways — 
 Unless when she was sinning. 
 
 At church in silks and satins new. 
 With hoop of monstrous size ; 
 
 She never slumber'd in her pew — 
 But when she shut her eyes. 
 
 Her love was sought, I do aver. 
 
 By twenty beaux or more : 
 The King himself has foUow'd her — 
 
 W'hen she has walk'd before. 
 
 But now her wealth and finery fled. 
 Her hangers-on cut short-all ; 
 
 The doctors found when she was dead — 
 Her last disorder mortaL 
 
240 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Let us lament in sorrow sore 
 For Kent-street ■well may say, 
 
 That had she lived a twelvemonth 
 more — 
 She had not died to-day. 
 
 Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 I fear no plots against me, 
 
 I live in open cell, 
 Tlien who would be a king. 
 
 When beggars live so well ? 
 And a-begging we will go, will go, 
 
 Avill go : 
 And a-begging we will go ! 
 
 John Play ford. 
 
 THE JO VIAL BEGaAES. 
 
 There was a jovial beggar. 
 
 He had a wooden leg. 
 Lame from his cradle. 
 
 And forced for to beg. 
 And a-begging we will go, will go, 
 
 will go ; 
 And a-begging we will go J 
 
 A bag for his oatmeal. 
 
 Another for his salt. 
 And a pair of crutches. 
 
 To show that he can halt. 
 And a-begging, etc. 
 
 A bag for his wheat. 
 
 Another for his rye. 
 And a little bottle by his side. 
 
 To drink when he is dry. 
 And a-begging, etc. 
 
 Seven years I begged 
 
 For my old master Wild ; 
 He taught me to beg 
 
 When I was but a child. 
 And a-begging, etc. 
 
 I begged for my master, 
 And I got him store of pelf ; 
 
 But Jove now be praLsed, 
 I'm begging for myself. 
 
 And a-begging, etc. 
 
 In a hollow tree 
 
 I live and pay no rent ; 
 Providence provides for me. 
 
 And I am well conten 
 etc. 
 
 Of all the occupations, 
 
 A l^eggar's is the best. 
 For whenever he's a-weary. 
 
 He can lay him down to rest. 
 And a-begging, etc 
 
 THE YAEN" OP THE "NANCY 
 BELL.' 
 
 'TwAS on the shores that round our 
 coast 
 
 From Deal to Ramsgate span, 
 That I found alone on a piece of stone 
 
 An elderly naval man. 
 
 His hair was weedy, his beard was 
 long. 
 And weedy and long was he. 
 And I heard this wight on the shore 
 recite. 
 In a singular niiiior key : 
 
 "Oh! I am a cook and a captain 
 bold, 
 And the mate of the Nana/ brig, 
 And a bo'sun tight, and a inidship- 
 mite, 
 And the crew of the captain's gig." 
 
 And he shook his fists and he tore his 
 hair. 
 Till I really felt afraid. 
 For I couldn't help thinking the man 
 had been drinking. 
 And so I simply said : 
 
 *' Oh, elderly man, it's little I know 
 Of the duties of men of the sea. 
 
 And I'll eat my hand if I understand 
 How you can possibly be 
 
 " At once a cook, and a captain bold. 
 And the mate of the Nancy brig. 
 
 And a bo'sun tight, and a midship- 
 mite. 
 And the crew of the captain's gig." 
 
 Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, 
 which 
 Is a trick all seamen larn« 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 241 
 
 I 
 
 And having got rid of a thumping 
 quid, 
 He spun this painful yarn : 
 
 " 'Twas in the good ship Nancy Bell 
 That we sailed to the Indian sea, 
 
 And there on a reef we come to 2rief, 
 Which has often occurred to me. 
 
 " And pretty nigh all the crew was 
 drowned 
 
 (There was seventy-seven o' soul), 
 And only ton of the Nancy^s men 
 
 Said ' Here ! ' to the muster-roll. 
 
 " Tliere was me and the cook and the 
 captain bold, 
 And the mate of the Nancy brig, 
 And the bo'sun tight, and a midship- 
 mite. 
 And the crew of the captain's gig. 
 
 ♦' For a month we'd neither wittles nor 
 drink. 
 Till a-hungry we did feel, 
 So we draw'd a lot, and accordin' 
 shot 
 The captain for o;.r meal. 
 
 •' The next lot fell to the Nancy'' a mate, 
 And a delicate dish he made ; 
 
 Then our appetite Avith the midship- 
 mite. 
 We seven survivors stayed. 
 
 " And then we murdered the bo'snn 
 tight. 
 And he much resembled pig ; 
 Then we wittled free, did the cook 
 and me. 
 On the crew of the captain's gig. 
 
 " Then only the cook and me was left, 
 And the delicate question, ' Which 
 
 Of us two goes to the kettle ? ' arose 
 And we argued it out as sich. 
 
 " For I loved that cook as a brotlicr, 
 
 I did, 
 
 And the cook, he worshipped me ; 
 
 But we'd both be blowed if we'd either 
 
 be stowed 
 
 In the other chap's hold, you see. 
 
 " ' I'll be eat if you dines off me,' savs 
 Tom ; 
 * Yes, that,' says I, ' you'll be,' — 
 
 ' I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth 
 And ' Exactly so,' quoth he. 
 
 " Says he, ' Dear James, to murder me 
 
 Were a foolish thing to do. 
 For don't you see that you can't 
 cook me, 
 
 While I can — and will — cook you ! ' 
 
 " So he boils the water, and takes the 
 salt 
 And the pepper in portions true 
 (Which he never forgot), and some 
 chopped shalot. 
 And some sage and parsley too. 
 
 " * Come here,' says he, with a proper 
 pride, 
 
 Wlticli his smiling features tell, 
 * It will soothing be if I let you see 
 
 How extremely nice you'll smell ! ' 
 
 " And he stirred it round and round 
 and round. 
 And he sniffed at the foaming 
 froth ; 
 When I lips with his heels, and smothers 
 his squeals 
 In the scum of the boiling broth. 
 
 And I eat that cook in a week or less 
 
 And — as I eating be 
 The last of his chops, why, I almost 
 drops. 
 
 For a vessel in sight I see. 
 
 " And I never larf, and I never smile. 
 
 And I never larf nor play. 
 But sit and croak, and a single joke 
 
 I have — which is to say : 
 
 " Oh ! I am a cook and a captain bold, 
 And the mate of the Nancy brig. 
 
 And a bo'sun tight and a midship-mite. 
 And the crew of the captain's gig ! " 
 W. S. GUherl. 
 
 BEIili'S DREAM. 
 
 It was the little Isabel, 
 
 Upon the sand she lay. 
 The 8umnn«- sun struck hotly down, 
 
 16 
 
242 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And she was tired of play ; 
 And down she sank into the sea, 
 Though how, she could not say. 
 
 She stood within a dreadful court. 
 
 Beneath the rolling tide, 
 Tliere sat a sturgeon as a judge. 
 
 Two lobsters at her side ; 
 She had a sort of vague idea 
 
 That she was being tried. 
 
 And then the jurymen came in. 
 And, as the clock struck ten. 
 
 Rose Sergeant Shark and hitched his 
 gown, 
 And trifled with a pen. 
 
 " Ahem ! May't please your Lordship, 
 And gentle jurymen ! 
 
 " Tlie counts against the prisoner 
 
 Before you, are that she 
 Has eaten salmon once at least, 
 
 And soles most constantly ; 
 Likewise devoured one hundred shrimps 
 
 At Margate with her tea." 
 
 " Call witnesses ! " — An oyster rose, 
 He spoke in plaintive tone : 
 
 " Last week her mother bouglit a fish," 
 (He scarce could check a moan) ; 
 
 " He was a dear, dear friend of mine, 
 His weight Vas half a stone ! " 
 
 " ' No oysters, ma'am ? ' the fishman 
 said ; 
 
 ' Mo, not to-day ! ' said she ; 
 My child is fond of salmon, but 
 
 Oysters do not agree ! 
 Tlie fishman wiped a salt, salt tear, 
 
 And murmured, ' Certainly ! ' " 
 
 " Ahem ! but," interposed the judge, 
 " How do you know," said he, 
 
 " That she did really eat the fish ? " 
 " My Lord, it so must be. 
 
 Because the oysters, I submit, 
 \Vith her did not agree ! " 
 
 " Besides, besides," the oyster cried, 
 
 Half in an injured way, 
 " 1 he oysters in that fishman's shop 
 
 My relatives were they : 
 Tiiey heard it all, they wrote to me, 
 
 The letter came to-day ! " 
 
 " 'Tis only hearsay evidence," 
 
 The judge remarked, and smiled ; 
 
 " But it will do in such a case. 
 With such a murd'rous child. 
 
 Call the next witness ! " for he saw 
 The jury getting wild. 
 
 And then up rose a little shrimp : 
 
 " I am the last," said he, 
 •' Of what was once, as you all know, 
 
 A happy familee ! 
 Without a care we leapt and danced 
 
 All in the merry sea ! 
 
 " Alack ! the cruel fisherman. 
 
 He caught them all but me. 
 The pris'ner clapped her hands and 
 yelled — 
 
 T heard her — ' Shrimps for tea i ' 
 And then went home and ate tiiem ail 
 
 As fast as fast could be." 
 
 Tl'.e foreman of the jurv rose 
 
 (All hope for Bell had fled), 
 " There is no further need, ray Lord, 
 
 Of witnesses," he said ; 
 " The verdict of us one and all 
 
 Is, Guilfif on each head ! " 
 
 " Guilty,'''' his Lordship said, and 
 sighed ; 
 
 " A verdict sad but true : 
 To pass the sentence of the court 
 
 Is all I have to do ; 
 It is, that as you've fed on us. 
 
 Why, we must feed on you ! " 
 
 She tried to speak, she could not speak ; 
 
 She tried to run, but no ! 
 The lobsters seized and hurried her 
 
 Oil to the cells below. 
 And each pulled out a carving-knife. 
 
 And waved it to and fro. 
 ****** 
 
 But hark ! there comes a voice she 
 knows. 
 
 And someone takes her hand ; 
 She finds herself at home again 
 
 L^pon the yellow sand ; 
 But how she got there safe and sound 
 
 She cannot understand. 
 
 .\nd many a morning afterwards, 
 
 Whene'er she sees the tide. 
 She still retains that vague idea. 
 
 That she is being tried. 
 And seems to see the sturgeon judge 
 
 And the lol^sters at lier side. 
 
 Ired. K Wealherly, 
 
Humorous Verse 
 
 243 
 
 LITTLE BIIiliEE. 
 
 There were three sailors of Bristol 
 city 
 Wlio touk a boat and went to sea. 
 But first witli beef and captain's 
 biscuits 
 [ And pickled pork they loaded she. 
 
 Tiiere was gorging Jack and guzzling 
 Jimmy, 
 And the youngest he was little JJillee, 
 Now when they got so far as tiie 
 Equator 
 They'd nothing left but one split 
 pea. 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 " I am extremely hungaree." 
 
 To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, 
 " We've nothing left, us must eat 
 
 Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, 
 
 " With one another, we shouldn't 
 
 agree ! 
 
 There's little Bill, he's young and 
 
 tender. 
 
 We're old and tough, so let's eat he." 
 
 " Oh ! Billy, we're going to kill and 
 eat you, 
 
 So undo the button of your cliemic." 
 Wlien Bill received this information 
 
 He used his pocket-handkerchie. 
 
 " First let me say my catechism. 
 Which my poor mammy taught to 
 me." 
 " Make haste, make hast«," says 
 guzzling Jimmy 
 Wliile Jack pulledout his snickersnee. 
 
 So Billy went up to the main-top 
 gallant mast, 
 And down he fell on his bended 
 knee. 
 He scarce had come to the twelfth 
 commandment 
 When up he jumps, " There's land I 
 see. 
 
 I " Jerusalem and Madagascar, 
 
 I And North and South Amerikee : 
 
 I There's the British flag a-riding at 
 
 I anchor, 
 
 ' With Admiral Napier, K.C.B." 
 
 So when they got aboard of the 
 Admiral's 
 He hanged fat Jack and flogged 
 Jimmee ; 
 But as for little Bill, he made him 
 The Captain of a Seventy-Tliree 
 
 WUliain Makepeace Tluickeray. 
 
 u 
 
 THE PIED PIPER OF 
 
 ^;^A. HAMELIN. 
 
 Hamelin Town's in Brunswick 
 By famous Hanover cityj^ 
 
 The river Wesery daiu. and wid^. 
 Washes its wall on the southern 
 
 side>/ 
 A pleasanter spot youjievi^ spied ; 
 
 But, whea. begins my ditty, . 
 
 Alniost fivehundred_years ago/^ 
 To see the townsfolk suffe r so 
 From verm in was a pity, 
 
 ' Rats 
 
 ■/ 
 
 They f ought the dogs, and killed the 
 cats, J 
 
 And hit t he babies in th e cradles./ 
 And aj£ the cheeses out of the vats. 
 
 And lickecL the soup from the cook's 
 own ladlesy^''^ 
 Split open tlie Tcegs of salted spratsj 
 Alade nesJB inside'men's Sunday hats/ 
 And even Sfjcijed. the women s tjml^i. 
 
 By drowning their speaking 
 
 With sEiieiuSg a-ii<l stj[ueaking^ 
 In fifty different sharp s and Hats.. 
 
 At last the people in a body . 
 
 To the Town Hall cameilacJbflg/ 
 *' 'Tis clear," cried they, " our 
 
 Mayor's a noddy^ 
 And as for our Coi'^oration — 
 
 shocking 
 To think that we buy gowns lined 
 
 with ermine 
 For dolts /that can't or won't 
 
 determine y 
 
 What's best to rid us of our yermi n K 
 You hope , because you're old artd 
 
 obese, 
 To find in .the furry civic robe 
 
 eaaej[.„/ 
 Rouaa up, 'sirs! Give your brain 
 
 a racking 
 
 ^~ 16* 
 
244 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 To find the remedvLwe'r e lacking . 
 
 Or, Bure as late. we'll send you 
 p acking !/^ 
 At this"" lhe Alkyor and Corp.Qration , 
 Quaked with, a mighty consteruation, 
 
 _^ An hour they sat in council, , 
 
 <=^^gj^^ At length the Mayor broke silence^ 
 " For a guilder I'd my ermine gown 
 sellj, 
 I wist I were a_mile_hence ! 
 It's easy to Md one rack one's 
 
 brain — 
 I'm sure my poor head aches again 
 I've scr atched i t so, and all in^vain. 
 Oh for a trap, a trap, a trapj?*^ 
 Just, as he said this, what should 
 
 hap 
 At the chamber door but a gentle 
 tap ? 
 " Bless us," cried the Mayor, " what's 
 ^ that ? " 
 
 V rt ■ ( With the~Corporation as he sat, / 
 
 Looking httle though wondrous fat/j 
 Nor brighter was his eye, nor moi^t^r. 
 Than a too-long-opened oyster,^ 
 Save when at noon his paunch grew 
 
 mutinous 
 For a plate oi turtle green and 
 glutinou^ 
 "■ " Unly a scraping of shoes on 
 
 the Taa,^ 
 Anything hke the sound of a rat 
 Makes my heart go pit-a-pat i^ 
 " Come in ! "—the Mayor cried, 
 
 looking bigger/ 
 And in did come the strangest 
 figure, 
 
 (^ , His queer long coat from heel to 
 
 head , 
 
 Was half of yellow''and half of rec]/; 
 
 And he himself was tall and thin, 
 
 With sharp blue eyes, each like a 
 
 pin, *■ 
 And light loose hair, yet swarthy 
 
 skin. 
 No tuft onlpheek nor beard on chin. 
 But lips where smiles went out and 
 
 There wa^ no guessing his kith and 
 kin/ 
 
 And nobody could enough admire 
 
 The tall man and liis quaint attire. 
 
 Quoth one / " It's as my great grand- 
 sire. 
 
 Starting up at the Trump of Doom's 
 
 tone, 
 Had walked this way from hi- 
 
 painted tombstone./^ 
 
 il- tabled 
 3," saia he. 
 
 He advanced to the council- 
 And, " Please, yoiu- honours, 
 "I'm able. 
 By means of a secret charm, to 
 
 draw 
 All creatures hving beneath the sun/ 
 That creep, or swim, or fl}', or run. 
 After me so as you never saw !/ 
 And I chiefly use my charm 
 On creatures that do people harm./ 
 The mole, and toad, and newt, and 
 
 viper ; / 
 
 And people call me the Pied Piper/ 
 (And here they noticed roimd his 
 neck 
 A scarf of red and yellow stripe. 
 To match with his coat of the selfsame 
 cheque^' . 
 
 And at the scarfs end hung a pipe/ 
 And his fingers, they noticed, were ever 
 
 straying 
 As if impatient to be playing 
 Upon this pipCj/as low it dangled 
 Over his vesture so old-fangled.) 
 
 " Yet," said he, " poor piper as I 
 
 am. 
 In Tartary I freed the Cham, 
 Last June, from his huge swarms of 
 
 gnats ;■ 
 I eased in'A^ia the Nizam 
 ,Qi a . iXLOiiiiU'ou* brood of vampk-e 
 
 batg : 
 And, as for what yoxu: brain be- 
 wilders. 
 If I can rid your town of rat^ 
 Will you give me a "thousand 
 > - guilders ? " 
 ,- One ? fifty thousand ! " — was the 
 i^ exclamation 
 
 Of the astonished Mayor and Corpora- 
 tion. 
 
 * '^to the street the Piper stept,' 
 V Smiling first a little smile. 
 As if he kuew w hat magic slept 
 In his quiet pipe the while y' 
 Then, Hke a musical adept. 
 To blow the pipe his lips he Avrinkled, 
 And green and blue his sharp eyes 
 
 twinkled 
 Like a candle- flame' where salt is 
 sprinkled ; 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 24^ 
 
 And ere three thrill notes (ho pipe Carious scarce an inch before nie, 
 
 uttered, / S^^ist as niethought it said, come, 
 
 You heard as if an grmy niuttertd •/ bore me ! 
 
 And the muttering grew to a grumo- , f^ — I found the Weser rolling o'er me." 
 ling ; .^ " — ' -■ 
 
 And the grumbling grew to a mighty V You should have heard the Hamelin 
 rumbhng ; / ^ people 
 
 And out of the house the rats came c\ Ringing the bells till they rocked the 
 
 tumbling^// 
 Great rats, small rats, lean rats, 
 
 brawny rats. 
 Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, 
 
 ta wny f| }|tav^ 
 
 Iders, gay young 
 
 ve old 'tjloc 
 friskers^ 
 
 Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins, 
 Cocking tails and pricking whiskery^ 
 — JDaiL'ihes l)y tens and (Jozens, 
 Jirotliers, sisters^Tu^Taluis, wives— 
 Followed the Piper for their hvcs*'' 
 From street to street he piped ad- 
 vancing. 
 And step bv step they followed 
 
 dancing/*^ 
 Until thev came tothe river Weser 
 
 steeple. 
 " Go," cried the Mayor, " and get 
 
 long poles I"^ 
 Poke out the nests and block up 
 
 the holes^>^ 
 Consult with carpenters and builders. 
 And leave in our town not even a 
 
 trace / 
 
 Of the rats ! ^f — when suddenly uji' 
 
 the face ' 
 Of the Piper perked in the market- 
 place. 
 With a, " First, if you please, my 
 
 thousand guilders ! " 
 
 A thousand guilders ! 
 looked blue ; 
 
 The Mavor 
 
 Wherein all plunged and perished—— So did the Corporation t oo. 
 — Save owey who, stout as Julius t<Vr n/Mir.r.:| (ijmiT^ra .i^Q^iaaM^i^tm^.. 
 Ctcsar, With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-(;rav'e, 
 
 Swam across and lived to carry 
 
 (As he the manuscript he cherished) 
 
 To Kat-land home his commentarv, 
 — *'*'*--^ . - ""li'l """'^ 
 
 notes of the pipe, 
 
 I heard a sound as of scraping tripe, 
 
 And putting apples, wondrous ripe, 
 
 Into a cider-press's gripe ; 
 
 And a moving away of picklc-tub- 
 boards. 
 
 And a leaving ajar of conserve cup- 
 boards. 
 
 And a drawing the corks of train- 
 oil-flasks. 
 
 And a breaking the hoops of butter 
 casks ; 
 
 And it seemed as if a voice 
 
 (Sweeter far than by harp or by 
 psaltery 
 
 Is breathed) called out, Oh, rats ! 
 rejoice ! 
 
 The world is grown to one vast dry- 
 saltery ! 
 
 To munch on, crimch on, take your 
 nmiclieon, 
 
 Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon ! 
 
 Hock; 
 
 And half the money woidd replenish 
 '''''■Mr rrl]'^'-'s'"pp>^f i^^ff ..^uh pi,,,..; .u 
 To jiay this sum to a wandering tellow' 
 With a gipsy goat of red aiul yellow Y 
 " Eeside^'^^quoth the ]\Iayor, vitii a 
 
 knowing wink, 
 " Our business was done at the ri ver's 
 
 brink ; y 
 
 We saw with our eyes the vermin sinlv< 
 And what's dead can't come to life, 
 
 I think. 
 So, friend, we're not the folks to 
 
 shrink 
 From the duty of giving you some- 
 thing to drink/'' 
 And a matter of money to put in j'our 
 
 poke/' 
 But, as for the guilders, what \\\' 
 
 spoke ^ 
 
 Of them, as j'ou very well know, was 
 
 in joke. 
 Besides, our losses have made us 
 
 thrifty ,-^ 
 A thousand guilders y Come, take 
 
 fifty ! " 
 
 And just as a bulky sugar puncheon. 
 All ready staved, like a great aun , t, The piper's face fell, and he cried, 
 shone - J " i<o trifling I I can't wait, beside ! 
 
246 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 I've promised to visit by dinner- 
 time 
 Bagdad* and accepted the prime 
 Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's 
 
 rich in, 
 For having left, in the Caliph's 
 kitchen, y 
 
 Of a nest of scorpions no survivor^ 
 With him I proved no bargain- 
 driver, '' 
 With you, ^on't think I'll bate a 
 
 stiver K 
 And folks who put me in a passion 
 May find me pipe to another fashion." 
 
 "How? Scried the Mayor, " d've 
 think I'll brook y/ 
 
 Being worse treated than a Cook f 
 Insulted by a lazy ribald / 
 
 With idle pipe and vesture piebaki? 
 Yoii threaten us, fellow ? Do your 
 worst, 
 >■'■ Blow your pipe there till you burst !" 
 
 ""Once more he stept into the street ; 
 And to his lips again 
 Laid his long pipe of smooth straight 
 
 cane ; ^ 
 
 And ere he blew three notes (such 
 
 sweet 
 Soft notes as yet musicians cunniiig 
 
 Never gave the enraptured air)< 
 There was a rustling, that seemeci like a"" 
 
 bustling / 
 
 Of merry crowds justlingy/at pitching 
 
 and hustling, 
 Small feet were pattering, wooden slices 
 
 clattering. 
 Little hands clapping, and little tongues 
 
 chattering 
 And, like fowls in a farmyard when 
 
 barley is scattering, , 
 
 Out came the children running/ 
 All the httle boj^s and girls, / 
 
 AVith rosy cheeks and flaxen curls{ 
 And sparkling eyes and teeth like 
 
 pearb; 
 Tripping and skipping, ran merrily 
 
 after 
 The wonderful music with shouting and 
 
 laughtei;^ 
 The Mayor was dumb, and the Council 
 
 stood 
 As if they were changed into blocks of 
 
 wood/ 
 Unable to move a step, or cry 
 To the children merrily skipping by — 
 
 And could only follow with the eye . 
 That joyous crowd at the Piper's baclj/ 
 But how the Jlaj'or was on the rack. 
 And the wretched Council's bosoms 
 
 beat/ 
 As the piper turned from the High 
 
 Street 
 To where the Weser rolled its waters 
 Right in the way of their sons and 
 
 daughters>'^^ 
 However he turned from South to 
 
 West,^ 
 And to Koppelberg Hill his steps 
 
 addressed. 
 And after him the children pressed ; 
 Great was the joy in every breastr-'''^ 
 " He never can cross that mighty 
 
 top ! 
 He's forced to let the piping drop y 
 And Ave shall see our cliildren stop \^ 
 When lo ! as they reached the moun- 
 tain's side, 
 A wondrous portal opened wide< 
 As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed ; 
 And the Piper advanced*^ and the 
 
 children followed. 
 And when all Avere in to the very last. 
 The door in, the mountain-side shut 
 
 fast.'' 
 Did I say all ? Xo ! one was lame, 
 And could not dance the Avhole of the 
 
 way. 
 
 If 1 I _. IL 
 
 Ana m after yeai-s, it you would 
 
 blame 
 His sadness, he was used to say : 
 
 " It's dull in our town since mj 
 
 playmates left ; 
 I can't forget that I'm bereft 
 Of all the pleasant sights they see. 
 Which the Piper also promised me , 
 For he led us, he said, to a joyous 
 
 land, 
 Joining the town and just at hand. 
 Where waters gushed and fruit Ireco 
 
 grew. 
 And flowers put forth a fairer hue, 
 And everything was strange and new 
 The sparrows A\ere brighter than pea- 
 cocks here. 
 And their dogs outran our falloAv deer. 
 And honey-bees had lost their stings ; 
 And horses were born with eagle's 
 
 wings ; 
 And just as I became assured 
 My lame foot would be speedily cured, 
 The music stopped, and I stood still. 
 And found myaelf outside the Hill, 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 247 
 
 Left alone against my will, 
 
 I'o go now limping as bcforo, 
 
 And never hear of that counlry more ! ' 
 
 Alas, alas for Hamelin ! 
 
 There came into many a burgher's 
 
 pate 
 A text which saya, that Heaven's 
 
 (jate 
 Opes to the Rich at as easy rate 
 As the needle's eye takes a camel in ! 
 
 The Mayor sent East, West, North and 
 
 Souty^ 
 To offer the Piper by word of mouth, 
 Wherever it was men's lot to find 
 
 him,'' y 
 
 Silver and gold to his heart's content/ 
 If he'd only return the way he went, 
 And bring the children all behind 
 
 hii;>r 
 But when they saw 'twas a lost en- 
 deavour, 
 And Piper and dancers were gone for 
 
 ev^^ 
 They made a decree that lawyers 
 
 never 
 
 Should think their records dated duly 
 
 If, after the day of the month and yeni- 
 
 These words did not as well appeaiy^ 
 
 " And so long after what happened 
 
 here 
 On the twenty-second of July, 
 Thirteen hundred and seventy-six : "'^ 
 And the better in memory to fix 
 The place of the Children's last retreat "^ 
 They called it, the Pied Piper's street^ 
 Where any one playing on pipe or 
 
 tabor. 
 Was sure for the futiue to lose his 
 
 labour./ 
 Nor suffered they hostelry or tavern 
 To shock with mirth a street so 
 
 solemn j 
 But opposite the place of the cavern 
 They wrote the story on a coluuui. 
 And on the great church window 
 
 painted 
 The same, to make the world acquainted 
 How their children were stolen a\\ ay / 
 And there it stands to this very day / 
 And i niusti not oinit to say " 
 
 That in Transyjvania there's a tribe 
 Of alien people/ that ascribe 
 The outlandish ways and dress. 
 On which their neighbours lay such 
 
 stress. 
 
 To tlu'ir fathers and mothers/having 
 
 risen / ^ 
 
 Out of some subterraneous prison, 
 Into which they were trepanned 
 Long time ago in a mighty band 
 Out of Hamelin town in Brunswick 
 
 land, 
 But how or why they don't under- 
 stand. 
 
 r - ■■..-.•-■.—«——.— ■ ■ 
 
 So, Willy, let you and me be wipers 
 Of scores out with all men — especially 
 
 pipers ; 
 And, whether they pipe us free from 
 
 rats or from mice. 
 If we've promised them aught, let us 
 
 keep our promise. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 THE LOBSTER AND THE 
 MAID. 
 
 He was a gentle lobster 
 
 (The boats had just come in). 
 
 He did not love the fishermen. 
 He could not stand their din ; 
 
 And so he quietly stole oft". 
 As if it were no sin. 
 
 She was a little maiden, 
 
 He met her on the sand, 
 " And how d'j^ou do ? " the lobster said, 
 Why don't you give your hand ? " 
 For why she edged away from him 
 
 He could not understand. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir," the maiden said : 
 " Excuse me, if yon please," 
 
 And put her hands behind her back, 
 And doubled up her knees ; 
 
 " I always thought that lobsters were 
 A httle apt to squeeze." 
 
 " Your ignorance," the lobster said, 
 
 " Is natural, I fear ; 
 Such scandal is a shame," he sobbed, 
 
 " It is not true, my dear," 
 And with his pocket-handkerchief 
 
 He wiped away a tear. 
 
 So out she put her little hand. 
 As thougii she feared him not. 
 
248 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 When someone grabbed him suddenly 
 
 And put him in a pot, 
 With water which, I think he found 
 
 Uncomfortably hot. 
 
 It may have been the water made 
 The blood flow to his head, 
 
 It may have been that dreadful fib 
 Lay on his soul like lead ; 
 
 This much is true — he went in grey. 
 And came out very red. 
 
 Fred. E. Weatherly. 
 
 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS. 
 
 AN INGOLDSBY LEGEND. 
 
 The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's 
 
 chair ! 
 Bishop and abbot and prior were 
 
 there ; 
 Many a monk, and many a friar. 
 Many a knight, and many a squire. 
 With a great many more of lesser 
 
 degree, — 
 In sooth a goodly company ; 
 And they served the Lord Primate on 
 
 bended knee. 
 Never, I ween, was a prouder seen. 
 Read of in books, or dreamt of in 
 
 dreams. 
 Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of 
 
 Rheims ! 
 
 In and out through the motley 
 rout. 
 That little Jackdaw kept hopping 
 about ; 
 Here and there hke a dog in a fair, 
 Over comfits and cakes, and dishes 
 and plates. 
 Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall. 
 Mitre antl crosier ! he hopp'd upon all ! 
 With saucy air, he perch'd on the 
 
 chair 
 Where, in state, the great Lord 
 Cardinal sat 
 In the great Lord Cardinal's great 
 red hat ; 
 And he peer'd in the face of his Lord- 
 ship's Grace, 
 With a satisfied look, as if he would 
 
 say, 
 " We two are the greatest folks here 
 to-day 1 " 
 
 The feast was over, the board was 
 
 clear'd. 
 The llawns and the custards had all 
 
 disappear'd. 
 And six httle singing-boys — dear little 
 
 souls ! 
 In nice clean faces, and nice white 
 
 stoles. 
 Came, in order due, two by two. 
 Marching that grand refectory through ! 
 A nice little boy held a golden ewer. 
 Emboss' d and fill'd with water, as 
 
 pure 
 As any that flows between Rheims and 
 
 Namur, 
 Which a nice little boy stood ready 
 
 to catch 
 In a fine golden hand-basin made to 
 
 match. 
 Two nice Uttle boys, rather more 
 
 grown. 
 Carried lavender-water and eau do 
 
 Cologne ; 
 And a nice little boy had a nice cake 
 
 of soap. 
 Worthy of washing the hands of the 
 
 Pope. 
 One little boy more a napkin bore. 
 Of the best white diaper, fringed with 
 
 pink. 
 And a Cardinal's Hat mark'd in 
 
 " permanent ink." 
 
 The Great Lord Cardinal turns at the 
 
 sight 
 Of these nice little boys dress'd all in 
 
 white : 
 From his finger he draws his costly 
 
 turquoise ; 
 And, not thinking at all about little 
 
 Jackdaws, 
 Deposits it straight by the side of 
 
 his plate. 
 While the nice little boys on his 
 
 Eminence wait ; 
 Till, when obody's dreaming of any 
 
 such thing, 
 That httle Jackdaw hops off with tiio 
 
 ling ! 
 There's a cry and a shout, and no 
 
 end of a rout. 
 And nobody seems to know what 
 
 they're about. 
 But the monks have their pockets all 
 
 turn'd inside out ; 
 The friars are kneeling, and 
 
 hunting, and feeling 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 249 
 
 The carpet, the floor, and the walls, 
 and the ceiling. 
 The Cardinal drew ofif each plum- 
 coloiir'd shoe, 
 And left his red stockings exposed to 
 the view ; 
 He peeps, and he feels in the toes 
 and the heels ; 
 They turn up the dishes — they turn 
 
 up the plates — 
 They take up the poker and poke out 
 the grates, 
 — Thej- turn up the rugs, they 
 
 examine the mugs : 
 But no ! — no such thing : — They 
 can't find the ring ! 
 And the Abbot declared that, " when 
 
 nobody twigg'd it. 
 Some rascal or other had popp'd in, and 
 prigg'd it ! " 
 
 The Cardinal rose with a dignilied 
 
 look. 
 He call'd for his candle, his bell, and 
 his book ! 
 In holy anger, and pious grief. 
 He solemnly cursed that rascally 
 
 thief ! 
 He cursed him at board, he cursed 
 
 him in bed ; 
 From the sole of his foot, to the crown 
 
 of his head ; 
 He cursed him in sleeping, that every 
 
 night 
 He should dream of evil, and wake in 
 
 a fright ; 
 He cursed liim in eating, he cursed 
 
 him in drinking. 
 He cursed him in coughing, in 
 
 sneezing, in winking ; 
 He cursed him in sitting, in standing, 
 
 in lying ; 
 He cursed him in walking, in riding, 
 
 in flying. 
 He cursed him in living, he cursed 
 him in dying ! — 
 Never was heard such a terrible curse ! 
 But what gave rise to no little 
 surprise. 
 Nobody seem'd one penny the worse ! 
 
 The day was gone, the night came 
 
 on. 
 The Monks and the Friars they search'd 
 
 till dawn ; 
 When the Sacristan saw, ou 
 
 crumpled claw, 
 
 Come limping a poor little lame 
 
 Jackdaw ; 
 No longer gay, as on yesterday ; 
 His feathers all seem'd to be turn'd 
 
 the wrong way : — 
 His pinions droop'd — he could hardly 
 
 stand — 
 His head was as bald as the palm of 
 
 your hand ; 
 His eyes so dim, so wasted each 
 
 limb. 
 That, heedless of grammar, they all 
 
 cried, " That's him ! — 
 That's the scamp that has done this 
 
 scandalous thing ! 
 That's the thief that has got my Lortl 
 
 Cardinal's Ring ! " 
 
 That poor little Jackdaw, when 
 the monks he saw. 
 Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a 
 
 caw ; 
 And turn'd his bald head, as much 
 
 as to say, 
 " Pray be so good as to walk this way ! " 
 Slower and slower, he Ump'd on 
 before. 
 Till they came to the back of the 
 belfry door, 
 When the first thing they saw. 
 Midst the sticks and the straw. 
 Was the RiXG in the nest of that little 
 Jackdaw ! 
 
 Then the great Lord Cardinal call'd 
 
 for his book, 
 And off that terrible curse he took ; 
 The mute expression served in lieu 
 
 of confession. 
 And, being thus coupled with full 
 
 restitution. 
 The Jackdaw got plenary absolution ! 
 — When those words were heard, 
 
 that poor little bird 
 Was so changed in a moment, 'twas 
 
 really absurd. 
 He grew sleek, and fat ; in ad- 
 dition to that, 
 A fresh crop of feathers came thick 
 
 as a mat ! 
 
 His tail waggled more even than 
 
 before ; 
 But no longer it wagg'd with an 
 
 impudent air. 
 No longer he perch'd on the Cardinal's 
 
 chair. 
 
250 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 He hopp'd now about with a gait 
 
 devout ; 
 At ]\Iatins, at Vespers, he never was 
 
 oiit ; 
 And, so far from any more pilfering 
 
 deeds, 
 He always seem'd telling the Confessor's 
 
 beads. 
 If any one lied — or if any one swore — 
 Or slumber'd in pra3^er-tinie and hap- 
 pened to snore. 
 That good Jackdaw would give a 
 
 great " Caw," 
 A3 much as to say, " Don't do so any 
 
 more ! " 
 \VTiile many remark'd, as his manners 
 
 they saw, 
 That they " never had known sucli a 
 
 pious Jack<law ! " 
 He long lived the pride of that 
 
 country side. 
 And at last in the odour of sanctity 
 
 died ; 
 When, as words were too faint, his 
 
 merits to paint, 
 The Conclave determined to make him 
 
 a Saint ! 
 And on newly- made Saints and Popes, 
 
 as you know, 
 It's the custom, at Rome, new names 
 
 to bestow. 
 So they canonized him by the name 
 
 of Jim Crow ! 
 
 Beo. Richard Harris Barham. 
 
 A TRAGIC STORY. 
 
 There lived a sage in days of yore. 
 And he a handsome pigtail wore ; 
 But wondered much, and sorrowed 
 more, 
 Because it hung behind him. 
 
 He mused upon this curious case. 
 And swore he'd change the pigtail's 
 
 place. 
 And have it hanging at his face. 
 Not dangling there behind him. 
 
 Says he, *' The mj^stery I've found. — 
 I'll turn me round," — he turned him 
 round ; 
 But still it hung behind him. 
 
 Then round and round, and out and in, 
 All day the puzzled sage did spin ; 
 In vain — it mattered not a pin — 
 The pigtail hung behind him. 
 
 And right and lefb, and round aboiit, 
 And up and down and in and out 
 He turned ; but still the pigtail stout 
 Hung steadily behind him. 
 
 And though his efforts never slack. 
 And though he twist, and twirl, and 
 
 tack, 
 Alas ! still faithful to his back, 
 The pigtail hangs behind him. 
 
 Williain Makepeace Thackeray. 
 (from tic German of Chamisso.) 
 
 JOHN BARIiEYCORN. 
 
 There were three kings into the Ea.st, 
 Three kings both great and high ; 
 
 And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath, 
 John Barleycorn should die. 
 
 They took a plough and ploughed him 
 down. 
 
 Put clods upon his head ; 
 And they ha'e sworn a solemn oath, 
 
 John Barleycorn was dead. 
 
 But the cheerful spring came kindly on. 
 And showers began to fall ; 
 
 John Barleycorn got up again. 
 And sore surprised them all. 
 
 The sultry suns of summer came. 
 And he grew thick and strong ; 
 
 His head well arm'd wi' pointed spears, 
 That no one should him wrong. 
 
 The sober autumn entered mild. 
 And he grew wan and pale ; 
 
 His bending joints and drooping head 
 Showed he began to fail. 
 
 His colour sickened more and more. 
 
 He faded into age ; 
 And then his enemies began 
 
 To show their deadly rage. 
 
 They ta'en a weapon long and sharp. 
 
 And cut him by the knee. 
 Then tied him fast upon a cart, 
 
 Ijike a rogue for forgery. 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 251 
 
 They laid him down upon his back, 
 And cudgelled him full sore ; 
 
 They hung him up before the storm, 
 And turn'd him o'er and o'er. 
 
 Tiiey filled up then a darksome pit 
 
 With water to the brim, 
 And heaved in poor John Barleycorn, 
 
 To let him sink or swim. 
 
 Tiiey laid him out upon the floor, 
 'Jo work him further woe ; 
 
 And still as signs of life appeared. 
 They tossed him to and fro. 
 
 They wasted o'er a scorching flame 
 
 The marrow of his bones ; 
 But a miller used him worst of all — 
 
 He crushed him 'tween two stones. 
 
 And they have taken his very heart's 
 blood, 
 And drunk it roinid and round ; 
 And still the more and more they 
 drank, 
 Their joy did more abound. 
 
 Uobtrl Burns. 
 
 THE PETEST AND THE 
 MUIiBERRY-TREE. 
 
 Did you hear of the curate who 
 
 moimtfd his mare, 
 And merrily trotted along to the fair '! 
 Of creature more tractable none ever 
 
 heard ; 
 In the height of her speed sh • would 
 
 stop at a word ; 
 But again with a word, when the 
 
 curate said " Hey ! " 
 She put forth her mettle and L'alloped 
 
 away. 
 
 As near to the gates of the city he rode, 
 
 While the sun of September all bril- 
 liantly glowed, 
 
 The good priest discovered, with eyes 
 of desire, 
 
 A nuiiLerr3'-tree in a hedge of wild 
 bi ier ; 
 
 On boughs long and lofty, in many a 
 
 green shoot, 
 Hung large, black, and glossy, the 
 
 beautiful fruit. 
 
 The curate was hungry and thirsty to 
 
 boot ; 
 He shrunk from the thorns, though he 
 
 longed for the fruit ; 
 With a word he arrested his courser's 
 
 keen speed, 
 And he stood up erect on the back of 
 
 his steed ; 
 On the saddle he stood while the 
 
 creature stood still. 
 And he gathcr'd the fruit till he took 
 
 his good till. 
 
 " Sure never," he thought, " was a 
 
 creature so rare, 
 So docile, so true, as my excellent 
 
 mare ; 
 Lo, here now I stand," and he gazed 
 
 all around, 
 " As safe and as steady as if on th(! 
 
 ground ; 
 Yet how had it been, if some traveller 
 
 this way. 
 Had, dreaming no mischief, but chanced 
 
 to cry ' Hey ' ? " 
 
 He stood with his head in the mulberry- 
 tree. 
 
 And he spoke out aloud in his fond 
 reverie. 
 
 At the sound of the word the good 
 mare made a push. 
 
 And down went the priest in the wild- 
 brier bush, 
 
 He remember'd too late, on his thorny 
 green bed. 
 
 Much that well may be thought 
 cannot wisely be said. 
 
 I'homaa Love Peacock. 
 
 THE FAKENHAM GHOST. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 The lawns were dry in Euston park : 
 (Here truth* inspires my tale,) 
 
 Th- lonely footpath, still and dark. 
 Led over hill and dale. 
 
 » Tliis linlla.l is founded on f;ict. 
 
Poems for Children. 
 
 Benighted was an ancient dame, 
 And fearful haste she made 
 
 To gain the vale of Fakenham, 
 And hail its willow shade. 
 
 Her footsteps knew no idle stops. 
 
 But followed faster still ; 
 And echoed to the darksome copse 
 
 That whispered on the hill. 
 
 Where clamorous rooks, yet scarcely 
 hushed, 
 
 Bespoke a peopled shade ; 
 And many a Aving the foliage brushed. 
 
 And hovering circuits made. 
 
 The dappled herd of grazing deer, 
 That sought the shades by day, 
 
 Now started from their paths with fear, 
 And gave the stranger way. 
 
 Darker it grew, and darker fears 
 Came o'er her troubled mind ; 
 
 When now, a short, quick step she 
 hears, 
 Come patting close behind. 
 
 81ic turned, it stopped ; nought could 
 she see 
 
 Upon the gloomy plain ; 
 But as she strove the sprite to flee, 
 
 She heard the same again. 
 
 Now terror seized her quaking frame. 
 For, where her path was bare. 
 
 The trotting ghost kept on the same — 
 She muttered many a prayer. 
 
 Yet once again, amidst her fright. 
 She tried what sight could do ; 
 
 When, through the cheating glooms of 
 night, 
 A MONSTER ! stood in view. 
 
 Regardless of whate'er she felt. 
 It followed down the plain ; 
 
 She owned her sins, and down she 
 knelt. 
 And said her prayers again. 
 
 Then on she sped, and hope grew strong, 
 The white park-gate in view ; 
 
 Which pushing hard, so long it swung, 
 That ghost and all passed through ! 
 
 Loud fell the gate against the post. 
 Her h art-strings like to crack ; 
 
 For much she feared the grisly ghost 
 Would leap upon her back. 
 
 Still on — pit — pat — the goblin went. 
 
 As it had done before : 
 Her strength and resolution spent, 
 
 She fainted at the door. 
 
 Out came her husband, much surprised, 
 Out came her daughter dear ; 
 
 Good-natured souls ! all unadvised 
 Of what they had to fear. 
 
 The candle's gleam pierced through the 
 
 night. 
 Some short space o'er the green ; 
 And there the little trotting sprite 
 Distinctly might be seen. 
 
 An ass's foal had lost its dam 
 Within the spacious park ; 
 
 And, simple as a playful lamb. 
 Had followed in the dark. 
 
 No goblin he ; no imp of sin ; 
 
 No crimes had ever known ; — 
 They took the shaggy stranger in, 
 
 And reared him as their own. 
 
 His little hoofs would rattle round 
 
 Upon the cottage floor ; 
 The matron learned to love the sound 
 
 That frightened her before. 
 
 A favourite the ghost became 
 And 'twas his fate to thrive ; 
 
 And long he lived, and spread his fame. 
 And kept the joke aUve ; 
 
 For many alaugh went throughthe vale. 
 And some conviction too — 
 
 Eaeli thought some other goblin tale 
 Perhaps was just as true. 
 
 Robert Bloomfidd. 
 
 THE HORKEY.» 
 
 A SUFFOLK BAI.l.An. 
 
 What gossips prattled in the sun, 
 Who talk'd him fairly down. 
 
 Up, memory ! tell ; 'tis Suffolk fun. 
 And lingo of their own. 
 
 * The Jlorkey is the Suffolk harvest-home 
 
 feast. 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 2o3 
 
 Ah ! Jiulic Twitchet ! though thou'rt 
 dead, 
 
 With thee the tale begins ; 
 For still seem thrumming in my head 
 
 The rattling of thy pins ! 
 
 Thou Queen of knitters ; for a ball 
 
 Of worsted was thy pride ; 
 With dangling stockings great and 
 small 
 
 And world of clack beside ! 
 
 We did so laugh ; the moon shone 
 briglit ; 
 More fun you never knew ; 
 " 'Twas Farmer Cheerum'B Horkey 
 night, 
 And i, and Grace, and Sue — 
 
 " But bring a stool, sit round about, 
 
 And boys, be quiet, pray ; 
 And let me tell my story out ; 
 
 'Twas sich a merry day ! 
 
 " The bvitchcr whistled at the door. 
 And iMought a load of meat ; 
 
 Boys rubbd their hands, and cried, 
 ' there's more,' 
 Dogs wagg'd their tails to see't. 
 
 " On went the boilers till the hake* 
 Had much ado to bear 'em ; 
 
 The magpie talk'd for talking snke. 
 Birds sung; — but who could hear 
 'em? 
 
 " Creak went the Jack ; the cats were 
 scar'd, 
 
 W'e had not time to heed 'em. 
 The owd bins cackled in the yard. 
 
 For we forgot to feed 'em ! 
 
 " Yet 'twas not I, as I may say. 
 
 Because as how, d'ye see ; 
 I only helped there lor the day ; 
 
 They cou'dn't lay't to me. 
 
 " Now Mrs. Cheerum's best lace cap 
 Was mounted on her head ; 
 
 Guests at the door began to rap. 
 And now he cloth was spr ad. 
 
 " Then clatter went the earthen plates— 
 ' Mind Judie,' was the cry ; 
 
 • Uuke, sliding pot-hook. 
 
 1 could have cop't* them at tlnir 
 pates ! 
 ' Trenchers for me,' said I. 
 
 " ' That look so clean upon the ledge. 
 
 And never mind a fall ; 
 Nor never turn a sharp knive's edge ; — 
 
 But fashion rules us all.' 
 
 " Home came the jovial Horkey load. 
 Last of the whole year's crop ; 
 
 And Grace amongst the green boughs 
 rode, 
 Right plump upon the top. 
 
 '■ This way and that the waggon reel'd, 
 And never queen rode higher ; 
 
 Her cheeks were colour'd in the field. 
 And ours before the fire. 
 
 " The laughing harvest-folks and John, 
 Came in and look'd askew ; 
 
 'Twas my red face that set them on. 
 And then they leer'd at Sue. 
 
 " And Farmer Cheerum went, good 
 man. 
 
 And broach' d the Horkey beer ; 
 And sitch a inortt" of folk began 
 
 To eat up our good cheer. 
 
 " Says he, * Thank God for what's 
 before us ; 
 
 That thus we meet agen,' 
 The mingling voices, like a chorus, 
 
 Joined cheerfully, ' Amen.' 
 
 " Welcome and plenty, there they 
 found 'em 
 The ribs of beef grew light ; 
 And puddings— till the boys got round 
 'em. 
 And then they vanish'd quite ! 
 
 " Now all the guests with Farmer 
 Crouder, 
 Began to prate of corn ; 
 And we found out they talk'd the 
 louder. 
 The oft'ner pass'd the horn, 
 
 " Out came the nuts ; we set a crackin ; 
 
 The ale came round our way ; 
 My word, we women fell a clacking. 
 
 As loud again as they. 
 
 » Copl is Suffolk for tlirown. 
 t Sitch It nio;-/— such a number. 
 
254 
 
 A oems for Children. 
 
 " John sung ' Old Benbow,' loud and 
 strong. 
 
 And I, ' The Constant Swain.' 
 ' Cheer up, my Lads,' was Simon's song, 
 
 ' We'll conquer them again ! ' 
 
 " Now twelve o'clock was drawing nigh. 
 
 And all in merry cue ; 
 I knock'd the cask, ' O, ho ! ' said I, 
 
 ' We've almost conquered you ! ' 
 
 " My Lord* begg'd round, and held 
 his hat. 
 Says Farmer Gruff, says he, 
 
 * There's many a Lord, Sam, I know 
 
 that. 
 Has begg'd as well as thee.' 
 
 " Bump in his hat the shillings tumbl'd 
 All round among the folks ; 
 
 • Laugh if you wool,' said Sam and 
 
 mumbl'd, 
 ' You pay for all your jokes.' 
 
 '* Joint stock, you know, among the 
 men. 
 
 To drink at their own charges ; 
 So up they got full drive, and then 
 
 Went to halloo largess. 1" 
 
 " And sure enough the noise they made ! 
 
 But let me mind my tale ; 
 We foUow'd them, we worn't afraid. 
 
 We 'ad all been drinking ale. 
 
 " As they stood hallooing back to back. 
 
 We, lightly as a feather. 
 Went sliding round, and in a crack 
 
 Had pinn'd their coats together. 
 
 " 'Twas near upon t as light as noon 
 
 ' A Largess,' on the hill, 
 They shouted to the full round moon — 
 
 I think I hear them still ! 
 
 " But when they found the trick, my 
 stars ! 
 
 They well knew who to blame, 
 Our giggles turn'd to ha, ha, ha's ! 
 
 And arter ua they came. 
 
 " Grace by the tumbril made a squat, 
 Then ran as Sara came by ; 
 
 Ti ey said she could not run for fat ; 
 I know she did not try. 
 
 • My Lord— the leader of the reapers. 
 t To halloc largess— to make s frolio. 
 
 " Sue round the neat-house* squalhng 
 ran, 
 
 Where Simon scarcely dare ; 
 He stopt, — for he's a fearful man — 
 
 ' My word ! there's suffen f there ! ' 
 
 " And off set John, with all his might, 
 To chase me down the yard. 
 
 Till I was nearly gran'df outright ; 
 He hugg'd so woundly hard. 
 
 " Still they kept up the race and laugh. 
 And round the house we flew ; 
 
 But, hark \'e ! the best fun by half 
 Was Simon arter Sue. 
 
 " She car'd not, dark nor light, not she. 
 
 So near the dairy door 
 She pass'd a clean white hog, you see, 
 
 They'd kilt the day before. 
 
 " High on the spirket|| there it hung, — 
 ' Now, Susie — what can save ye ? ' 
 
 Round the cold pig his arms he flung. 
 And cried, ' Ah ! here I have ye ! ' 
 
 " The farmers heard what Simon said. 
 And what a noise, good lack ! 
 
 Some almost laugh'd themselves to 
 dead. 
 And others clapt his back 
 
 " We all at once began to tell 
 What fun we had abroad ; 
 
 But Simon stood our jeers right well ; 
 He fell asleep and snor'd. 
 
 " Then in his button-hole upright. 
 
 Did Farmer Crouder put 
 A slip of paper twisted tight, 
 
 And held the candle to't. 
 
 " It smok'd and smok'd beneath his 
 nose. 
 
 The harmless blaze crept higher 
 Till with a vengeance up he rose, 
 
 ' Grace, Judie, Sue ! fire, fire ! ' 
 
 " The clock struck one — some talk'd 
 of parting. 
 Some said it was a sin. 
 And hitch'd their chairs ; but those 
 for starting 
 Now let the moonlight in. 
 
 • Neat-house — cowhouse. 
 
 t iS(t/ffn— something. 
 
 j Gran'rf— striincrlecl. 
 H Sjiirtet—t^n iron book. 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 255 
 
 " Owd women, loitering for the nonce,* 
 Stood praising the line weather ; 
 
 Tlic nienfolks took the hint at once, 
 To kiss them altogether ; 
 
 " And out ran every soul beside, 
 
 A siianny pated ! crew ; 
 Owd folks could neither run nor hide, 
 
 So some ketched one, some tew ; 
 
 " Tlipy skriggl'df and began to scold, 
 Bui laughing got the master ; 
 
 Some quacklingsj cried, ' let go your 
 hold ! ' 
 The farmers held the faster. 
 
 *' All innocent, that I'll be sworn. 
 There worn't a bit of sorrow, 
 
 And women, if their gowns are torn. 
 Can mend them on the morrow 
 
 " Our shadows helter skelter danc'd 
 About the moonlight ground ; 
 
 Tlie wandering sheep, as on we pranc'd, 
 Ciot up and gaz'd around. 
 
 " And well they might- -till Farmer 
 Cheerum, 
 
 Now with a hearty glee. 
 Ha 'c all good morn as he came near 'em. 
 
 And then to bed went he. 
 
 " Then off we stroll'd this way and 
 that. 
 
 With merry voices ringing ; 
 And Echo answered us right fat. 
 
 As home we rambled singing. 
 
 " For when we laugh'd, it laugh'd again, 
 And to our own doors foUow'd ! 
 
 ' Yn, ho ! ' we cried ; ' Yo, ho ! ' so plain 
 'Liic misty meadows halloo'd. 
 
 " That's all my tale, ami all thf> lun ; 
 
 Come, tu n your wheels about ; 
 My worsted, see !— that's nicely done. 
 
 Just held my story out ! " 
 
 Poor Judie ! — thus time knits or spins 
 The worsted from Life's ball ! 
 
 D.a h slopt thy tales, and stopt thy 
 ins, 
 \nd so he'll serve us all. 
 
 Robert BloumfiM. 
 
 • Nonce — purpose, 
 t Si?-!";//"'/— struiigled 
 J Qi«(M7</(yi- giddy oa< 
 
 THE DIVEBTING HISTORY OF 
 JOHN GIIiPIN. 
 
 SHOWING HOW HK WENT FAKTIIKK THAN 
 HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HUME 
 AGAIN. 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 
 
 Of credit and renown, 
 A train-band captain eke wis he. 
 
 Of famous London town. 
 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, 
 "Though wedded we have been 
 
 These twice ten tedious years, yet wc 
 No holiday have seen. 
 
 "To-morrow is our wedding-day, 
 
 And we will then repair 
 Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 
 
 All in a chaise and pair. 
 
 " My sister, and my sister's child. 
 
 Myself and children three 
 Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 
 
 On horseback after we." 
 
 He soon replied, "I do admire 
 
 Of womankind but one. 
 And you are she, my dearest dear. 
 
 Therefore it shall be done. 
 
 "I am a linen-draper bold. 
 As all the world doth know. 
 
 And ray good friend the calender, 
 Will lend his horse to go" 
 
 Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, " That's well said ; 
 
 And for that wine is dear, 
 We will be furnished with our own. 
 
 Which is both bright and clear." 
 
 John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 
 
 O'er joyed was he to find. 
 That, though on pleasure she was bent. 
 
 She had a frugal mind. 
 
 The morning came, the chaise was 
 brought 
 
 But yet was not allow'd 
 To drive up to the door, lest all 
 
 Should say that she was proud. 
 
 So three doors off the chaise was stay'd. 
 Where they did all get in ; 
 
 Six precious souls, and all agog 
 To dash through thick and thin. 
 
256 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Smack went the whip, oiincl went the 
 wheels, 
 
 Were never folk so glad ; 
 The stones did rattle underneath. 
 
 As if Cheapside were mad. 
 
 John Gilpin at his horse's side 
 Seized fast the flowing mane, 
 
 And up he got, in haste to ride. 
 But soon came down again ; 
 
 For saddl -tree scarce reach'd had he. 
 
 His journey to begin. 
 When turning round his head he saw 
 
 Three customers come in. 
 
 80 down he came ; for loss of time. 
 Although it grieved him sore, 
 
 Yet loss of pence, luU well he knew. 
 Would trouble him much more. 
 
 'Twas long before the customers. 
 
 Were suited to their mind, 
 ■ When Betty ' screaming came down 
 stairs, 
 " The wine is left behind ! " 
 
 " Good lack ! " quoth he ; " yet bring 
 it me, 
 
 My leathern belt likewise. 
 In which I bea: my trusty sword. 
 
 When I do exercise." 
 
 Now, Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 
 Had two stone bottles found. 
 
 To hold the liquor that she loved, 
 And keep it safe and sound. 
 
 Each bottle had a curling ear, 
 Through which the belt he drew. 
 
 And hung a bottle on each side 
 To make his balance true. 
 
 Then over all, that he might be 
 
 Equipp'd from top to toe. 
 His long red cloak, well brush'd and 
 neat, 
 
 He manfully did throw. 
 
 Now see him mounted once again 
 
 Upon his nimble steed. 
 Full lowly pacing o'er the stones. 
 
 With caution and good heed. 
 
 But finding soon a smoother road 
 
 Benea h his well-shod feet, 
 The snorting beast began to trot, 
 
 Which gall'd him in his seat. 
 
 So fair and softly, John he cried. 
 But John he cried in vain ; 
 
 That trot became a gallop «oon, 
 In spite of curb and rein. 
 
 So stooping down, as needs he must. 
 
 Who cannot sit upright, 
 He grasp'd tha mane with both his 
 hands. 
 
 And eke with all his might. 
 
 Hi-i horse, who never in that sort 
 Had handled been before,- 
 
 What thing upon his back had got 
 Did wonder more and more. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, neck or naught ; 
 
 Away went hat and wig ; 
 He little dreamt, when he set out. 
 
 Of running such a rig. 
 
 The wind did blow, the cloak did iiy 
 Like streamer long and gay. 
 
 Till, loop and button, failing both. 
 At last it flew away. 
 
 Then might all people well discern 
 The bottles he had slung ; 
 
 A Ijottlc swinging at each side. 
 As hath been said or sung. 
 
 The dogs did bark, the children 
 scream'd. 
 Up fl w the windows all ; 
 And every sou cried out, " Well 
 done ! " 
 As loud as he could bawl. 
 
 Away went Gilpin — who but ho 
 His fame soon spread around ; 
 
 He carries weight ! he riiles a raco 
 'Tis for a thousand pound ! 
 
 And still as fast as h^lrew near, 
 
 'Twas wonderful to view. 
 How in a trice the turnpike men 
 
 Their gates wide open tlirew. 
 
 And now as he went bowing down 
 
 His reeking head full low. 
 The bottles twain behind his back 
 
 Were shatter'd at a blow. 
 
 Down ran the wine into the road. 
 
 Mot piteous to be se.ni, 
 Which made his horse's flanks to smoke. 
 
 As they had ba-sted been. 
 
Humorous Verse. 
 
 2j7 
 
 But still he socm'd to cany weight 
 With leathern girdle braced ; 
 
 For all might see the bottle-necks, 
 Still dangling at his waist. 
 
 Thus all through merry Islington 
 Those gambols he did play, 
 
 Until he came unto the W^ash 
 Of Edmonton so gay ; 
 
 And there he threw the wash about 
 
 On both sides of the waj', 
 .lu-st like unto a trundling mop, 
 
 Or a wild goose at play. 
 
 At Edmonton his loving wifp 
 
 From the balcony espied 
 Her tender husband, wondering much 
 
 To see how he did ride. 
 
 " Stop, stop, John Gilpin ! here's the 
 house ! " 
 
 They all aloud did cry ; 
 " The dinner waits, and we are tired " ; 
 
 Said Gilpin, " So am I ! " 
 
 But yet his horse was not a whit 
 
 Inclined to tarry there ; 
 For why ? his owner had a house 
 
 Full ten miles off, at Ware. 
 
 So, like an arrow swift he flew. 
 Shot by an archer strong ; 
 
 So did he li}'— which brings me to 
 The middle of my song. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, out of breath, 
 
 And sore against his will. 
 Till at his friend the calender's. 
 
 His horse at last stood still. 
 
 ri»e calender, amazed to see 
 His neighbour in such trim. 
 
 Laid down his pipe. Hew to the gate. 
 And thu ; accosted him : 
 
 " What news ? what news ? your 
 tidings tell ! 
 
 Tell me you must and shall — 
 Say why bareheaded you are come. 
 
 Or why you come at all ? " 
 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 
 
 .•\nd loved a timely joke ; 
 And thus unto the calender 
 
 In merry guise he spok : 
 
 " I came because your horse would come. 
 
 And, if I will forbode. 
 My hat and wig will souu be here ; 
 
 Thy are upon the road." 
 
 The calender, right glad to find 
 
 His friend in merry pin, 
 Rcturn'd him hot a single word. 
 
 But to the house went in. 
 
 When straight he came with hat and 
 wig; 
 
 A wig that flowed behind ; 
 A hat not much the worse for wear, 
 
 Each comely in its kind. 
 
 He held them up, and in his turn 
 Thus showed his ready wit : 
 
 " My head is twice as big as yours . 
 They therefore needs must fit. 
 
 " But lei me scrape the dirt away 
 That hangs upon your facu ; 
 
 Aufl stop and eat, for well you may 
 Be in a hungry case." 
 
 Said John, " It is ray wedding-day. 
 And all the world would stare. 
 
 If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
 And I should dine at Ware." 
 
 So, turning to hi-* horse, he said : 
 
 " I am in haste to dine ; 
 'Twas for your pleasure you came here. 
 
 You shall go back for mine." 
 
 Ah I luckless speech, and bootless boast 
 For which he paid full dear : 
 
 For. whil.' he spake, a braying ass 
 Did ring most loud and clear ; 
 
 Wiiereat his horse did snort, as he 
 
 Had heard a lion roar. 
 And g dlop'd off with all his might, 
 
 As he had done before. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 Went Gilpin's hat and wig ! 
 
 He lost them sjoner than tli ■ fi-st; 
 For why ? — they were too big. 
 
 Now, Mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
 Her husband posting down 
 
 Into th," country far away. 
 She puU'd out half a crown ; 
 
 ^7 
 
258 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 And thus unto the youth she said. 
 That drove them to the Bd\, 
 
 " This shall be yours, when you bring 
 back. 
 My husband safe and well." 
 
 The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
 John coming back amain ; 
 
 Whom in a trice lie tried to stop 
 By catching at his rein ; 
 
 But not performing what he meant. 
 And gladly would have done, 
 
 The frighted steed he frighted more. 
 And made him faster run. 
 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 Went postboy at his heels ; 
 
 The postboy's horse right glad to miss 
 The lumbering of the wheels. 
 
 Six gentlemen upon the road, 
 
 Thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
 With postboy scampering in the rear, 
 
 They raised the hue and cry : 
 
 " Stop thief ! stop thief ! a highway- 
 man ! " 
 
 Not one of them was mute ; 
 And all and each that pass'd that way 
 
 Did jOin in the pursuit. 
 
 And now the turnpike gates again 
 
 Flew open in short space ; 
 The toll-men thinking as before 
 
 That Gilpin ran a race. 
 
 And so he did, and won it too, 
 For he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 
 He did again get down 
 
 Now let us sing, long live the King I 
 And Gilpin, long live he 1 
 
 And, when he next doth ride abroad. 
 May I be there to see ! 
 
 William Cowper. 
 
 FIVE NONSENSE VERSES. 
 
 BY EDWARD LEAR. 
 
 There was an Old Man with a beard, 
 who said, " It is just what I feared ! 
 Two Owls and a Hen, four Larks and 
 a Wren, 
 
 Have all built their nests in 
 my beard ! " 
 
 There was an Old Man in a tree, who 
 was horribly bored by a bee ; 
 When they said, " Does it buzz ? " 
 he replied, " Yes, it does ! 
 It's a regular brute of a bee ! " 
 
 There was an Old Man in a boat, who 
 said, " I'm afloat ! I'm afloat ! " 
 When they said, " No you ain't ! " 
 he was ready to faint. 
 
 That unhappy old man in a boat. 
 
 There was an Old Man with a poker, who 
 painted his face with red ochre ; 
 When they said, " You're a Guy ! " 
 he made no reply. 
 
 But knocked them all down with 
 his poker. 
 
 There was an Old Man who said, "Hush ! 
 I perceive a young bird in this 
 bush ! " 
 When they said, " Is it small ? " he 
 rephed, " Not at all ! 
 
 It is four times as big as the 
 bushl" 
 
THE FATHERLAND. 
 
 I 
 
 THE HERITAGE. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits lanch, 
 And piles of brick, and stones, and 
 gold, 
 
 And he inherits soft, white hands. 
 And tender flesh that fears the cold, 
 Nor dares to wear a garment old ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits cares : 
 The bank may break, the factory 
 burn, 
 A breath may burst his bubble shares. 
 And soft white hands could hardly 
 
 earn 
 A living that would serve his turn ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 The rich man's son inherits wants 
 His stomach craves for dainty fare ; 
 
 With sated heart, he hears the pants 
 Of toiling hinds and brown arms bare. 
 And wearies in his easy chair ! 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 One scarce would wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 Stout muscles and a sinewy heart, 
 
 A hardy frame, a hardier spirit. 
 
 King of two hands, he does his part 
 la every useful toil and art ; 
 
 A lieritage, it seems to me, 
 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 Wishes o'erjoyed with humble things, 
 A rank adjudged by toil-worn merit. 
 
 Content that from employment 
 springs, 
 
 A heart that in his labour sings ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 What doth the poor man's son inherit ? 
 
 A patience learned of beijig poor. 
 Courage, if sorrow come, to bear it, 
 
 A fellow-feeling that is sure 
 
 To make the outcast bless his door ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me, 
 A king might wish to hold in fee. 
 
 O rich man's son ! there is a toil 
 That with all others level stands ; 
 
 Large charity doth never soil. 
 
 But only whiten, soft white hands, — 
 This is the best crop from thy lands ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 Worth being rich to hold in fee. 
 
 O poor man's son ! scorn not thy state ; 
 There is worse weariness than thine 
 
 In merely being rich and great : 
 Toil only gives the soul to shine. 
 And makes rest fragrant and benign ; 
 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 
 Worth being poor to hold in fee. 
 
 Both, heirs to some six feet of sod. 
 Are equal in the earth at last ; 
 Both, children of the same dear God, 
 Prove title to your heirship vast 
 By record of a well-filled past ; 
 A heritage, it seems to me. 
 Well worth a life to hold in fee. 
 
 James Russdl Loivell. 
 
 THE HAPPIEST LAND. 
 
 FROiM THK GERMAN 
 
 There sat one day in quiet. 
 By an alehouse on the llhine. 
 
 Four hale and hearty fellows 
 And drank the precious wine. 
 
 The landlord's daughter fill'd their cups. 
 Around the rustic board ; 
 
 17* 
 
2G0 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Then sat they all so calm and still, 
 And spake not one rude word. 
 
 But when the maid departed, 
 A Swabian raised his hand, 
 
 And cried, all hot and flushed with wine, 
 " Long live the Swabian land ! 
 
 " The greatest kingdom upon earth 
 Cannot v.'ith that compare ; 
 
 With all the stout and hardy men. 
 And the nut-brown maidens there." 
 
 " Ha ! " cried a Saxon, laughing. — 
 And dashed his beard with Mine, — 
 
 " I had rather live in Lapland, 
 Than that Swabian land of thine ! 
 
 " The goodliest land on all this earth, 
 
 It is the Saxon land ! 
 There have I as many maidens 
 
 As fingers on this hand ! " 
 
 " Hold your tongues ! both Swabian 
 and Saxon ! " 
 
 A bold Bohemian cries ; 
 " If there's a heaven upon this earth. 
 
 In Bohemia it lies. 
 
 " There the tailor blows the flute, 
 And the cobbler blows the horn, 
 
 And the miner blows the bugle. 
 Over mountain gorge and bourn." 
 
 And then the landlord's daughter 
 Up to heaven raised her hand. 
 
 And said, " Ye may no more contend, — 
 Tiiere lies the happiest land ! " 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Lon'jjuUoiv. 
 
 THE FATHERIjAND. 
 
 Where is the true man's fatherland ? 
 
 Is it where he by chance is born ? 
 
 Doth not the yearning spirit scorn 
 In such scant borders to be spanned 
 Oh yes ! his fatherland must be 
 .As the blue heaven, wide and free ! 
 
 Is it alone where freedom is. 
 
 Where God is God and man is niaii .' 
 Dotli he not claim a broader span 
 
 For the sours love of home than this T 
 Oh yes ! his fatherland must be 
 As the blue heaven wide and free ! 
 
 Where'er a human heart doth wear 
 Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's 
 
 gyves. 
 Where'er a human spirit strives 
 After a hfe more true and fair. 
 There is the true man's birth place 
 
 grand. 
 His is the world-wide fatherland ! 
 
 Where'er a single slave doth pine. 
 Where'er one man may help 
 
 another, — 
 Thank God for such a birthright, 
 brother, — 
 That spot of earth is thine and mine ! 
 There is the true man's birthplace, 
 
 grand. 
 His is a world-wide fatherland ! 
 
 James Eiissell Lowell. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S SONG. 
 
 Hurrah ! for merry England, no 
 
 longer will I roam, 
 But pray the winiis will swiftly blow 
 
 the vessel towards home : 
 I oft have been on foreign shores, 
 
 exploring far and wide. 
 With empty purse, anil not a friend my 
 
 wand'ring steps to guide. 
 
 By land and sea, by night and day, I've 
 
 (_ v'ry danger shared 
 And tiio' full many my escapes, as yet 
 
 I have been spared. 
 I've crossctl the seas'- when hurricanes 
 
 have swejjt along the main. 
 And been 'mongst those who bravely 
 
 fought upon the battle plain. 
 
 O'er Afric's burning sands I've toiled 
 
 and trod Norwegian's snows, 
 And Lapland's forests, Spain's oli\o 
 
 woods, and where the palm iv< e 
 grows ; 
 But farther as I journey'd on, each 
 
 feeling of my breast. 
 Was bound to <lear old England, the 
 
 country I love best. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 261 
 
 I love my foiinlry and my king, their 
 
 glory is my priue. 
 That urged my arm when fighting by 
 
 my comrades side by side ; 
 And now that I'm returned again, no 
 
 more to be a ranger, 
 Tho' long since I have left my home, I 
 
 shall not feel a stranger. 
 
 They'll find me altered, for I left my 
 
 home in bloom of youth ; 
 But then they shall not find me 
 
 changed in honour or in truth. 
 Then hurrah ! for merry England, 
 
 no longer will I roam. 
 But pray the winds will swiftly blow 
 
 the vessel towards home. 
 
 AGTNCOURT. 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourtl 
 Know ye not Agincourt, 
 Where Englisli slew and hurt 
 
 All their French foemeu r 
 ^^'ith their pikes and bills hroun. 
 How the French were beat doun. 
 
 Shot by our Bowmen ? 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! 
 Know ye not Agincourt, 
 Kiiillish of every sort. 
 
 High men and low men, 
 Fought that day wondrou^^ well. 
 All our stories tell. 
 
 Thanks to our Bowmen ! 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! 
 Know ye not Agincourt ? 
 Where our fifth Harry taught 
 
 Frenchmen to know men : 
 And, when the day was done. 
 Thousands there fell to one 
 
 Good English Bowman 1 
 
 THE TRAVEIiliEE'S RETURN". 
 
 Sweet to the morning traveller 
 
 The song amid the sky, 
 Where, twinkling in the dewy light. 
 
 The skylark soars on high. 
 
 And cheering to the traveller 
 The gales that round liim play. 
 
 When faint and heavily he drags, 
 Along his noontide way. 
 
 And when beneath th' uncloudeti sun 
 
 Full wearily toils he, 
 The flowing wat«r makes to him 
 
 A soothing melody. 
 
 And when the evening light decays 
 
 And all is calm around, 
 There is sweet music to his ear 
 
 In the distant sheep-bell's sound. 
 
 But, oh ! of all dehghtful sounds 
 
 Of evening or of moni, 
 The sweetest is the voice of love 
 
 That welcomes his return. 
 
 Robert Southey. 
 
 THE UNREGARDED TOIIiS 
 OF THE POOR. 
 
 Alas ! what secret tears are shed. 
 What wounded spirits bleed ; 
 
 What loving hearts are sundered, 
 And yet man takes no heed ! 
 
 He goeth in his daily course. 
 
 Made fat with oil and wine. 
 And pitieth not the weary souls 
 
 That in his bondage pine. 
 That turn for him the mazy wheel. 
 
 That delve for him the mine ! 
 And pitieth not the children small 
 
 In noisy factories dim. 
 That all day long, lean, pale and faint. 
 
 Do heavy tasks for him ! 
 
 To him they are but as the stones 
 
 Beneath his feet that lie ; 
 It entereth not his thoughts that they 
 
 From him claim sympathy : 
 It entereth not his thoughts that God 
 
 Heareth the sufferer's groan. 
 That in His righteous eye, their life 
 
 Is precious as his own. 
 
 Mary Iluwitt. 
 
262 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 FOR A' THAT, AND A' THAT. 
 
 Is there, for honest poverty, 
 
 That hangs his head, and a' that ? 
 The coward slave, we pass him by. 
 And dare be poor for a' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that ! 
 
 Our toils obscure, and a' that ; 
 
 The rank is but the guinea stamp ; 
 
 The man's the gowd for a' that. 
 
 What the' on hamely fare we dine. 
 Wear hodden-grey, and a' that ; 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their 
 wine, 
 A man's a man, for a' that. 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that. 
 The honest man, the' ne'er sae poor. 
 Is king o' men for a' that. 
 
 You see yon birkie, ca'd a lord, 
 
 Wha struts, and stares and a' that ; 
 Tho' hundreds worship at his word. 
 He's but a coof for a' that ; 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 His riband, star and a' that. 
 The man of independent mind 
 He looks and laughs at a' that. 
 
 A king can make a belted knight, 
 
 A marquis, duke and a' that ; 
 But an honest man's aboon his might, 
 Guid faith he maunna fa' that ! 
 For a' that, and a' that. 
 
 Their dignities, and a' that. 
 The pith o' sense, and pride o' 
 worth. 
 Are higher ranks than a' that. 
 
 Then let us pray that come it may. 
 
 As come it will for a' that, 
 Tliat sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, 
 May bear the giee, and a' that ; 
 For a that, and a' that, 
 
 It's coming j'et, for a' that ; 
 That man to man, the warld o'er. 
 Shall brothers be for a' that. 
 Mobert Burns. 
 
 Returns to deck their hallowed mould. 
 She there shall dress a sweeter sod 
 Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. 
 
 By fairy hands their knell is rung ; 
 By forms unseen their dirge is sirng ; 
 There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray. 
 To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; 
 And Freedom shall await repair 
 To dwell a weeping hermit there. 
 
 WiUiam Collins. 
 
 TBTJE GREATNESS. 
 
 The fairest action of our human hfe 
 Is scorning to revenge an injury ; 
 
 For who forgives without a further strife 
 His adversary's heart to him doth tie ; 
 
 And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said 
 
 To win the heart, than overthrow the 
 head. 
 
 If we a worthy enemy do find. 
 
 To yield to worth, it must be nobly 
 done : — 
 
 But if of baser metal be hia mind. 
 In base revenge there is no honour 
 won. 
 
 Who would a worthy courage over- 
 throw ? 
 
 And who would wrestle with a worth- 
 less foe ? 
 
 We say our hearts are great, and cannot 
 yield ; 
 Because they cannot yield, it proves 
 them poor ; 
 Great hearts are task'd beyond their 
 power but seld ; 
 The weakest lion will the loudest roar. 
 Truth's school for certain does this 
 
 same allow, 
 High-heartedness doth sometimes teach 
 to bow. 
 
 Lady Elizabeth Carew. 
 
 HOW SIiEEP THE BRAVE. 
 
 How sleep the Brave who sink to rest 
 By all their country's wishes best ! 
 When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OP 
 
 SENNACHERIB. 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the wolf 
 
 on the fold. 
 And his cohorts were gleaming in 
 purple and gold : 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 2G3 
 
 I 
 
 And the sheen of their spears was like 
 
 stars on the sea, 
 Wiien the bhic wave rolls nightly on 
 
 deep Galilee. 
 
 Like the leaves of the forest when 
 
 Summer is green. 
 That host with their banners at sunset 
 
 were seen : 
 Like the leaves of the forest when 
 
 Autumn hath flown, 
 That host on tlie morrow lay withered 
 
 and strown. 
 
 For the Angel of Death spread his 
 
 wings on the blast. 
 And breathed in tlic face of the foe 
 
 as he passed ; 
 And the eyes of the sleepers waxed 
 
 deadly and chill, 
 And their hearts but onoe heaved, and 
 
 for ever gi-ew still. 
 
 And there lay the steed with his 
 nostril all wide. 
 
 But through it there rolled not the 
 breath of his pride ; 
 
 And the foam of his gasping lay white 
 on the turf. 
 
 And cold as the spray of t'.ie rock- 
 beating surf. 
 
 And there lay the rider distorted and 
 
 pale. 
 With the dew on his brow, and the 
 
 rust on his mail ; 
 And the tents were all silent, the 
 
 banners alo:u'. 
 The lances unlifted, the trumpet 
 
 unblown. 
 
 And the widows of Ashur are loud 
 
 in their wail, 
 And the idols are bj-oke in tlie temple 
 
 of Baal ; 
 And the might of the Gentile, unsmote 
 
 by the sword. 
 Hath melted like snow in the glance 
 
 of the Lord j 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 VVliere grew the arts of war and peace — 
 Where Delos rose, and Phoebus 
 sprung ! 
 Eternal summer gilds them yet, 
 But all except their sun is set. 
 
 The Scian and the Teian muse. 
 The hero's hai'p, the lover's lute. 
 
 Have found the fame your shores 
 refuse ; 
 Their place of birth alone is mute 
 
 To sounds which echo further west 
 
 Than your sires' " Islands of the Blest." 
 
 The mountains look on Marathon — 
 And JIarathon looks on the sea ; 
 
 And musing there an hour alone, 
 I dreamed that Greece might still be 
 free : 
 
 For standing on the Persians' grave, 
 
 I could not deem myself a slave. 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 I. 
 
 This royal throne of Kings, this 
 
 sceptred isle. 
 This eartli of majesty, this seat of 
 
 Mars, 
 This other Rden, demi-paradise ; 
 This fortress, built by nature for 
 
 herself. 
 Against infection and the hand of 
 
 war ; 
 This happy breed of men, this little 
 
 world : 
 This precious stone set in the silver 
 
 sea, 
 Wliioh serves it in the otHce of a wall, 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house. 
 Against the envy of less happier 
 
 lands. 
 This blessed plot, this earth, tliis 
 
 realm, this England. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THE ISLE OF GREECE. 
 The isles of Greece, the isles of Greece ! 
 Where burning Sappho loved and 
 suny. 
 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 IL 
 
 This England never did, nor never 
 
 shall. 
 Lie at the proud foot of a con(|ueror 
 
264 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 But when it first did help to wound 
 
 itself. 
 Now these her princes are come home 
 
 again, 
 Come the three corners of the world 
 
 in arms 
 And we shall shock them: Naught 
 
 shall make us rue, 
 If England to itself do rest but true. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THE NAME OF ENGIiAND. 
 
 The trumpet of the battle 
 
 Hath a high and thrilling tone ; 
 
 And the firsfdeep gun of an ocean fight 
 Dread miisic all its own. 
 
 But a mightier power, my England ! 
 
 Is in that name of thine. 
 To strike the fiie from every heart 
 
 Along the banner'd line. 
 
 Proudly it woke the spirits 
 Of yore, the brave and true, 
 
 When the bow was bent on Crcssy's 
 field, 
 And the yeoman's arrow flew. 
 
 And proudly hath it floated 
 Through the battles of the sea, 
 
 When the red-cross flag o'er smoke- 
 wreaths play'd. 
 Like the lightning in its glee. 
 
 On rock, on wave, on bastion, 
 Its echoes have been known ; 
 
 By a thousand streams the hearts 
 lie low. 
 That have answered to its tone. 
 
 A thousand ancient mountaina 
 Its pealing note hath stirr'd ; 
 
 Sound on, and on, for evermore, 
 O thou victorious word ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Remans. 
 
 THE ENQIilSH BOY. 
 
 Look from tlie ancient mountains down, 
 
 My noble P^iglish boy ! 
 Thy country's fields around thee gleam 
 
 In sunlight and in joy. 
 
 Ages have rolled since foeman's march 
 Passed o'er that old, firm sod ; 
 
 For well Ihe land 1 aMi fealty held 
 To freedom and to God ! 
 
 Gaze proudly on, my English boy ! 
 
 And let thy kindling mind 
 Drink in the spirit of free thought 
 
 From every chainless mind ! 
 
 There, in the shadow of old Time, 
 
 The halls beneath thee lie 
 Which poured forth to the fields of yore 
 
 Our England's chivalry. 
 
 How bravely and how solemnly 
 They stand, midst oak and yew ! 
 
 Whence Cressy's yeomen haply framed 
 The bow, in battle true. 
 
 And round their walls the good swords 
 hang 
 Whose faith knew no alloy. 
 And shields of knighthood, pure from 
 stain : 
 Gaze on, my English boy ! 
 
 Gaze where the hamlet's ivied church 
 Gleams by the antique elm, 
 
 Or where the minster lifts the cross 
 Hi^h through the air's blue realm. 
 
 Martyrs have showered their free heart's 
 blood 
 That England's prayer might rise, 
 From those grey fanes of thoughtful 
 years, 
 Unfettered to the skies. 
 
 Along their aisles, beneath their trees, 
 This earth's most glorious dust. 
 
 Once fired with valour, wisdom, song. 
 Is laid in holy trust. 
 
 Gaze on — gaze farther, farther yet — 
 
 My gallant English boy ! 
 Yon blue sea bears thy country's flag. 
 
 The billows' pride and joy. 
 
 Those waves in many a fight have 
 closed 
 
 Above her faithful dead ; 
 That red-crossed flag victoriously 
 
 Hath floated o'er their bed. 
 
 They perished — this green turf to keep 
 By hostile tread unstained. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 2fi5 
 
 Those knightly halls inviolate. 
 Those churches unprofaned. 
 
 And high and clear their memory's 
 light 
 
 Along our shore is set. 
 And many an answering beacon fire 
 
 Shall there be kindled yet ! 
 
 Lift up thy hearts, my English boy ! 
 
 And TpTBiy, like them to stand, 
 Should God so summon thee, to guard 
 
 The altars of the land 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hevians. 
 
 ««I TRAVELLED AMONG 
 UNKNOWN MEN." 
 
 I TRAVELLED amoiig Unknown men, 
 
 In lands beyond the sea ; 
 Nor, England ! did I know till then 
 
 What love I bore to thee. 
 
 'Tis past, that melanchoh^ dream | 
 
 Nor will I quit thy shore 
 A second time : for still I seem 
 
 To love thee more and more. 
 
 Among the mountains did I feel 
 
 The joy of my desire ; 
 And she I cherished turned her wheel 
 
 Beside an English fire. 
 
 Thy mornings showed, thy nights 
 concealed 
 
 The bowei-s where Lucy played : 
 And thine, too, is the last green field 
 
 That Lucy's eye surveyed. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 HOME THOUGHTS FROM 
 ABROAD. 
 
 Oh ! to be in England 
 
 Now that April's there. 
 And whoever wakes in England 
 
 Sees, some morning, unaware. 
 That the lowest boughs and the brush- 
 wood sheaf 
 Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny 
 leaf. 
 
 While the chafTinch 
 
 orchard bough 
 In England — now ! 
 
 sings on the 
 
 And after April, when May follows, 
 And the whitethroat builds, and all 
 
 the swallows — 
 Hark ! where my blossomed pear-tree 
 
 in the hedge 
 I-eans to the field and scatters on 
 
 the clover 
 Blossoms and dew-drops — at the bent 
 
 spray's edge — ■ 
 That's the wise thrush ; he sings each 
 
 song twice over, 
 Lest you should think he never could 
 
 recapture 
 The first fine careless rapture ! 
 And though the fields look rough with 
 
 hoary dew, 
 All will be gay when noon-tide wakes 
 
 anew 
 The buttercups, the little children's 
 
 dower, 
 — Far brighter than thie gaudy melon- 
 
 liower. 
 
 JRohert Browning. 
 
 HOME THOUGHTS FROM 
 THE SEA. 
 
 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent to 
 
 the north-west died away ; 
 Sunset ran, one glorious blood-red, 
 
 reeking into Cadiz Bay ; 
 Bluish mid the burning water, full in 
 
 face Trafalgar lay ; 
 In the dimmest north-east distance, 
 
 dawned Gibraltar grand and gay ; 
 " Here and here did England help me — 
 
 How can I help England ? ' — say, 
 Whoso turns as I, this evening, turn 
 
 to God to praise and pray. 
 While Jove's planet rises yonder, silent 
 
 over Africa. 
 
 Jiobtrt Broii n ing. 
 
 MEN OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Men of England ! who inherit 
 
 Rights that cost your sires their 
 blood ! 
 
 Men whose undegenerate spirit 
 Haa been proved on field and flood. 
 
266 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 By the foeB ye've foiiglit uncounted, 
 By the glorious deeds j'eVe done. 
 
 Trophies captured — breaches mounted. 
 Navies conquer'd — kingdoms won ! 
 
 Yet, remember, England gathers 
 Hence but fruitless wreaths of fame. 
 
 If the patriotism of your fathers 
 (ilow not in your hearts the same. 
 
 What are monuments of bravery, 
 Where no public virtues bloom ? 
 
 Wliat avail in lands of slavery. 
 Trophied temples, arch, and tomb ? 
 
 I'ageants ! — Let the world revere us 
 For our peo}ile's rights and laws. 
 
 And the breasts of civic heroes 
 Bared in freedom's holy cause. 
 
 Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, 
 Sidney's matchless shade is youi's — 
 
 Martyrs in heroic story. 
 
 Worth a hundred Agincourts | 
 
 We're the sons of sires that baffled 
 Crown'd and mitred tyranny, 
 
 Tl.ey defied the field and scaffold 
 For their birthrights — so will we ! 
 
 Thomas CampbeM. 
 
 The blessed homes of England ! 
 
 How softly on tlieir liowers 
 Is laid the holy quietness 
 
 That breathes from Sabbath hours ! 
 Solemn, yet sweet, the church-bell's 
 chime 
 
 Floats through their wood? at morn ; 
 All other sounds, in that still time. 
 
 Of breeze and leaf are born. 
 
 The cottage homes of England ! 
 
 By thousands on her plains. 
 They are smiling o'er the silvei y brooks. 
 
 And round the hamlets fanes. 
 Through glowing orchards forth they 
 peep. 
 
 Each from its nook of leaves ; 
 And fearless there the lowly sleep. 
 
 As the bird beneath their eaves. 
 
 The free, fair homes of England ! 
 
 Long, long, in hut and hall 
 May hearts of native proof be reared 
 
 To guard each hallowed wall ! 
 And green for ever be the groves, 
 
 And bright the flowery sod, 
 Wliere first the child's glad spiiit loves 
 
 Its country and its Cod ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Remans. 
 
 THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 
 
 The stately homes of England ! 
 
 How beautiful they stand, 
 Amidst their tall ancestral trees, 
 
 O'er all the pleasant land ! 
 The deer across their greensward bound 
 
 Througli shade and sunny gleam, 
 And the swan glides past them with 
 the sound 
 
 Of some rejected stream. 
 
 TE GENTLEMEN OF 
 ENGLAND. 
 
 Ye gentlemen of England 
 
 That live at home in ease 
 Ah ! little do you think upon 
 
 The dangers of the seas. 
 (Jive ear unto the mariners. 
 
 And they will plainly show 
 All tile cares and all the fears 
 
 When the stormy_ winds do blow. 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow 
 
 The merry homes of England ! 
 
 Around their hearths by night 
 What gladsome looks of household love 
 
 Meet in the ruddy light ! 
 Tliere woman's voice flows forth in 
 song. 
 
 Or childish tale is told. 
 Or lips move tunefully along 
 
 Some glorious page of old. 
 
 If enemies oppose us 
 
 When England is at war 
 
 With any foreign nation, 
 
 We fear not wound nor scar ; 
 
 Our roaring guns shall teach 'em 
 Our valour for to know 
 
 Whilst they reel on the kneel, 
 And the stormy winds do blow 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 2f)7 
 
 Then couraf^o all brave niariiur.s. 
 
 And never he dismayed ; 
 While we have bold adventurers. 
 
 We ne'er shall want a trade : 
 Our nien^hants will employ us 
 
 To fetch them wealth we know ; 
 Then be bold — work for gold. 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 When the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 Martyn Parker. 
 
 YE MABINERS OF ENQIiAND. 
 
 Ye Mariners of England ! 
 
 That guard our native seas ; 
 Whose riag has braved, a thousand 
 years. 
 
 The battle and the breeze ! 
 Your glorious standard launch again 
 To match another foe ! 
 And sweep through the deep. 
 While the stormy winds do blow ; 
 While the battle rages loud and long. 
 And the stormy tempests blow. 
 
 The spirits of your fathers 
 
 Shall start from every wave ! — 
 From the deck it was their field of fame, 
 
 And Ocean was their grave : 
 Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell. 
 Your manly hearts shall glow. 
 As ye sweep through the deep, 
 While the stormy tempests blow ; 
 While the battle rages loud and long. 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 Britannia needs no bulwark, 
 No tow ers along the steep : 
 Her march is o'er the mountain-waves. 
 
 Her home is on the deep. 
 With thunders from her native oak. 
 She quells the floods below, — 
 As they roar on the shore. 
 When the stormy tempests blow : 
 When the battle rages loud and long. 
 And the stormy winds do blow. 
 
 The meteor flag of England 
 
 Shall yet terrific burn ; 
 Till danger's troubled night depart, 
 
 And the star of j)eace return. 
 Then, then, ye ocean-warriors I 
 0;'r song and fea;l shall flow 
 To the fame of your name. 
 
 When the storm has ceased to blow ; 
 When the fiery fight is heard no more. 
 And the storm has ceased to blow. 
 
 Thomas Campbdl. 
 
 GOD SAVE THE KING 
 
 Odd save our gracious Kinj, 
 Long hve our noble King, 
 
 (iod save the King ! 
 Send him victorious, 
 Happy and glorious. 
 Long to reign over us, 
 
 God save the King ! 
 
 O Lord our God arise. 
 Scatter his enemies, 
 
 And make them fall. 
 Confound their pohtics, 
 Frustrate their knavish tricks ; 
 On Thee our hearts we tix, 
 
 God save us all ! 
 
 Thy choicest gifts in store. 
 On him be pleased to pour. 
 
 Long may he reign. 
 May he defend our laws. 
 And ever give us cause. 
 To sing with heart and voice, 
 
 God save the King ! 
 
 Henry Carey. 
 
 RULE BRITANNIA. 
 
 When Britain first at Heaven's com- 
 mand. 
 
 Arose from out the azure main. 
 This was the charter of her land. 
 
 And guardian angels simg the strain : 
 
 Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the 
 waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves. 
 
 The nations not so blest as thee. 
 
 Must in their turns to tyra ta fall. 
 Whilst thou shalt flourish great ana free. 
 
 The dread and envy of them all. 
 
 Still more majestic shalt thou rise. 
 More dreadful from each foreign 
 stroke ; 
 
268 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 As the loud blast that tears the skies 
 Serves but to root thy native oak. 
 
 Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame ; 
 
 All their attempts to bend thee down 
 Will but arouse thy generous flame. 
 
 And work their woe and thy renown. 
 
 To thee belongs the riu-al reign ; 
 
 Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; 
 All thine shall be the subject main. 
 
 And every shore it circles thine ! 
 
 The Muses still, vrith Freedom found, 
 Shall to thy happy coast repair ; 
 
 Blest Isle, with matchless beauty 
 crowned, 
 And manly hearts to guard the fair : 
 
 Rule Britannia ! Britannia rules the 
 waves ! 
 Britons never shall be slaves. 
 
 James Thomson. 
 
 BOADICEA. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 When the British warrior queen. 
 Bleeding from the Roman rods. 
 
 Sought, with an indignant mien. 
 Counsel of her country's gods ; 
 
 Sage beneath a spreading oak 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief ; 
 
 Every burning word he spoke 
 Full of rage, and full of grief. 
 
 Princess ! if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
 'Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrors of our tongues. 
 
 Rome shall perish — write that word 
 In the blood that she has spilt ; 
 
 Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd. 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 
 Rome, for empire far renown'd. 
 Tramples on a thousand states ; 
 
 Soo 1 her pride shall kiss the ground- 
 Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 
 
 Other Romans shall arise. 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize. 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 
 Then the progeny that springs 
 From the forests of our land, 
 
 Arm'd with thimder, clad with wings. 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 
 Regions Caesar never knew 
 
 Thy posterity shall sway ; 
 Where his eagles never flew. 
 
 None invincible as they. 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words. 
 Pregnant with celestial fire. 
 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 
 She, with all a monarch's pride. 
 Felt them in her bosom glow ; 
 
 Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; 
 Dying hurl'd them at the foe ; 
 
 Ruffians, pitiless and proud, 
 
 Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
 
 Empire is on us bestowed, 
 Shame and ruin wait on you. 
 
 William Cowper, 
 
 HE NEVER SMIIiED AGAIN. 
 
 The bark that held a prince went down, 
 
 The sweeping waves rolled on ; 
 And what was England's glorious crown 
 
 To him that wept a son ? 
 He hved — for life may long be borne. 
 
 Ere sorrow break its chain ; — 
 Why comes not death to those who 
 mourn ? 
 
 He never smiled again ! 
 
 There stood proud forms before his 
 throne. 
 
 The stately and the brave ; 
 But which could fill the place of one, - 
 
 That one beneath the wave ? 
 Before him passed the young and fair. 
 
 In pleasure's reckless train ; 
 But seas dashed o'er his son's bright 
 hair — 
 
 He never smiled again ! 
 
 He sat where festal bowls went round ; 
 He beard the minstrel sing ; 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 269 
 
 He saw the tourney's victor crowned 
 Amidst the knightly ring; 
 
 A murmur of the restless deep 
 Was blent with every strain, 
 
 A voice of winds that would not sleep- 
 He never smiled again ! 
 
 Hearts, in that time, closed o'er the 
 trace 
 
 Of vows once fondly pom-ed. 
 And strangers took the kinsman's place 
 
 At many a joyous board ; 
 Graves, which true love had bathed 
 with tears, 
 
 \\'crc left to heaven's bright rain. 
 Fresh hopes were born for other years — 
 
 lie never smiled again ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hemaiu. 
 
 THK AEMADA. 
 Attend, all ye who list to hear our 
 
 noble England's praise ; 
 I sing of the thrice famous deeds she 
 
 wrought in ancient days, 
 When that great fleet invincible, 
 
 against her bore, in vain. 
 The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest 
 
 hearts in Spain. 
 
 It was about the lovely close of a warm 
 
 summer's day, 
 There came a gallant merchant ship 
 
 full sail to Plymouth bay ; 
 The crew had seen Castile's black fleet, 
 
 bej'ond Aurigny's isle, 
 At earliest twihght, on the waves, lie 
 
 heaving many a mile. 
 At suiuise she escaped their van, i>v 
 
 (Jod's especial grace ; 
 And the tall Pinta, till the noon, hatl 
 
 lield her close in chase, 
 i'orthwith a guard, at every gun, was 
 
 })laced along the wall ; 
 I lie beacon blazed upon the roof of 
 
 Edgecombe's lofty hall ; 
 Many a light fishing bark put out, to 
 
 pry along the coast ; 
 And with loose rein, and bloody spur, 
 
 rode inland many a post. 
 
 With his white hair, unbonueted, th« 
 stout old sheriff comes, 
 
 Behind liiiu march the halbenlicrs, 
 
 before him sound the drums : 
 The yeomen, round the market cross, 
 
 make clear and ample space. 
 For there behoves him to set up the 
 
 standard of Her Grace : 
 And haughtily the trumpets peal, and 
 
 gaily dance the bells, 
 As slow upon the labouring wind the 
 
 royal blazon swells. 
 Look how the Hon of the sea lifts up 
 
 his ancient crown, 
 And underneath his deadly paw treads 
 
 the gay hlies down ! 
 So stalked he when he turned to flight, 
 
 on that famed Picard field, 
 Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, 
 
 and Caesar's eagle shield : 
 So glared he when, at Agincourt, in 
 
 wrath he turned to bay. 
 And crushed and torn, beneath 
 
 his claws, the princely hunters 
 
 lay. 
 Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep, sir 
 
 knight ! ho ! scatter flowers, fair 
 
 maids ! 
 Ho, gunners ! fire a loud salute ! ho, 
 
 gallants ! draw your blades ! 
 Thou, sun, shine on her joyously ! y ■ 
 
 breezes, waft her wide ! 
 Our glorious semper eadem ! the banner 
 
 of our pride I 
 
 The fiesh'ning breeze of eve imfurled 
 
 that banner's massy fold — 
 The parting gleam of sunshine kissed 
 
 that haughty scroU of gold : 
 Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and 
 
 on the purple sea ; 
 Such night in England ne'er had been, 
 
 nor ne'er again shall be. 
 From Eddystone to Ber\vick bounds, 
 
 from Lynn to ililford Bay, 
 That time of slumber was as bright, 
 
 as busy as the day ; * 
 
 For swift to east, and swift to west, the 
 
 warning radiance spread — • 
 High on St. Michael's Mount it shone — 
 
 it shone on Beachy Head : 
 Far o'er the deep the Spaniard saw, 
 
 along each southern shire, 
 Cape beyond cape, in endless range, 
 
 those twinkling points of fire. 
 The fisher left his skiff to rook on 
 
 Tamar's glittering waves. 
 The rugged miners poured to war, from 
 
 Mendip's sunless caves ; 
 
•270 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 O'er Longleat's towers, or Cranbourne's 
 
 oaks, the fiery herald tlew. 
 And roused the shepherds of Stone- 
 
 henge — tlie rangers of BeauHeu. 
 Kight sharp and quick the bells rang 
 
 out all night from Jiristol town ; 
 And, ere the day, three hundred horse 
 
 had met on Clifton Down. 
 
 The sentinel on Whitehall gate looked 
 
 forth into the night. 
 And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill, 
 
 that streak of blood-red hght : 
 The bugle's note, and cannon's roar, 
 
 the death-hke silence broke, 
 And with one start, and with one cry, 
 
 the royal city woke ; 
 At once, on all her stately gates, arose 
 
 the answering fires ; 
 At once the wild alarum clashed from all 
 
 her reeling spires ; 
 From all the batteries of the Tower 
 
 pealed loud the voice of fear. 
 And all the thousand masts of Thames 
 
 sent back a louder cheer : 
 And from the farthest wards was heard 
 
 the rush of hurrying feet. 
 And the broad streams of flags and 
 
 pikes dashed down each rousing 
 
 street : 
 
 And broader still became the blaze, 
 
 and louder still the din, 
 As fast from every village round the 
 
 horse came spurring in ; 
 And eastward straight, for wild Black- 
 heath, the warlike errand went ; 
 And roused, in many an ancient hall, 
 
 the gallant squires of Kent : 
 Southward, for Surrey's pleasant hills, 
 
 flew those bright coursers forth ; 
 High on black Hampstead's swarthy 
 
 moor, they started for the north ; 
 And on, and on, without a pause, 
 
 unfilled they bounded still ; 
 All night from tower to tower they 
 
 sprang, all night from hill to hill ; 
 Till the proud peak unfurled the flag 
 
 o'er Derwent's rocky dales ; 
 Till, like volcanoes, flared to heaven 
 
 t?.e stormy hills of Wales ; 
 Till, twelve fair counties saw the blaze 
 
 on Malvern's lonely height ; 
 Till streamed in crimson, on the wind, 
 
 the Wrekin's crest of hght ; 
 Till, broad and fierce, the star came 
 
 forth, on Ely's stately fane. 
 
 And town and hamlet rose in arms, o'er 
 
 all the boundless plain ; 
 Till Belvoir's lordly towers the sign to 
 
 Lincoln sent. 
 And Lincoln sped the message on, o'er 
 
 the wide vale of Trent ; 
 Till Skiddaw saw the lire that burnt on 
 
 (haunt's embattled pile. 
 And the red glare on Skiddaw roused 
 
 the burghers of Carlisle. 
 
 Lord Macaiday. 
 
 A CAVAI.IEB, SON"&. 
 
 Boot, saddle, to horse, and away ! 
 Ilescue my castle before the hot day 
 Brightens to blue from its silvery grey, 
 (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse 
 and away ! 
 
 Ride past the suburbs, asleep as j'ou'd 
 
 say ; 
 Many's the friend there, will listen 
 
 and pray 
 " Cod's luck to gallants that strike up 
 the lay, 
 
 (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, 
 and away ! " 
 
 Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay. 
 Flouts Castle Brancepeth, the Round- 
 heads' array ; 
 Who laughs, " Good fellows, ere this, by 
 ray fay, 
 
 ((.'horus) Boot, saddle, to horse, 
 and away ? " 
 
 Who ? My wife Gertrude ; that honest 
 
 and gay, 
 Laughs wiien you talk of surrendering, 
 
 " Nay ! 
 I've better counsellors ; what counsel 
 they ? 
 
 (Chorus) Boot, saddle, to horse, 
 and away ! " 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 BEFORE BATTLE. 
 
 The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me. 
 
 And conquest sooa will follow ! 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 271 
 
 » 
 
 You, dnnne], keep your holm in hand — 
 
 Tims, thus, l)oys ! stead}', stead}' 
 Til! right ahead you see the land, — 
 Then soon as we are ready, 
 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be OQC and all hut firm, like me. 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 Keep, boys, a good look out, d'ye hear ? 
 
 'Tis for Old England's honour ; 
 Just as you brought your lower tier 
 Broad -side to bear upon her, 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me. 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 All hands then, lads, the ship to clear; 
 
 Load all your gims and mortars ; 
 Silent as deatli th' attack prepare ; 
 And, when you're all at quarters, 
 — The signal to engage shall be 
 
 A whistle and a hollo ; 
 Be one and all but firm, like me. 
 And conquest soon will follow ! 
 
 Charles Dibdin. 
 
 THE BURIAIi OP SIR JOHN 
 MOORE AT CORXJNNA. 1809. 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral 
 note, 
 As his corpse to the rampart we 
 hurried ; 
 Not a soldier discharged his farewell 
 shot, 
 O'er the grave where our hero we 
 buried. 
 
 We buried him darkly, at dead of night. 
 The sods with our bayonets turning ; 
 
 By tlie struggling moonbeam's misty 
 light. 
 And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast, 
 Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound 
 him ; 
 
 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 Few and short were the prayers we 
 said. 
 
 And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 But we steadfastly ga/ud on the face 
 
 that was deatl. 
 And we bitterly thought of the morrow . 
 
 We thought, as we hollowed his narrow 
 bed. 
 And smoothed down his lonely pillow . 
 That the foe and the stranger would 
 tread o'er his head. 
 And we far away on the billow ! 
 
 Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's 
 gone, 
 And o'er his cold ashes upbraitl 
 him ; — 
 But little he'll reck, if they let him 
 sleep on. 
 In the grave where a Briton has laid 
 hiu). 
 
 But half of our heavy task was done 
 When the clock struck the hour for 
 retiring ; 
 And we heard the distant and random 
 gun 
 That the foe was sullenly firing. 
 
 Slowly and sadly we laid him down. 
 From the field of his fame fresh and 
 gory; 
 We carved not a line, and we raised 
 not a stone — 
 But we left him alone with his glory ! 
 
 Hev, Charlis Wolfe. 
 
 THE OFFICERS GRAVE. 
 
 There is in the wide lone sea, 
 A spot unmark'd but holy ; 
 
 For there the gallant and the free 
 In his ocean- bed lies lowly. 
 
 Down, down, within the deep 
 That oft to triumph bore him. 
 
 He sleeps a sound and pleasant sleep 
 With the salt waves dashing o'er him. 
 
 He sleeps serene and safe 
 
 From tempest or from billow. 
 
 Where the stornis that high above him 
 chafe 
 Scarce rocK his peaceful pillow. 
 
272 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The sea and him in deatli 
 Tliey did not dare to sever ; 
 
 It was his home while he had breath ; 
 'Tis now his rest for ever ! 
 
 Sleep on, thou mighty dead ! 
 
 A glorious tomb they've found thee 
 The broad blue sky above thee spread : 
 
 The boundless waters round thee. 
 
 Eev. Henry Francis Lyte, 
 
 There came a burst of thunder sound — 
 The boy — oh ! where was he ? 
 
 Ask of the winds that far around 
 With fragments strewed the sea, 
 
 With mast, and helm, and pennon fair. 
 That well had borne their part ; 
 
 But the noblest thing that perished there 
 Was that young faithful heart. 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hemans. 
 
 CASABIANCA", 
 
 The boy stood on the burning deck. 
 Whence all but him had fled ; 
 
 The flame that lit the battle's wreck. 
 Shone round him o'er the dead. 
 
 Yet beautiful and bright he stood, 
 As born to rule the storm ; 
 
 A creature of heroic blood, 
 
 A proud, though childlike form. 
 
 The flames roU'd on — he would not go 
 
 Without his father's word ; 
 That father, faint in death below, 
 
 His voice no longer heard. 
 
 He call'd aloud — " Say, father, say 
 
 If yet my task be done ! " 
 He knew not that the chieftain lay 
 
 Unconscious of his son. 
 
 " Speak, father ! " once again he cried, 
 
 " If I may yet be gone ! " 
 And but the booming shots replied. 
 
 And fast the flames roll'd on. 
 
 Upon liis brow he felt their breath, 
 
 And in his waving hair ; 
 And look'd from that lone post of death. 
 
 In still, yet brave despair ; 
 
 And shouted but once more aloud, 
 " My father ! must I stay ? " 
 
 While o'er him fast, through sail and 
 shroud, 
 The wreathing fires made way. 
 
 They wrapt the ship in splendour wilil, 
 They caught the flag on high. 
 
 And stream'd above the gallant child. 
 Like banners in the sky. 
 
 ON THE LOSS OF THE EOYAL 
 aEOBQE. 
 
 WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED 
 SEPTEMBER, 1782. 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 
 
 Tlie brave that are no more } 
 All sunk beneath the wave. 
 
 Fast by their native shore ! 
 
 Eight hundred of the brave, 
 Whose courage well was tried. 
 
 Had made the vessel heel. 
 And laid her on her side. 
 
 A land breeze shook the shrouds. 
 
 And she was overset ; 
 Down went the Royal George, 
 
 With all her crew complete. 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 
 
 Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; 
 His last sea fight is fought ; 
 
 His work of glory done. 
 
 It was not in the battle ; 
 
 No tempest gave the shock ; 
 She sprang no fatal leak ; 
 
 She ran upon no rock. 
 
 His sword was in its slieath ; 
 
 His fingers held the pen. 
 When Kempenfelt went down. 
 
 With twice four hundred men. 
 
 Weigh the vessel up. 
 
 Once dreaded by our foes ! 
 And mingle with our cup 
 
 The tear that England owes. 
 
 Her timbers yet are sound. 
 And she may float again. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 273 
 
 Full charged with England's thunder. 
 And plough the distant main. 
 
 But Keniiienfelt is gone, 
 
 His victories are o'er ; 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 
 Sliall plough the wave no more. 
 
 Williani Cowper. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC 
 
 Of Xeison and the North, 
 Sing the glorious day's renown, 
 Wiien to battle fierce came fortli 
 All the might of Denmark's crown. 
 And her arms along the deep proiuily 
 
 shone ; 
 By each gun the lighted brand, 
 In a bold, determined hand, 
 And the Prince of all the land 
 Led them on. 
 
 Like leviathans afloat, 
 
 Lay their bulwarks on the brine ; 
 
 While the sign of battle flew 
 
 On the lofty Britisli line : 
 
 It was ten of April morn by the chime ; 
 
 As they drifted on their patli, 
 
 'J'here was silence deep as dcatli ; 
 
 And the boldest held his breath. 
 
 For a time. 
 
 But the might of England flushed 
 
 To anticipate the scene ; 
 
 And her van the fleeter ruslied 
 
 O'er the deadly space between. 
 
 " Hearts of oak! " our captain cried ; 
 
 when each gun 
 From its adamantine lips 
 Spread a death-shade round the ships. 
 Like the hurricane eclipse 
 Of the sun. 
 
 Out spoke the victor then. 
 
 As he hailed them o'er the wave : 
 
 " Ye are brothers ! ye are men ! 
 
 And we conquer but to save : 
 
 So peace instead of death let us 1 i ing ; 
 
 But yield, proud foe, thy fleet. 
 
 With the crews, at England's feet. 
 
 And make submission meet 
 
 To our King." 
 
 Then Denmark blessed our chief. 
 That he gave her wounds repose. 
 And the sounds of joy and grief 
 From her people wildly rose, 
 As death withdrew his shades from tlie 
 
 (lay. 
 While the sun looked smiling bright 
 O'er a wide and woeful sight, 
 ^^■ilere the fires of funeral light 
 Died away. 
 
 Now joy, old England, raise \ 
 
 For the tidings of thy might, 
 
 By the festal cities' blaze. 
 
 While the wine-cup shines in light ; 
 
 And yet amidst that joy and uproar. 
 
 Let us think of them that sleep. 
 
 Full many a fathom deep, 
 
 Bj' thy wild and stormy steep, 
 
 Elsinore ! 
 
 Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride 
 
 Once so faithful and so true, 
 
 ( )n the deck of fame that died ; — 
 
 With the gallant good Riou : * 
 
 Soft sighs the winds of heaven o'er 
 
 their grave ! 
 Wbile the billow mournful rolls. 
 And the mermaid's song condoles, 
 Singing glory to the souls 
 Of tiie brave \ 
 
 Thont'id CdmpliM. 
 
 Again ! again ! again ! 
 
 And the havoc did not slack. 
 
 Till a feeble cheer the Dane 
 
 To our cheering sent us back ; 
 
 Their shots along the deep slowly 
 
 boom : 
 Then ceased — and all is wail, 
 As they strike tlie shattered sail; 
 Or, in conflagration pale, 
 Light the gloom. 
 
 TRAFAIiQAR. 
 
 Whkn Frenchmen saw, with coward 
 art. 
 
 The assassin shot of war 
 That pierced Britain's noblest heart. 
 
 And quenched her highest star, 
 
 » Capbiin Kiou, justly entitled the fja'lant 
 and the good l.y Lord ^'elson. wLen he wrote 
 home bis dispatches. 
 
 i8 
 
274 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Tlieir shout was heard — they triumph'd 
 now, 
 
 Amidst the battle's roar. 
 And thought the British oak would bow, 
 
 Since Nelson was no more. 
 
 Rut fiercer flamed old England's pride. 
 And— mark the vengeance due, 
 
 ■ Down, down, insulting ship," she 
 cried, 
 " To death, with all thy crew ! 
 
 " So perish ye for Nelson's blood, 
 If death like thine can pay 
 
 For blood so brave, or ocean wave 
 Can wash that crime away ! " 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 NELSON". 
 
 Deep graved in every British heart, 
 O never let his name depart ! 
 Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave. 
 Who victor died on Gadite wave : 
 To liim, as to the burning levin, 
 Short, bright, resistless course was given 
 Where'er his country's foes were found. 
 Was heard the fatal thunder's sound, 
 Till burst the bolt on yonder shore. 
 Rolled, blazed, destroy'd, — and was no 
 more. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 Theirs but to do and die. 
 Into the valley of Death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them. 
 Cannon in front of them 
 
 Volley'd and thunder'd : 
 Storm'd at with shot ami sliell. 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 Into the jaws of Death, 
 Into the mouth of Hell 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flash'd all their sabres bare, 
 Flash'd as they turned in air. 
 Sabring the gunners there. 
 Charging an army, while 
 
 All the world wonder'd ; 
 Plunged in the battery-smoke 
 Right thro' the line they broke 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reel'd from the sabre-stroke 
 
 Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
 Then they rode back, but not — 
 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them. 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon behind them 
 
 Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
 Storm'd at with shot and shell. 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came thro' the jaws of Death 
 Back fi'om the mouth of Hell, 
 All that was left of them — 
 Left of six hundred. 
 
 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT 
 BRIGADE 
 
 Half a league, half a league. 
 Half a league onward, 
 All in the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 " Forward, the Light Brigade ! 
 Charge for the guns ! " he said : 
 Into the valley of Death 
 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 " Forward the Light Brigade ! " 
 Was there a man dismay'd ? 
 Not tho' the soldier knew 
 
 Someone had blunder'd : 
 Theirs not to make reply, 
 Theirs not to reason why, 
 
 When can their glory fade ? 
 O, the wild charge they mnde ! 
 
 All the world wonderM 
 Honour the charge they made ! 
 Honour the Light Brigade, 
 
 Noble six hundred ! 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE EVE OF THE BATTLE OF 
 WATERLOO. 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by 
 
 night, 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered 
 
 then 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 27.'3 
 
 Her beauty and her chivalry, and 
 
 briglit 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women 
 
 and lirave men ; 
 A thousand liearts beat happily, 
 
 and wlien 
 Music arose with its voluptuous 
 
 swell. 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes Mhieh, 
 
 spake again, 
 Ant! all went merr}' as a marriage 
 
 bell ; 
 But hush ! hark ! a deep sound strikes 
 
 like a rising knell. 
 
 Did ye not hear it ? No ; 'twas but 
 
 the wind. 
 Or the ear rattling o'er the stony 
 
 street ; 
 On with the dance, let joy be un- 
 
 con fined ; 
 No sleep till morn, when youth and 
 
 pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with 
 
 flying feet. 
 But hark ! that heavy sound breaks 
 
 in once more, 
 As if the clouds its echo would 
 
 repeat ; 
 And nearer, clearer, deadUer than 
 
 before ! 
 Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — the cannon's 
 
 opening roar ! 
 
 Within a windowed niche of that 
 
 high wall 
 Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he 
 
 did hear 
 That sound, the first amidst the 
 
 festival. 
 And caught its tone with death's 
 
 prophetic ear ; 
 Ami when they smiled because he 
 
 deemed it near 
 His heart more truly knew that peal 
 
 too well 
 Which stretched his father on a 
 
 bloody l)ier. 
 And roused the vengeance blood 
 
 alone could ([ueil ; 
 He rushed into the field, and foremost 
 
 fighting fell. 
 
 Ah ! then and there was hurrying 
 
 to and fro. 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings 
 
 of distress. 
 
 And cheeks all pale, which but an 
 
 hour ago 
 Blushed at the praise of their own 
 
 loveliness ; 
 And there were sudden })artings, such 
 
 as j)ress 
 The life from out young hearts, and 
 
 choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated ; who 
 
 might guess 
 If ever more should meet those 
 
 mutual eyes, 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful 
 
 morn could rise ? 
 
 And there was moimting in hot 
 
 haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the 
 
 clattei'ing car, 
 Went pouring forward with im- 
 
 ])etuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of 
 
 war ; 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal 
 
 afar ; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming 
 
 drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morn- 
 ing star ; 
 While throngetl the citizens with 
 
 terror diiml), 
 Or whispering with white lips — " The 
 
 foe ! They come ! They come ! " 
 
 And wild and high the " Cameron's 
 
 gathering " rose. 
 The war note of Lochiel, which 
 
 Albyn's hills 
 Have heard, and heard, too, have 
 
 her Saxon foes : 
 How in the noon of night that 
 
 pibroch thrills 
 Savage and shrill ! But with the 
 
 breath which tills 
 Their mountain pipe, so fill the 
 
 mountaineers 
 With the fierce native daring which 
 
 instils 
 The stirring memory of a thousand 
 
 years 
 And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in 
 
 each clansman's ears ! 
 
 And Ardennes waves about them 
 
 her green leaves. 
 Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as 
 
 they pass, 
 
 i8* 
 
276 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er 
 
 grieves, 
 Over the unreturning brave — ahis ! 
 Ere evening to be trodden hke the 
 
 erass 
 
 Which now beneath them, but above 
 
 shall grow 
 In its next verdure, when the fiery 
 
 mass 
 Of living valour, roUing on the foe. 
 And burning with high hope, shall 
 
 moulder cold and low. 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty 
 
 Ufe, 
 Last eve in Beauty's circle providly 
 
 gay, 
 
 The midnight brought the signal- 
 sound of strife. 
 
 The morn the marshalling in arms — 
 the day 
 
 Battle's magnificently stern array ! 
 
 The thunder clouds close o'er it, 
 which when rent 
 
 The earth is covered thick with other 
 clay. 
 
 Which her own clay shall cover, 
 heaped and pent. 
 Rider and horse — friend, foe — in one 
 red burial blent ! 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 When the sour-looking folks sent me 
 . heartless away, 
 
 I had always a friend in my poor dog 
 Tray. 
 
 When the road was so dark, and the 
 
 night was so cold, 
 And Pat and his dog were grown 
 
 weary and old. 
 How snugly we slept in my old coat 
 
 of grey. 
 And he Ucked me for kindness — my 
 
 poor dog Tray. 
 
 Though my wallet was scant, I re- 
 membered his case. 
 
 Nor refused my last crust to his 
 pitiful face ; 
 
 But he died ' at my feet one told 
 winter's day. 
 
 And I played a sad lament for my 
 poor dog Tray. 
 
 Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, 
 
 and bhnd ? 
 Can I find one to guide me, so faithful 
 
 and kind ? 
 To my sweet native village, so far, 
 
 far away, 
 I can never more return with my 
 
 poor dog Tray. 
 
 Thomas Caiupbell. 
 
 THE IBISH HARPER. 
 
 On the green banks of Shamion, when 
 
 Sheelah was nigh. 
 No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I ; 
 No harp hke my own could so cheerily 
 
 play. 
 And wherever I went was my poor 
 
 dog Tray. 
 
 When at last I was forced from my 
 
 Sheelah to part. 
 She said — while the sorrow was big 
 
 at her heart : 
 " Oh ! remember your Sheelah, when 
 
 far, far away. 
 And be kind, my dear Pat, to our 
 
 poor dog Tray." 
 
 Poor dog ! he was faithful, and kind, 
 
 to be sure, 
 And he constantly loved me, although 
 
 I was poor ; 
 
 EXILE OF ERIN. 
 
 There came to the beach a poor 
 
 Exile of Erin, 
 The dew on his thin robe was heavy 
 
 and chill : 
 For his country he sighed, when at 
 
 twilight repairing 
 To wander alone by the wind- 
 beaten hill. 
 But the day-star attracted his eye's sad 
 
 devotion 
 For it rose o'er his own native isle 
 
 of the ocean 
 Where once in the fire of his youthful 
 
 emotion 
 He sang the bold anthem of " Erin go 
 
 bragh." * 
 
 •• Ireland for ever. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 Sad is my fate ! said the heart- broken 
 
 stranger ; 
 The wild deer and wolf to a covert 
 
 can flee, 
 But I have no refuge from famine and 
 
 danger, 
 A home and a country remain not 
 
 to me. 
 Never again in the green sunny 
 
 bowers. 
 Where my forefathers lived shall I 
 
 spend the sweet hours. 
 Or cover my harp with the wild- 
 woven flowers. 
 And strike to the numbers of " Erin 
 
 go bragh ! " 
 
 Erin, my country ! though sad and 
 
 forsaken. 
 In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten 
 
 shore ; 
 But alas ! in a far foreign land i 
 
 awaken. 
 And sigh for the friends who can 
 
 meet me no more ! 
 Oh cruel fate ! wilt thou never replace 
 
 me 
 In a mansion of peace — where no 
 
 perils can chase me ? 
 Never again shall my brothers em- 
 brace me ? 
 They died to defend me, or live to 
 
 deplore ! 
 
 Where is my cabin-door, fast by the 
 
 wild wood ? 
 Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for 
 
 its fall ? 
 Where is the mother that looked on 
 
 my childhood ? 
 And where is the bosom-friend, 
 
 dearer than all ? 
 Oh ! mj' sad heart ! long abandoned 
 
 by pleasure, 
 Why did it dote on a fast-fading 
 
 treasure ? 
 Tears, like the rain-drop, may fall 
 
 without measure. 
 But rapture and beauty they cannot 
 
 recall. 
 
 Yet all its sad recollections sup- 
 pressing, 
 One dying wish my lone bosom can 
 draw : 
 
 Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his 
 blessing ! 
 
 Land of my forefathers ! Erin- 
 go- bragh ! 
 
 Buried and cold, when my heart stills 
 her motion, 
 
 (Jreen be thy fields, sweetest isle of 
 the ocean ! 
 
 And thy harp-striking bards sing aloud 
 with devotion, 
 
 Erin mavournin,* — Erin-go-bragh ! 
 
 Thomas Camjilidl. 
 
 THE MINSTREL BOY. 
 
 The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone. 
 
 In the ranks of death you'll find him ; 
 His father's sword he has girded on. 
 
 And his wild harp slung behind him. 
 " Land of song ! " said the warrior- 
 bard, 
 
 " Though all tne world betrays thee. 
 One sword at least thy rights shall 
 guard. 
 
 One faithful harp shall praise thee ! " 
 
 The Minstrel fell ! — but the foeman's 
 chain 
 Could not bring his proud soul 
 under ; 
 Tlie harp he loved ne'er spoke again. 
 
 For he tore its chords asunder ; 
 And said, " No chains shall sully thee, 
 
 Thou soul of love and bravery ! 
 Thy songs were made for the brave 
 and free. 
 They shall never sound in slavery ! " 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 Caledonia, stern and wild, 
 Meet nurse for a poetic child ! 
 Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. 
 Land of the mountaic and the flood. 
 Land of my sires, what mortal hand 
 Can untie the filial band 
 That knits me to thy rugged strand ? 
 Still, as I view each well-known scene. 
 Think what is now, and what hath been. 
 Seems as, to me, of all bereft, 
 Sole friends thy woods and streams 
 were left ; 
 
 * Ireland my Darling 
 
278 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 And thus I love them better still, 
 Even in extremity of ill. 
 By Yarrow's stream still let me stray 
 Though none shall guide my fecLle 
 
 way ; 
 Still feel the breeze down Ettrick 
 
 break, 
 Although it chill my withered cheek ; 
 Htill lay my head by Teviot stone, 
 TliOugh there forgotten and alone, 
 The bard may di-aw his parting groan. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THE BLTJEBELL OF 
 SCOTLAND. 
 
 Oh M'here ! and oh M-here ! is your 
 
 Highland laddie gone ? 
 He's gone to fight the French for King 
 
 George upon the throne ; 
 And it's oh ! in my heart how I wish 
 
 him safe at home. 
 
 Oh where ! and oh where ! does your 
 
 Highland laddie dwell ? 
 He dwells in merrj^ Scotland at the sign 
 
 of the Bluebell ; 
 And it's oh ! in my heart that I love m j^ 
 
 laddie well. 
 
 What clothes, in what clothes is your 
 
 Highland laddie clad ? 
 His bonnet's of the Saxon gi-een, his 
 
 waistcoat's of the plaid ; 
 And it's oh ! in my heart that I love 
 
 my Highland lad. 
 
 Suppose, oh suppose, that your High- 
 land lad should die ? 
 
 The bagpipes shall play over liini, I'll 
 lay me down and cry ; 
 ' And it's oh ! in my heart that I wish 
 he may not die 1 
 
 MELEOSE ABBEY. 
 
 If thou would'st view fair Melrose 
 
 aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
 For the gaj^ beanis of lightsome day, 
 Guild, but to flout, the ruins grey. 
 When the broken arches are black in 
 
 night, 
 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white ; 
 Wlien the cold light's uncertain shower 
 Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 
 ^\'hen buttress and buttress, alternately, 
 Seem framed of ebon and ivory, 
 When silver edges the imagery. 
 And the scrolls that teach thee to 
 
 hve and die ; 
 When distant Tweed is heard to rave 
 And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead 
 
 man's grave. 
 Then go — but go alone the while — 
 Then view St. David's ruin'd pile ; 
 And, home returning, soothly swear. 
 Was never scene so sad and fair ! 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 CONRACH. 
 
 He is gone on the mountain, 
 
 He is lost to the forest, 
 Like a summer dried fountain, 
 
 When our need was the sorest. 
 The font reappearing, 
 
 From the raindrops shall borrow. 
 But to us comes no cheering. 
 
 To Duncan no morrow ! 
 
 The hand of the reaper 
 
 Takes the ears that are hoary 
 But the voice of the weeper 
 
 AVails manhood in glory. 
 The autumn winds rushing. 
 
 Waft the leaves that are scares t. 
 But our flower was in flushing. 
 
 When blighting was nearest. 
 
 Fleet foot on the correi, 
 
 Sage counsel in cumber. 
 Red hand in the foray. 
 
 How sound is thy slumber ! 
 Like the dew on the mountain, 
 
 Like the foam on the river. 
 Like the bubble on the fountain. 
 
 Thou art gone, and for ever. 
 
 ;SiV Walter Scott. 
 
 BRUCE TO HIS ARMY. 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
 Scots, wham Bruce has often led ; 
 Welcome to your gory bed, 
 Or to victory ! 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 279 
 
 i'Jow's the day, and now's the liour. 
 See the front of battle lower ; 
 ■See approach proud Edward's power, 
 Chains and slavery ! 
 
 Wha will he a traitor knave ? 
 Wha can fill a coward's grave ? 
 Wha sae liase as be a slave ? 
 Let him turn and flee ! 
 
 Wha for Scotland's king and law, 
 Freedom's sword would strongly draw, 
 Freeman stand or freeman fa', 
 Let him follow me ! 
 
 By oppression's woes and pains. 
 
 By your sons in servile chains, 
 
 We will drain our dearest veins. 
 
 But they shall be free ! 
 
 Lay the proud usurper low { 
 Tyrants fall in every foe ! 
 Liberty's in every blow ! 
 Let us do, or die ! 
 
 Eohert Burns. 
 
 MY HEABT'S IN THE 
 HIGHLANDS 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
 
 is not here ; 
 Mj' heart's in the Highlands a-ohasing 
 
 the deer ; 
 Chasing the ^ild deer, and following 
 
 the roe. 
 My heart's in the Highlands wherever 
 
 I go. 
 
 Farewell to the Higlilands, farewell to 
 
 the North, 
 The birth-place of valour, the country 
 
 of worth ; 
 Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, 
 The hills of the Highlands for ever I 
 
 love. 
 
 Farewell to the mountains high covered 
 with snow ; 
 
 Farewell to the straths and green 
 valleys, below ; 
 
 Farewell to the forests and wild-hang- 
 ing woods ; 
 
 Farewell to the torrents and loud- 
 poiuing floods. 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands, my heart 
 
 is not here ; 
 My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing 
 
 the deer ; 
 Chasing the wild deer, and following 
 
 the roe. 
 My heart's in the Highlands wherever 
 
 I go I 
 
 Bobert Burns. 
 
 CANADIAN BOAT SONQ. 
 
 Faintly as tolls the evening chime. 
 Our voices keep tune, and our oars 
 
 keep time ; 
 Soon as the woods on shore look dim. 
 We'll sing at St. Anne's our parting 
 
 hymn. 
 Bow, brothers, row, the stream runs 
 
 fast ; 
 The Rapids are near, and the daylight's 
 
 past. 
 
 Why should we yet our sail unfurl ? 
 There is not a breath the blue wave to 
 
 curl ; 
 But when the wind blows o& the shore, 
 Oh ! s^^eetly Me'U rest our weary oar. 
 Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs 
 
 fast, 
 The Kapids are near, and thedaj'light's 
 
 past. 
 
 Ottawa's tide ! tliis trembling moon 
 iSliall see us float over thy surges soon : 
 Saint of this green isle 1 liear our 
 
 prayers. 
 Oh ! grant us cool heavens, and favour- 
 ing airs ! 
 Row, brothers, row, the stream runs 
 
 fast. 
 The Rapids are near, and the daylight's 
 past. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell to the land where the gloom 
 
 of my glory 
 Arose and o'ershadowed the earth 
 
 with her name — 
 She abandons me now — but the page of 
 
 her story, 
 
280 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 The briglitest or blackest, is filled 
 
 with my fame. 
 I have warred with a world wliic'i 
 
 vanquished me only 
 When the meteor of conquest allured 
 
 me too far ; 
 I have coped with the nations wli'cli 
 
 dread me thus lonely. 
 The last single captive to millions in 
 
 war. 
 
 Farewell to thee, France ! when thy 
 diadem crowned me 
 I made thee the gem and the wonder 
 of earth — 
 But thy weakness decrees I should leave 
 as I found thee. 
 Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in 
 thy worth. 
 Oh ! for the veteran hearts that were 
 wasted 
 In strife with the storm, when their 
 battles were won — 
 Then the eagle, whose gaze in that 
 moment was blasted, 
 Had still soared with eyes fixed on 
 victory's sun ! 
 
 Farewell to thee, France ! but wlien 
 Liberty rallies 
 Once more in thy region, remember 
 me then — 
 The violet still grows in the depths of 
 thy valleys : 
 Though withered, thy tears will 
 unfold it again — 
 Yet, yet I may baiile tlie hosts that 
 surround us, 
 And yet may my heart leap awake to 
 thy voice — 
 There are links which must break in the 
 
 chain that has bound us. 
 Then turn thee and call on the Chief of 
 thy choice I 
 
 Lord Byron, 
 
 THE liANDINQ OF THE 
 PIIiGRIM FATHERS. 
 
 The breaking waves dashed high 
 On a stern and rock- bound coast, 
 
 And the woods against a stormy sky 
 Their giant branches tossed 
 
 And the heavy night hung dark 
 
 The hills and waters o'er, 
 Wlien a band of exiles moored their bark 
 
 On the wild New England shore. 
 
 Not as the conqueror comes. 
 They, the true-hearted, came, 
 
 Not with the roll of stirring drums. 
 And the trumpet that sings of fame ; 
 
 Not as the flying come, 
 
 In silence and in fear, — 
 They shook the depths of the desert's 
 gloom 
 
 With their hymns of lofty cheer. 
 
 Amidst the storm they sang. 
 
 And the stars heard and the sea ! 
 
 And the sounding aisles of the dim 
 wood rang 
 To the anthems of the fi'ee ! 
 
 The ocean-eagle soared 
 
 From his nest by the white waves' 
 foam. 
 And the rocking pines of the forest 
 roared, — 
 This was their welcome home [ 
 
 There were men with hoary hair 
 Amidst that pilgrim- band ; 
 
 Why had they come to wither there. 
 Away from their childhood's land ? 
 
 There was woman's fearless eye. 
 Lit by her deep love's truth ; 
 
 There was manhood's brow serenely 
 high, 
 And the fiery heart of youth. 
 
 What sought they thus afar ? 
 
 Bright jewels of the mine ? 
 The wealth of seas, the spoils of war ? 
 
 They sought a faith's pure shrine ! 
 
 Ay, call it holy ground. 
 
 The soil where first they trod ! 
 They have left unstained what there 
 they found, — 
 Freedom to worship God ! 
 
 Felicia Dorothea Hemana. 
 
 POCAHONTAS. 
 
 Wearied arm and broken sword 
 Wage in vain the desperate fight : 
 
The Fatherland 
 
 281 
 
 Round him press a countless horde. 
 He is but a single knight. 
 
 Hark a cry of triumph shrill 
 
 Through the wilderness resounds, 
 As with twenty bleeding wounds 
 
 Sinks the warrior fighting still. 
 
 Now they heap the fatal pyre, 
 
 And the torch of death they light ; 
 
 Ah ! 'tis hard to die of fire ! 
 
 Who will shield the captive knight ? 
 
 Bound the stake with fiendish cry 
 Wheel and dance the savage crowd. 
 Cold the victim's mien and proud, 
 
 And his breast is bared to die. 
 
 Who will shield the fearless heart ? 
 
 Who avert the murderous lilade ? 
 From the throng, with sudden start, 
 
 See there springs an Indian maid. 
 Quick she stands before the knight : 
 
 " Loose the chain, unbind the ring ; 
 
 I am daughter of the king. 
 And I claim the Indian right | " 
 
 Dauntlessly aside she flings 
 Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; 
 
 Fondly to his heart she clings. 
 And her bosom guards his life ! 
 
 In the wood of Powhattan, 
 Still 'tis by Indian lircs, 
 How a daughter of tiieir sires 
 
 Saved the captive Englishman. 
 
 William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 INDIAN NAMES. 
 Ye say they all have passed away, 
 
 That noble race and brave ; 
 That their light canoes have vanished 
 
 From ofiF the crested wave ; 
 That, mid the forests where they 
 roamed. 
 
 There rings no hunter's shout ; 
 But their name is on your waters. 
 
 Ye may not wash it out. 
 
 'Tis where Ontario's billow 
 
 Like ocean's surge is curled. 
 Where strong Niagara's thunders wake 
 
 The echo of the world, 
 Where red Missouri bringeth 
 
 Rich tribute from the west, 
 And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps 
 
 On green Virginia's breast. 
 
 Ye say their conclike cabins. 
 
 That clustered o'er the vale. 
 Have disappeared, as withered leaves 
 
 Before the autunm's gale ; 
 But their memory liveth on your hills. 
 
 Their baptism on your shore, 
 Your everlasting rivers speak 
 
 Their dialect of yore. 
 
 Old Massachusetts wears it 
 
 Within her lordly crown, 
 And broad Ohio bears it 
 
 Amid his young renown. 
 Connecticut hath wreathed it 
 
 Where her quiet foliage waves. 
 And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse 
 
 Through all her ancient caves. 
 
 Wachusett hides its lingering voice 
 
 Within its rocky heart, 
 And Alleghany graves its tone 
 
 Tiiroughout his lofty chart. 
 Monadnock, on his forehead hoar. 
 
 Doth seal the sacred trust. 
 Your mountains build their monument. 
 
 Though ye destroy their dust. 
 
 Mrs. Sigourney. 
 
 "THE STAR-SPANQIiED 
 BANNER." 
 
 Oh say, can you see by the dawn's 
 early light. 
 What so proudly we hailed at the 
 twilight's last gleaming ? 
 Whose broad stripes and bright stars, 
 through the perilous fight 
 On the ramparts we watched, were 
 so gallantly streaming. 
 And the rocket's red glare, the bombs 
 bursting in air, 
 Gave proof through the night that 
 our flag was still there ; 
 Oh say, does the star-spangled banner 
 yet wave 
 O'er the land of the free and the home 
 of the brave ? 
 
 On tlie shores dimly seen, through the 
 
 mists of tlic deep. 
 Where the foe's haugiity host in 
 
 dread silence reposes. 
 What is it that which the breeze o'er 
 
 the towering steep, 
 
282 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 As it fitfully blows, half conceals, 
 half discloses ? 
 Now it catches the gleam of the morn- 
 ing's first beam : 
 
 In full glory reflected, now shines on 
 the strcajn ; 
 'Tis the star-spangled banner, long 
 may it wave 
 
 O'er the land of the free and the 
 home of the brave. 
 
 Francis Scnti Key. 
 
 O CAPTAIN ! MY CAPTAIN ! 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain ! our fearful 
 
 trip is done, 
 T'le ship has weather'd every rack, the 
 
 l)rize we sought is won, 
 Tlie port is near, the bell8 I hear, the 
 
 people all exulting, 
 A\liile follow eyes the steady keel, the 
 vessel grim and daring ; 
 But O heart ! heart ! heart ! 
 
 O the bleeding drops of red, 
 Where on the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 THE AMERICAN FLAG. 
 , When freedom, from her mountain 
 height 
 Unfurl'd her standard to the air. 
 She tore the azure robe of night. 
 
 And set the stars of glory there. 
 She mingled with its gorgeous dyes 
 The milky baldric of the skies. 
 And striped its pure, celestial white, 
 With streakings of the morning light ; 
 Then from his mansion in the sun 
 She call'd her eagle bearer down ; 
 And gave into liis mighty hand 
 The symbol of lier chosen land. 
 
 Flag of the seas ! on ocean wave 
 Thy stars shall glitter o'er the brave ; 
 Wlien (leatli, careering on the gale. 
 Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail. 
 And frighted waves rush wildly back 
 Before the broadside's reeling rack. 
 Each dying wanderer of the sea 
 Shall look at once to heaven and thee, 
 And smile to see thy splendours fly 
 In triumph o'er his closing eye. 
 
 O Captain ! my Captain ! rise up and 
 
 hear the bells : 
 Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for 
 
 you the bugle trills. 
 For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths 
 
 — for you the shores a-crowding. 
 For you they call, the swaying mass, 
 their eager faces turning ; 
 Here, Captain ! dear father ! 
 
 This arm beneath your head ! 
 
 It is some dream that on the deck 
 
 You've fallen cold and dead. 
 
 My Captain does not answer, his lips 
 
 are pale and still. 
 My father does not feel my arm, he has 
 
 no pulse nor will, 
 Tlie ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its 
 
 voyage closed and done. 
 From fearful trip the victor ship comes 
 in with object won ; 
 
 Exult O shores ! and ring, bells ! 
 
 But I with mournful tread. 
 Walk the deck my Captain lies, 
 Fallen cold and dead. 
 
 Walt Whitman. 
 
 Flag of the free heart's hope and home j 
 
 By angel hands to valour given ; 
 Tliy stars have lit the welkin dome. 
 
 And all thy hues were born in heaven. 
 For ever float that standard sheet ! 
 Where breathes the foe that falls 
 before us. 
 With freedom's soil beneath our feet 
 And freedom's banner streaming o'er 
 ua ! 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake, 
 
 WHEN BANNERS ARE 
 WAVING. 
 
 When banners are waving. 
 
 And lances a-pushing ; 
 When captains are shouting, 
 
 And war-horses rushing ; 
 When cannon are roaring. 
 
 And hot bullets flying. 
 He that would honour win, 
 
 ]\Iust not fear dying. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 28,3 
 
 Though shafts fly so thick 
 
 That it ?ocms to be snowinc; ; 
 Tliough stn-amlets witli hlood 
 
 More than water arc flowing ; 
 Though with sabre and bullet 
 
 Our bravest are dying, 
 We speak of revenge, but 
 
 We ne'er speak of llying. 
 
 Come, stand to it, heroes ! 
 
 The heathen are coming ; 
 Horsemen are round tlie walls, 
 
 Riding and running ; 
 Maidens and matrons all 
 
 Arm ! arm ! are crying. 
 From petards tlie wildfire's 
 
 Flashing and flying. 
 
 The trumpets from turrets higli 
 
 Loudly are braying ; 
 The steeds for the onset 
 
 Are snorting and neighing ; 
 As waves in the ocean 
 
 The dark plumes are dancing ; 
 As stars in the blue sky 
 
 The helmets are glancing. 
 
 Their ladders are planting. 
 
 Their sabres are sweeping ; 
 Now swords from our sheaths 
 
 By the thousand are leai)ing ; 
 Like the flash of the levin, 
 
 Ere men hearken thunder. 
 Swords gleam, and the steel capa 
 
 Are cloven asunder. 
 
 The shouting has ceased. 
 
 And the flashing of cannon J 
 I looked from the turret 
 
 For orescent and pennon : 
 As flax touched by fire. 
 
 As hail in the river, 
 They were smote, they were fallen, 
 
 AJad had melted for ever. 
 
 •WAB. 
 
 The hunting tribes of air and earth. 
 Respect the brethren of their birth ; 
 Nature, who loves the claim of kind. 
 Less cruel chase to each assigned : 
 The falcon, poised on soaring wing. 
 Watches the wild duck at the spring ; 
 The slow-hound wakes the fox's lair. 
 The greyhound presses on the hare, 
 
 The eagle pounces on the lamb. 
 The wolf devours the fleecy dam : 
 E'en tiger fell and sullen bear 
 Their likeness and their lineage spare 
 Man only mara kind nature's plan. 
 And turns the fleree pursuit on man. 
 Plying war's desultory trade. 
 Incursion, flight, and ambuscade ; 
 Since Ninirod, Cush's mighty son. 
 At first the bloody game begun. 
 
 Sir Waller Scott. 
 
 THE WAR HORSE. 
 
 The fiery courser, when he hears from 
 
 far 
 The sprightly trumpets and the shouts 
 
 of war. 
 Pricks up his ears, and trembling with 
 
 delight. 
 Shifts place, and paws, and hopes the 
 
 promised fight 
 On his right shoulder his thick mane 
 
 reclined. 
 Ruffles at speed, and dances in the wind. 
 Eager he stands — then, starting with a 
 
 bound. 
 He turns the turf, and shakes the solid 
 
 ground ; 
 Fire from his eyes, clouds from his 
 
 nostrils flow. 
 He bears his rider headlong on the foe 
 
 John Drydtn {from Vmjil). 
 
 FROM INDIA. 
 " Oil, come you from the Indies, and, 
 
 soldier, can you tell 
 Aught of the gallant 90th, and who 
 
 are safe and well ? 
 O soldier, say my son is safe (for nothing 
 
 else I care). 
 And you shall have a mother's thanks 
 
 ^shall have a widow's prayer ! " 
 
 " Oh, I've come from the Indies, I've 
 
 just come from the war. 
 And well I know the yOtn, and gallant 
 
 lads they are : 
 From colonel down to rank and file, 
 
 I know my comrades well. 
 And news I've brought for you, mother, 
 
 your Robert bade me tell," 
 
284 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " And do you know my Robert now ! 
 
 oh. tell me, tell me true — 
 O soldier, tell me word for Avord all 
 
 that he said to you ! 
 His very words — my own boy's words — 
 
 O tell me every one ! 
 You little know how dear to his old 
 
 mother is my son ! " 
 
 " Through Havelock's fights and 
 marches the 90th were there ; 
 
 In all the gallant 90th did, your Robert 
 did his share : 
 
 Twice he went into Lucknow, un- 
 touched by steel or ball ; 
 
 And you may bless your God, old 
 dame, that brought him safe through 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, thanks unto the living God that 
 
 heard his mother's prayer. 
 The widow's cry that rose on high her 
 
 only son to spare ! 
 O bless'd be God, that turned from him 
 
 the sword and shot away ! — 
 And what to his old mother did my 
 
 darling bid you say ? " 
 
 " Mother, he saved his colonel's life. 
 
 and bravely it was done ; 
 In the despatch they told it all, ami 
 
 named and praised your son ; 
 A medal and a pension's his ; good 
 
 luck to him, I say ; 
 And he has not a comrade but will wish 
 
 him well to-day." 
 
 " Now, soldier, blessings on your 
 
 tongue ! O husband, that you knew 
 How well our boy pays me this day for 
 
 all that I've gone through ; 
 All I have done and borne for him the 
 
 long years since you're dead ! 
 But, soldier, tell me how he looked, 
 
 and all my Robert said." 
 
 " He's bronzed, and tanned, and 
 
 bearded, and you'd hardly know 
 
 him, dame : 
 We've made your boy into a man, but 
 
 still his heart's the same ; 
 For often, dame, his talk's of you, and 
 
 always to one tune ; — 
 But there, his ship is nearly home, and 
 
 he'll be with you soon." 
 
 " Oh ! is he really coming home, and 
 
 shall I really see 
 My boy again, my own boy, home ? 
 
 and when, when will it be ? 
 Did you say soon ? " — " Well, he is 
 
 home ; keep cool, old dame ; he's 
 
 here." — 
 " O Robert, my own blessed boy ! " 
 
 — " O mother ! — mother dear ! " 
 
 yVilliam Cox Bennett, 
 
 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. 
 
 Our bugles sang truce — for the night 
 cloud had lowered. 
 And the sentinel stars set their 
 watch in the sky ; 
 And thousands had sunk on the ground 
 overpowered. 
 The weary to sleep, and the wounded 
 to die. 
 
 When reposing that night on my pallet 
 of straw. 
 By the wolf-scaring fagot that 
 guarded the slain ; 
 At the dead of the night a sweet vision 
 I saw. 
 And thrice ere the morning I dreamt 
 it again. 
 
 Mcthought from the battle-field's dread- 
 ful array, 
 Far, far I had roamed on a desolate 
 track : 
 'Twas Autumn, — and sunshine arose 
 on the way 
 To the home of my fathers, that 
 welcomed me back. 
 
 I Hew to the pleasant fields traversed 
 so oft 
 In life's morning march, when my 
 bosom was young, 
 I heard my own mountain goats bleat- 
 ing aloft. 
 And knew the sweet strain that th 
 corn-reapers sung. 
 
 Then pledged we the wine-cup, and 
 fondly I swore. 
 From my home and my weeping 
 friends never to part. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 285 
 
 Jly little ones kissed me a thousand 
 times o'er. 
 And my wife sobbed aloud in her 
 fulness of heart 
 
 Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art 
 weary and worn ; 
 And fain was their war-broken soldier 
 to stay — 
 J lilt sorrow returned with the dawning 
 of morn. 
 And the voice in my dreaming ear 
 melted away. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF HOHEN- 
 LINDEN. 
 Ox Linden, when the sun was low. 
 All bloodless lay the untrodden snow ; 
 And dark as winter was the flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 15ut Linden show'd another sight. 
 When the drum beat at dead of night, 
 Commanding fires of death to Uglit 
 The darkness of her scenery. 
 
 By torch and trumpet fast array'd 
 Each horseman drew his battle-blade, 
 And furious every charger neigh'd. 
 To join the dreadful revelry. 
 
 Th n shook the hiUs, with thunder 
 
 riven ; 
 Then rush'd the steed to battle driven ; 
 And, louder than the bolts of heaven, 
 Far flash'd the red artiller}-. 
 
 But redder yet that light shall glow. 
 On Linden's hills of stained snow ; 
 And bloodier yet the torrent flow 
 Of Iser, rolling rapidly. 
 
 'Tis morn ; but scarce yon level sun 
 Can pierce the war-cloud rolling dun, 
 Where furious Frank and fiery Hun 
 Shout in their sulphurous canopy. 
 
 'J'he combat deepens. On, ye brave ! 
 Who rush to glory or the grave ! 
 Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave ! 
 And charge with all thy chivalry ! 
 
 Few, few shall part where many meet ! 
 Tiie snow shall be their winding-sheet, 
 And every turf beneath their feet 
 Shall be a soldier's sepulchre ! 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 NAPOLEON AND THE 
 ENGLISH SAILOK BOY, 
 
 I LOVE contemplating — apart 
 From all his homicidal glory — 
 
 The traits that soften to our heart 
 Napoleon's story. 
 
 'Twas when his banners at Boulogne 
 Armed in our island every freeman ; 
 
 His navy chanced to capture one 
 Poor British seaman. 
 
 They suffered him — I know not how— 
 Unprisoned on the shore to roam ; 
 
 And aye was bent his longing brow 
 On England's home. 
 
 His eye, methinks, pursued the flight 
 Of birds to Britain half-way over 
 
 With envy — they could reach the white. 
 Dear cliffs of Dover. 
 
 A stormy midnight watch, he thought. 
 Than this sojourn would have been 
 dearer. 
 
 If but the storm his vessel brought 
 To England nearer. 
 
 At last, when care had banished sleep. 
 He saw one morning — dreaming — 
 doting. 
 
 An empty hogshead from the deep 
 Come shoreward floating. 
 
 He hid it in a cave, and wrought 
 The livelong day laborious ; lurking, 
 
 Until he launched a tiny boat. 
 By mighty working. 
 
 Heaven help us ! 'twas a thing beyond 
 Description wretched : such a wherry 
 
 Porhaps ne'er ventured on a pond. 
 Or crossed a ferry. 
 
 For ploughing in the salt sea field. 
 It would have made the boldest 
 shudder ; 
 
 Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled, 
 No sail — no rudder 1 
 
286 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 From neighbouring woods he interlaced 
 His sorry skiff with wattled willows ; 
 
 And thus equipped he would have 
 passed 
 The foaming billows. 
 
 But Frenchmen caught him on the 
 beach, 
 
 His little Argo sorely jeering ; 
 Till tidings of him chanced to reach 
 
 Napoleon's hearing. 
 
 With folded arms Napoleon stood, 
 Serene alike in peace and danger, 
 
 And in his wonted attitude 
 Addressed the stranger : 
 
 " Rash man, that wouldst yon channel 
 pass 
 On twigs and staves so rudely 
 fashioned ! 
 Thy heart with some sweet British lass 
 Must be impassioned." 
 
 " I have no sweetheart," said the lad ; 
 
 " But, absent long from one another. 
 Great was the longing that I had 
 
 To see my mother." 
 
 " And so thou shalt ! " Napoleon said ; 
 
 " Ye've both my favour fairly won : 
 A noble mother must have bred 
 
 So brave a son." 
 
 He gave the tar a piece of gold, 
 
 And with a flag of truce commanded 
 
 He should be shipped to England Old, 
 And safely landed. 
 
 Our sailor oft could scantily shift 
 To find a dinner plain and hearty ; 
 
 But never changed the coin and gift 
 Of Bonaparte. 
 
 Thomas CainpheU. 
 
 With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 
 Legs wide, arms locked behind. 
 
 As if to balance the prone brow 
 Oppressive with its mind. 
 
 Just as, perhaps, he mused, " My plans 
 
 That soar, to earth may fall. 
 Let once my army-leader Laimes 
 
 Waver at yonder wall," — 
 Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there 
 flew 
 
 A rider, bouhd on bound 
 Full-galloping ; nor bridle drew 
 
 Until he reached the mound. 
 
 Then ofiF there flung in smiling joy. 
 
 And held himself erect 
 By just his horse's mane, a boy : 
 
 You hardly could suspect — 
 (So tight he kept his lips compressed. 
 
 Scarce any blood came tlrro') 
 You looked twice ere you saw his breast 
 
 Was aU but shot in two. 
 
 " Well," cried he, " Emperor, by God's 
 grace 
 
 We've got you Ratisbon ! 
 The Marshal's in the market-place, 
 
 And you'll be there anon 
 To see your flag-bird flap his vans. 
 
 Where I, to heart's desire. 
 Perched him ! " The Chief's eye 
 flashed ; his plans 
 
 Soared up again like fire. 
 
 The Chief's eye flashed ; but presently 
 
 Softened itself, as sheathes 
 A film the mother eagle's eye 
 
 When her bruised eaglet breathes : 
 " You're wounded ! " " Nay," his 
 soldier's pride 
 
 Touched to the quick, he said : 
 " I'm killed, sire ! " And, his Chief 
 beside. 
 
 Smiling the boy fell dead. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 INCIDENT OF THE FBENCH 
 CAMP. 
 
 You know, we French stormed Ratis- 
 bon : 
 
 A mile or so away 
 On a little mound. Napoleon 
 
 Stood on our . terming day ; 
 
 ADEIiGITHA. 
 
 The ordeal's fatal trumpet sounded. 
 And sad pale Adelgitha came. 
 
 When forth a valiant champion 
 bounded. 
 And slew the slanderer of her fame. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 28; 
 
 She wept, deliver'd from her danger ; 
 But when he knelt to claim lier 
 glove — 
 " Seek not," she cried, " oh ! gallant 
 stranger. 
 For hapless Adelgitha's love. 
 
 " For he is in a foreign far land 
 Whose arms should now have set me 
 free ; 
 
 And I must wear the willow garland 
 For him that's dead or fal.se to me." 
 
 " Nay ! say not that his faith is 
 tainted ! " 
 
 He raised his vizor — at the sight 
 She fell into his arms and fainted ; 
 
 It was indeed her own true knight ! 
 
 Thomas Cainpbeli. 
 
 THE SPIiENDOUB, FALLS ON 
 CASTLE WALLS. 
 
 The splendour falls on castle walls 
 
 And snowy summits old in story : 
 
 The long light shakes across the lakes 
 
 And the wild cataract leaps in 
 
 glory. 
 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes 
 
 flying. 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, d3^ing, 
 dying, dying. 
 
 O hark, O hear ! how thin and clear. 
 
 And thinner, clearer, farther going ! 
 
 O sweet and far from cliff and scar 
 
 The horns of Elfland faintly 
 
 blowing ! 
 
 Blow, let us hear the purple glcnn 
 
 replying : 
 Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, 
 dying, dying. 
 
 O love, they die in yon rich sky. 
 They faint on hill or field or river : 
 
 Our echoes roll from soul to soul. 
 And grow for ever and for ever. 
 Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes 
 
 flying. 
 And answer, echoes, answer, dying, 
 dying, dying. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 HOW THEY BROUGHT THE 
 GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT 
 TO AIX. 
 
 I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Jori.s, ami 
 
 he; 
 I galloped, Dirck galloped, we 
 
 galloped all three ; 
 "Good speed!" cried the watch, as 
 
 the gate-bolts undrew ; 
 " Speed ! " echoed the wall to us 
 
 galloping through ; 
 Bfehind shut the postern, the lights 
 
 sank to rest. 
 And into the midnight we galloped 
 
 abreast. 
 
 Not a word to each other ; we kept 
 
 the great pace 
 Neck by neck, stride by stride, never 
 
 changing our place ; 
 I turned in my saddle and made its 
 
 girths tight, 
 Then shortened each stirrup, and set 
 
 the pique right, 
 Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained 
 
 slacker the bit. 
 Nor galloped less steadily Roland a 
 
 whit. 
 
 'Twas moonset at starting ; but while 
 
 we drew near 
 Lokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight 
 
 dawned clear ; 
 At Boom, a great yellow star came out 
 
 to see ; 
 At Diiffield, 'twas morning as plain as 
 
 could be ; 
 Atid from Mecheln church-steeple we 
 
 heard the half chime, 
 So Joris broke silence with " Yet there 
 
 is time ! " 
 
 At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the 
 sun. 
 
 And against him the cattle stood black 
 every one, 
 
 To stare through the mist at us gallop- 
 ing past. 
 
 And I saw my stout galloper Roland at 
 last. 
 
 With resolute shoulders, each butting 
 away 
 
 The haze, as some bluff river headland 
 its pray. 
 
288 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Aud his low head and crest, just one 
 sharp ear bent back 
 
 For my voice and the other piicked 
 out on his track ; 
 
 And one eye's black intelligence — ever 
 that glance 
 
 O'er its white edge at me, his own 
 master, askance ! 
 
 And the thick heavy spume-flakes 
 which aye and anon 
 
 His fierce lips shook upwards in gallop- 
 ing on. 
 
 By Hasselt, Dirck groaned ; and cried 
 
 Joris, " Stay spur ! 
 Your Ross galloped bravely, the fault's 
 
 not in her. 
 We'll remember at Aix " — for one 
 
 heard the quick wheeze 
 Of her chest, saw her stretched neck 
 
 and staggering knees, 
 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of 
 
 the flank, 
 As down on her haunches she shuddered 
 and sank. 
 
 So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
 Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud 
 
 in the sky ; 
 The broad sun above laughed a pitiless 
 
 laugh, 
 'Neath our feet broke the brittle 
 
 bright stubble like chaff ; 
 Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire 
 
 sprang white. 
 And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix 
 
 is in sight ! " 
 
 " How they'll greet us ! " and all in a 
 moment his roan 
 
 Rolled neck and crop over ; lay dead 
 as a stone ; 
 
 And there was my Roland to bear the 
 whole weight 
 
 Of the news which alone could save 
 Aix from her fate, 
 
 ^Vith his nostrils like pits full of blood 
 to the brim, 
 
 And with circles of red for his eye- 
 socket's rim. 
 
 Then I cast loose my buff- coat, each 
 
 holster let fall. 
 Shook off 1 oth my jack-boots, let go 
 
 belt and all. 
 Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted 
 
 his ear. 
 
 Called my Roland his pet-name, my 
 
 horse without peer ; 
 Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, 
 
 any noise, good or bad, 
 Till at length into Aix Roland galloped 
 
 and stood. 
 
 And all I remember is, friends flocking 
 
 round 
 As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees 
 
 on the ground. 
 And no voice but was praising this 
 
 Roland of mine. 
 As I poured down his throat our last 
 
 measure of wine, 
 AVhich (the burgesses voted by common 
 
 consent) 
 Was no more than his due who brought 
 
 good news from Ghent. 
 
 Robert Broivning. 
 
 ALEXANDER SELKIRK. 
 
 VERSES SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY 
 
 HIM DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE 
 
 ON A DESERT ISLAND. 
 
 I AM monarch of all I survey, 
 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 From the centre all round to tlie sea, 
 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 
 Oh, Solitude ! where are tlie charms, 
 
 That sages have seen in thy face ? 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 I am out of humanity's reach, 
 
 I must finish my journey alone, 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech, 
 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 The beasts, that roam over the plain, 
 
 My form with indifference see ; 
 They are so unacquainted with man, 
 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. 
 
 Society, friendship, and love, 
 
 Divinely bestowed upon man. 
 Oh ! had I the wings of a dove, 
 
 How soon I would taste you again ! 
 My sorrows I then might assuage 
 
 In the ways of religion and truth. 
 Might learn from the wisdom of age. 
 
 And be cheered by the saliiia of 
 youth 
 
 J 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 289 
 
 Religion ! what treasure untold 
 
 Besides in that heavenly word ! 
 More precious than silver and gold. 
 
 Or all that this earth can ntTonl. 
 But the sound of the churcli-going l)(ll 
 
 These valleys and rocUs never heard. 
 Never sighed at the sound of a knell. 
 
 Or smiled when a Sabbath appeared. 
 
 Ye winds, that have made nie your 
 sport, 
 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 Some cordial endearing r(>port 
 
 Of a land I shall visit no more. 
 My friends, do they now and then send 
 
 A wish or a thought after mc ? 
 O tell nie I yet have a friend. 
 
 Though a friend I am never to see. 
 
 How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 
 
 Compared with the speed of its flight. 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 
 And the swift-wingrd arrows of light. 
 When I think of my own native land, 
 
 In a moment I seem to be there ; 
 But, alas ! recollection at hand 
 
 Soon hurries me back to despair. 
 
 But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, 
 
 The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
 Even here is a season of rest, 
 And I to my cabin repair. 
 There's mercy in every place. 
 And mercy, encouraging thought I 
 Gives even affliction a grace. 
 And reconciles man to his lot. 
 
 W lUiaiii Vow per. 
 
 THE SEA. 
 
 The sea ! the sea ! the open sea ! 
 The blue, the fresh, the ever free ! 
 Without a mark, v.ithout a bound. 
 It runneth the earth's wide regions 
 
 round ; 
 It plays \\ith the clouds ; it mocks the 
 
 skies ; 
 Or like a cradled creature lies. 
 
 I'm on the sea ! I'm on the sea ! 
 
 I am Mhere I would ever be ; 
 
 With the blue above, and the blue below. 
 
 And silence wheresoe'er I go : 
 
 If a storm should come and awake the 
 
 deep 
 What matter ? I shall ride and sleep. 
 
 I love (oh, how I love !) to ride 
 
 On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide. 
 
 When every mad wave drowns the 
 
 moon. 
 Or whistles aloft his tempest tune. 
 And tells how goeth the world below. 
 And M'hy the south-west blasts do blow. 
 
 I never was on the dull, tame shore. 
 But I loved the great sea more and 
 
 more, 
 And backwards flew to her billowy 
 
 breast. 
 Like a bird that seeketh its mother's 
 
 nest : 
 And a mother she was and is to me ; 
 For I was born on the open sea ! 
 
 I've lived since then in calm and strife. 
 
 Full fifty summers a sailor's life. 
 
 With wealth to spend, and a power to 
 
 range, 
 But never have sought nor sighed for 
 
 change ; 
 And Death, whenever he comes to me. 
 Shall come on the wild unbounded s^a ! 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 "TO SEA ! TO SEA!" 
 
 To sea ! to sea ! the calm is o'er. 
 
 The wanton water leaps in sport. 
 And rattles down the pebbly shore. 
 The dolphin wheels, the sea cows 
 snort ; 
 And unseen mermaid's pearly song 
 Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. 
 Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar : 
 To sea ! to sea ! the calm is o'er. 
 
 To sea ! to sea ! our white winged bark 
 Shall billowing cleave its watery way, 
 
 And with its shadow, fleet and dark, 
 Break the caved Triton's azure day. 
 
 Like mountain eagle soaring light 
 
 O'er antelopes on Alpine height. 
 
 The anchor heaves ! the ship swings 
 free ! 
 
 Our sails swell full I To sea ! to sea ! 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 
290 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE OCEAN. 
 
 Beautiful, sublime, and glorious ; 
 
 Mild, majestic, foaming, free — 
 Over time itself victorious, 
 
 Image of et«rnity 1 
 
 Sun, and moon, and stars sliine o'er thee, 
 See thy surface ebb and flow ; 
 
 Yet attempt not to explore thee 
 In thy soundless depths below 
 
 Whether morning's splendours steep 
 thee 
 
 With the rainbow's glowing grace, 
 Tempests rouse, or navies sweep thee, 
 
 'Tis but for a moment's space. 
 
 Earth — her valleys and her mountains, 
 Mortal man's behests obey ; 
 
 Thy unfathomable fountains 
 
 Scoff his search, and scorn his sway. 
 
 Such art thou^ — stupendous ocean ! 
 
 But, if overwhelmed by thee, 
 Can we think, -without emotion, 
 
 What m\ist thy Creator be ? 
 
 Bernard Barton. 
 
 THE SEA-DEEPS. 
 
 Deeper than the narwhal sinketh. 
 Deeper than the sea-horse drinketh. 
 There are miles and miles of sea, 
 Where darkness reigns eternally. 
 Nor length of line, nor sounding lead. 
 Have ever reached the deep sea- bed ; 
 Nor aught again beheld the light. 
 Which touched that land of endless 
 
 night. 
 Above, a ship might strike and ground, 
 Below, no bottom could be found ; 
 Though, o'er the rocks the white waves 
 
 hiss, 
 Unfathomed lay the dark abyss. 
 Depths measureless — rocks that were 
 
 hurled 
 From the foundations of the world. 
 Deeper than plummet e'er can go 
 Lie those grim endless depths below 
 Which neither wind nor wave come near 
 For all is dai'k and silent there. 
 Perchance, huge monsters, feed and 
 
 sleep 
 
 Below that black and soundless deep ; 
 Monsters of such weight and size. 
 That they have no power to raise : 
 The mighty kraken, which they say. 
 Will heave upon that awful day. 
 When the last trumpet's startUng sound 
 Shall pierce the inmost depths profound ; 
 And many a league of ocean part. 
 While his huge bulk he doth uprear, 
 And hke an island vast appear. 
 Such monstrous things, they say, now 
 
 sleep 
 Within the caverns of the deep. 
 
 Thomas Miller. 
 
 THE NORTHEKN SEAS. 
 
 Up ! up ! let us a voyage take ; 
 
 Why sit we here at ease ? 
 Find us a vessel tight and snug. 
 
 Bound for the northern seas. 
 
 I long to see the Northern Lights, 
 With their rushing splendours, fly, 
 
 Like living things, with flaming \\ings. 
 Wide o'er the wondrous sky. 
 
 I long to see those icebergs vast. 
 
 With heads all crowned with snow, 
 
 Whose green roots sleep in the aM fiii 
 deep. 
 Two hundred fathoms low. 
 
 I long to hear the thundering crash 
 
 Of their terrific fall ; 
 And the echoes fi-om a thousand cliffs 
 
 Like lonely voices call. 
 
 There shall we see the fierce white bear, 
 
 The sleepy seals aground. 
 And the spouting whales that to and fro 
 
 Sail with a dreary sound. 
 
 There may we tread on depths of ice, 
 That the hairy mammoth hide ; 
 
 Perfect as when, in times of old, 
 The mighty creature died. 
 
 And while the unsetting sun shines on 
 Through the still heaven's deep blue, 
 
 We'll traverse the azure waves the herds 
 Of the dread sea-horse to view. 
 
 We'll pass the shores of solemn pine. 
 Where wolves and black bears prowl. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 291 
 
 And away to the rocky isles of mist 
 To rouse the northern fowl. 
 
 Up then shall start ten thousand wings 
 With a rushing whistling din ; 
 
 Up shall the auk and fulmar start — 
 All but the fat penguin. 
 
 And there in the wastes of the silent sky, 
 With the silent earth below . 
 
 We shall see far off to his lonely rock 
 The lonely eagle go. 
 
 Then softly, softly will we tread 
 
 By island streams, to see 
 Where the pehcan of the silent north 
 
 Sits there all silently. 
 
 William Ilowitt, 
 
 THE SHIP IS READY. 
 
 Fare-thee-wei.i. ! the ship is ready. 
 And the breeze is fresh and steady. 
 Hands are fast the anchor weighing ; 
 High in air the streamer's playing. 
 Spread the sails — the waves are swell- 
 ing 
 Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling. 
 Fare- thee- well ! and when at sea, 
 Think of those who sigh for thee. 
 
 When from land and home receding 
 And from hearts that ache to bleeding, 
 Think of those behind, who love thee, 
 While the sun is bright above thee ! 
 Then, as down to ocean glancing. 
 In the waves his rays are dancing 
 Think how long the night will be 
 To the eyes that weep for thee. 
 
 When the lonely night-watch keeping. 
 All below thee still and sleeping, — 
 As the needle points the quarter. 
 O'er the wide and trackless water, 
 Let thy vigils ever iind thee 
 Mindful of the friends behind thee ! 
 Let thy bosom's magnet be 
 Turned to those who wake for thee. 
 
 When with slow and gentle motion, 
 Heaves the bosom of the ocean, — 
 While in peace thy bark is riding, 
 And the silver moon is gliding 
 
 O'er the sky with tranquil splendour. 
 Where the shining hosts attend her : 
 Let the brightest visions be. 
 Country, home, and friends, to thee ! 
 
 When the tempest hovers o'er thee. 
 Danger, wreck, anil death before thee ; 
 While the sword of fire is gleaming, 
 AVild the winds, the torrent streaming. 
 Then, a pious suppliant bending. 
 Let thy thoughts, to Heaven ascending. 
 Reach the mercy-seat, to be 
 Met by prayers that rise for thee ! 
 
 Hannah Flugy Gould. 
 
 THE SAILOR. 
 
 Thou that hast a daughter 
 
 For one to woo and wed, 
 Give her to a husband 
 
 With snow upon his head ; 
 Oh, give her to an old man. 
 
 Though little joy it be, 
 Before the best young sailor 
 
 That sails upon the sea ! 
 
 How lucldess is the sailor 
 
 When sick and like to die ! 
 He sees no tender mother. 
 
 No sweetheart standing by. 
 Onlj' the captain speaks to him — 
 
 Stand up, stand up, young man, 
 And steer the ship to haven. 
 
 As none beside thee can. 
 
 Thou sayst to me, " Stand, stand up; ' 
 
 I say to thee, take hold, 
 Lift me a little from the deck. 
 
 My hands and feet are cold. 
 And let my head, I pray thee, 
 
 With handkerchiefs be bound : 
 There, take my love's own handUer 
 cliief. 
 
 And tie it tightly round. 
 
 Now bring the chart, the doleful chart 
 
 See where these mountains meet — 
 The clouds are thick around their head. 
 
 The mists around their feet : 
 Cast anchor here ; 'tis deep and safe 
 
 Within the rockj' cleft ; 
 ■J'he little anchor on the right. 
 
 The great one on the left. 
 
 19* 
 
292 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And now to thee, O captain, 
 
 Most earnestly I pray, 
 That they may never bury me 
 
 In chiirch or cloister gray ; — ■ 
 But on the windy sea-beach, 
 
 At the ending of the land. 
 All on the surfy sea-beach, 
 
 Deep down into the sand. 
 
 For there will come the sailors, 
 
 Their voices I shall hear. 
 And at casting of the anchor 
 
 The yo-ho loud and clear ; 
 And at hauling of the anchor 
 
 The yo-ho and the cheer — 
 Farewell, my love, for to thy bay 
 
 I nevermore may steer ! 
 
 William Allinp-hain. 
 
 THE SAILOB. 
 
 The sailor sighs as sinks his native 
 shore. 
 As all its lessening turrets bluely 
 fade ; 
 He climbs the mast to feast his eyes 
 once more. 
 And busy fancy fondly lends her aid. 
 
 Ah ! now, each dear, domestic scene he 
 knew. 
 Recalled and cherished in a foreign 
 clime, 
 Charms with the magic of a moonlight 
 view. 
 Its colours mellowed, not impaired 
 by time. 
 
 True as the needle, homeward points 
 his heart, 
 Through all the horrors of the stormy 
 main ; 
 This, the last wish that would with life 
 depart. 
 To meet the smile of her he loves 
 again. 
 
 When Morn fu-st faintly draws her 
 silver hne. 
 Or Eve's grey cloud descends to drink 
 the wave ; 
 When sea and sky in midnight-dark- 
 ness join. 
 Still, still he sees the })arting look 
 she gave. 
 
 Her gentle spirit hghtly hovering o'er. 
 Attends his httle bark from pole to 
 pole ; 
 And, when the beating billows round 
 him roar. 
 Whispers sweet hope to soothe his 
 troubled soul. 
 
 Carved is her name in many a spicy 
 grove 
 In many a plantain-forest, waving 
 wide ; 
 Where dusky youths in painted plumage 
 rove, 
 And giant palms o'er-arch the golden 
 tide. 
 
 But lo ! at. last he comes with crowded 
 sail ! 
 Lo, o'er the cliff what eager figures 
 bend ! 
 And hark, what mingled murmurs swell 
 the gale ! 
 In each he hears the welcome of a 
 friend. 
 
 — 'Tis she, 'tis she herself ! she waves 
 her hand ! 
 Soon is the anchor cast, the canvas 
 furled ; 
 Soon through the whitening surge he 
 springs on land. 
 And clasps the maid he singled from 
 the world. 
 
 Samuel Rogers. 
 
 A SAILOB'S LIFE. 
 
 How gaily a sailor's life passes 
 Who roams o'er the watery main ; 
 
 No treasure he ever amasses. 
 
 But cheerfully spends all his gain. 
 
 The world is a beautiful garden. 
 
 Enriched with the blessings of life ; 
 
 The toiler with plenty rewarding, 
 AVhich plenty too often breeds strife. 
 
 When terrible tempests assail us. 
 And mountainous billows alfright, 
 
 Xo grandeur or wealth can avail us, 
 But skilful industry steers right. 
 
 The various blessings of Nature 
 In various countries we try ; 
 
 No mortal than us can be greater. 
 Who merrily live till we die. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 293 
 
 THE SAILOR'S ADIEU. 
 Then fare thee well ! my clear loved isle, 
 
 Once more, once more, adieu. 
 See where yon gallant vessel's moor'd, 
 
 To bear me far from you. 
 
 Mark how the breeze.s fill her sails. 
 
 And gallantly she'll ride 
 Thro' heavy seas and stormy gale."?, 
 
 For England's boast and pride. 
 
 Tho' ever first in danger's hour. 
 
 The British sailor's found. 
 Where cannon roar, and tempests lour, 
 
 He thinks on Enghsh ground. 
 
 The sails are set, the signals made. 
 
 Yet still I lingering stand, 
 To view the blue shores as they fade. 
 
 Farewell my native land. 
 
 WINDLASS SONG. 
 
 Heave at the windlass ! — Heave O, 
 
 cheerly, men ! 
 Heave all at once, with a will ' 
 The tide quickly making, 
 Our cordage a-creaking. 
 The water has put on a frill, 
 
 Heave O ! 
 
 Fare you well, sweethearts ! — Heave 
 O, cheerly, men ! 
 Fare you well, frolic and sport ! 
 The good ship all ready 
 Each dog-vane is steady. 
 The wind blowing dead out of port. 
 Heave O ! 
 
 Once 
 
 Heave O, 
 
 in blue water 
 cheerly, men ! 
 Blow it from north or from south ; 
 She'll stand to it tightly. 
 And curtsey politely. 
 And carry a bone in her mouth. 
 Heave O ! 
 
 Short cruise or long cruise — Heave O, 
 cheerly, men ! 
 Jolly Jack Tar thinks it one. 
 No latitude dreads he 
 Of White, Black, or Red Sea, 
 Great icebergs, or tropical sun, 
 Heave 1 
 
 One other turn, and Heave O, cheerly, 
 men ! 
 Heave, and good-bye to the shore ! 
 Our money, how went it ? 
 We shared it and spent it ; 
 Next year we'll come back with some 
 more. 
 
 Heave O ! 
 
 William Allin^ham, 
 
 A WET SHEET AND A 
 FLOWING SEA. 
 
 A WET sheet and a flowing sea, 
 
 A wind that follows fast. 
 And fills the white and rustling sail. 
 
 And bends the gallant mast ; 
 And bends the gallant mast, my boys. 
 
 While, like the eagle free. 
 Away the good ship flies, and leaves 
 
 Old England on the lee. 
 
 O for a soft and gentle wind ! 
 
 I heard a fair one cry ; 
 But give to me the snoring breeze 
 
 And M'hite waves heaving high ; 
 And white waves heaving high, my boys, 
 
 The good ship tight and free — 
 The world of waters is our home, 
 
 And merry men are we. 
 
 There's tempest in yon horned moon, 
 
 And lightning in yon cloud ; 
 And hark the music mariners ! 
 
 The wind is piping loud ; 
 The wind is piping loud, my boys, 
 
 The lightning flashing free — 
 Whde the hollow oak our palace is. 
 
 Our heritage the sea 
 
 Allan Cunninglmm. 
 
 TOM BOWLING. 
 
 Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom 
 Bowling, 
 
 The darhng of our crew ; 
 No more he'll hear the tempest howling. 
 
 For death has broach'd him to. 
 His form was of the manhest beauty. 
 
 His heart was kind and soft ; 
 Faithful, below, he did his duty ; 
 
 But now he's gone aloft. 
 
294 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Tom never from his word departed, 
 
 His virtues were so rare. 
 His friends were many and true-hearted, 
 
 His Poll was kind and fair : 
 And then he'd sing, so bhthe and jolly, 
 
 Ah, many's the time and oft ! 
 But mirth is tum'd to melancholy. 
 
 For Tom is gone aloft. 
 
 Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant 
 weather. 
 When He, who all commands, 
 Shall give, to call Ufe's crew together, 
 
 The word to pipe " all hands." 
 Thus Death, who kings and tars 
 despatches. 
 In vain Tom's hfe has doff'd : 
 For though his body's under hatches. 
 His soul has gone aloft. 
 
 Charles JDibden, 
 
 THE TAR FOR AIiI. 
 
 WEATHERS. 
 
 I sail'd from the Downs in the Nancy, 
 
 My jib how she smack'd through the 
 breeze ! 
 She's a vessel as tight to my fancy 
 
 As ever sail'd on the salt seas. 
 So adieu to the white chffs of Britain, 
 
 Our girls and our dear native shore ! 
 For if some hard rock we should spht on. 
 
 We shall never see them any more. 
 But sailors were born for all weathers. 
 
 Great guns let it blow, high or low. 
 Our duty keeps us to Our tethers. 
 
 And where the gale drives we must go. 
 
 When we entered the Straits of 
 Gibraltar 
 I verily thought she'd have sunk. 
 For the wind began so for to alter. 
 
 She yaw'd just as tho' she was drunk. 
 The squall tore the mainsail to shivers. 
 Helm a-weather, the hoarse boat- 
 swain cries ; 
 Brace the foresail athwart, see she 
 quivers, 
 As through the rough tempest she 
 flies. 
 But sailors were born for all weahters, 
 
 Great guns let it blow, high or low. 
 Our duty keeps us to our tethers. 
 And where the gale drives we must go. 
 
 The .storm came on thicker and faster. 
 
 As black just as pitch was the sky. 
 When truly a doleful disaster 
 
 Befel three poor sailors and I. 
 Ben Bunthne, Sara Shroud, and Dick 
 Handsail, 
 
 By a blast that came furious and hard. 
 Just while we were furling the mainsail. 
 
 Were every soul swept from the yard. 
 But sailors were born for all weathers. 
 
 Great guns let it blow, high or low. 
 Our duty keeps us to our tethers. 
 
 And where the gale drives we must go. 
 
 Poor Ben, Sam and Dick cried peccavi. 
 
 As for I, at the risk of my neck. 
 While they sank down in peace to old 
 Davy, 
 
 Caught a rope, and so landed on deck. 
 Well, what would you have ? We were 
 stranded. 
 
 And out of a fine jolly crew 
 Of three hundred that sail'd, never 
 landed 
 
 But I, and I think, twenty-two. 
 But sailors were born for all weathers. 
 
 Great guns let it blow, high or low. 
 Our duty keeps us to our tethers. 
 
 And where the gale drives we must go. 
 
 Charles Dibden. 
 
 THE BAY OF BISCAY. 
 
 Loud roared the dreadful thunder. 
 
 The rain a deluge showers. 
 The clouds were rent asunder 
 
 By hghtning's vivids powers ; 
 The night both drear and dark. 
 
 Our poor devoted bark. 
 Till next day, there she lay. 
 
 In the Bay of Biscay, 1 
 
 Now dashed upon the billow. 
 
 Our opening timbers creak ; 
 Each fears a watery pillow,— 
 
 None stops the dreadful leak ; 
 To cling to slippery shrouds 
 
 Each breathless seaman crowds. 
 As she lay, till the day. 
 
 In the Bay of Biscay, O I 
 
 At length the wished-for morrow. 
 Broke through the hazy sky ; 
 
 Absorbed in silent sorrow. 
 Each heaved a bitter sigh ; 
 
 \ 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 295 
 
 The dismal wreck to view, 
 Struck horror to the crew, 
 
 A3 she lay, on that day, 
 In the bay of Biscay, ! 
 
 Her yielding timbers sever, 
 
 Her pitchy seams are rent. 
 When Heaven, all bounteous ever ; 
 
 Its boundless mercy sent ; 
 A sail in sight appears. 
 
 We hail her with three cheers ; 
 Now we sail, with the gale 
 
 Fiom the Bay of Biscay, ! 
 
 Andrew Cheiry. 
 
 For some bleak pittance e'er compelled 
 
 to roam ; 
 Few hearts to cheer him through his 
 
 dangerous life, 
 And none to aid him in the stormy 
 
 strife ; 
 Companion of the sea and silent air. 
 The lonely fisher thus must ever fare ; 
 Without the comfort, hope — with scarce 
 
 a friend. 
 He looks through life and only see* its 
 
 end I 
 
 Barry Cornwall. 
 
 THE FISHING-BOAT. 
 
 GOING OUT. 
 
 Briskly blows the evening gale. 
 
 Fresh and free it blows : 
 Blessings on the fishing boat, 
 
 How merrily she goes ! 
 Christ He loved the fisherman ; 
 
 Walldng by the sea. 
 How He blessed the fishing-boats 
 
 Down in Galilee ! 
 Dark the night, and wild the wave, 
 
 Christ the boat is keeping ; 
 Trust in Him, and have no fear. 
 
 Though He seemeth sleeping. 
 
 COMING IK. 
 
 Brislily blows the morning breeze, 
 
 Fresh and strong it blows ; 
 Blessings on the fishing-boat. 
 
 How steadily she goes ! 
 Christ He loved the fisherman. 
 
 And he blessed the net 
 Which the hopeless fishers throw 
 
 In (iennesaret. 
 He blessed our going out. 
 
 Blessed, too, our returning ; 
 Gave \is laden nets at night, 
 
 And fair wind in the morning. 
 
 Mary Hoiciit. 
 
 THE FISHEBMAN. 
 
 A PKRILOUS hfe, and sad as life may be, 
 Kaih the lone fisher, on the lonely sea, 
 (Jer tlie wild waters labouring far from 
 home, 
 
 HOWS MY BOY P 
 
 " Ho, sailor of the sea ! 
 
 How's my boy — my boy ? " 
 
 " What's your boy's name, good wife. 
 
 And in what good ship sail'd he ? " 
 
 " My boy John — 
 
 He that went to sea— 
 
 What care I for the ship, sailor ? 
 
 My boy's my boy to me. 
 
 " You come back from sea 
 And not know my John ? 
 I might as well have asked some 
 
 landsman 
 Yonder down in town. 
 There's not an ass in all the parish 
 But he knows my John. 
 
 " How's my boy — my boy ? 
 
 And unless you let me know, 
 
 I'll swear you are no sailor, 
 
 Blue jacket or no. 
 
 Brass button or no, sailor. 
 
 Anchor and crown or no ! 
 
 Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton." 
 
 " Speak low, woman, speak low ! " 
 
 " And why should I speak low, sailor. 
 
 About ray own boy John ? 
 
 If I was loud as I am proud 
 
 I'd sing him o'er the town ! 
 
 Why should I speak low, sailor ? " 
 
 " That good ship went down." 
 
 '■ How's my boy — my boy ? 
 What care I for the ship, sailor, 
 I never was aboard her. 
 Be she afloat, or be she agroimd. 
 Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, 
 
296 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Her owners can afford ber ! 
 
 I say, how's my John ? " 
 
 " Every man on board went down. 
 
 Every man aboard her." 
 
 " How's my boy — my boy ? 
 What care I for tVe men, sailor 7 
 I'm not their mother — 
 How's my boy — my boy ? 
 Tell me of him and no other ! 
 How's my boy — my boy ? " 
 
 Sydney Dobdl. 
 
 THE SAIIiOB'S MOTHER. 
 
 One morning (raw it was and wet 
 
 A foggy day in winter time) 
 
 A woman on the road I met. 
 
 Not old, though something past her 
 
 prime : 
 Majestic in her person, tall and 
 
 straight ; 
 And like a Roman's matron was her 
 
 mien and gait. 
 
 The ancient spirit is not dead : 
 Old times, thought I, are breathing 
 
 there ; 
 Proud was I that my country bred 
 Such strength, a dignity so fair ; 
 She begged an alms, like one in poor 
 
 estate : 
 I looked at her again, nor did my pride 
 
 abate. 
 
 When from these lofty thoughts I 
 
 M'oke, 
 " What is it," said I, " that you bear, 
 Beneath the covert of your cloak, 
 Protected from this cold damp air ? " 
 She answe ed, soon as she the 
 question heard 
 " A simple burden, Sir, a little singing- 
 bird." 
 
 And, thus continuing, she said, 
 " I had a son, who many a day 
 Sailed on the seas, but he is dead ; 
 In Denmark he was cast away ; 
 And I have travelled many miles to 
 see 
 f aught which he had owned might 
 still remain for me. 
 
 " The bird and cage they both were 
 
 his ; 
 'Twas my son's bird : and neat and 
 
 trim 
 He kept it ; many vo5'ages 
 This singing-bird had gone with him : 
 When last he sail'd, he left the bird 
 
 behind : 
 From bodings, as might be, that himg 
 
 upon his mind. 
 
 " He to a fellow-lodger's care 
 Had left it, to be watched and fed. 
 And pipe its song in safety ; — there 
 I found it when my son was dead : 
 And now, God help me for my little 
 
 wit ! 
 I bear it with me. Sir : — he took so much 
 
 delight in it." 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN 
 BERMUDAS. 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the ocean's bosom imespied, 
 From a small boat that row'd along 
 The listening winds received this song : 
 " What should we do but sing His 
 
 praise 
 That led us through the watery maze 
 Unto an isle so long unknown, 
 And yet far kinder than our own ? 
 Where He the huge sea monsters wracks 
 That lift the deep upon their backs. 
 He lands us on a grassy stage. 
 Safe from the storms, and prelate's 
 
 rage : 
 He gave us this eternal spring 
 Which here enamels everything. 
 And sends the fowls to us in care 
 On daily visits through the air. 
 He hangs in shades the orange bright 
 Like golden lamps in a green night. 
 And does in the pomegranates close 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows • 
 He makes the tigs our mouths to meet, 
 And throws the melons at our feet ; 
 But apples plants of such a price, 
 Xo tree could ever bear them twice ! 
 With cedars chosen by his hand 
 From Lebanon he stores the land ; 
 And makes the hollow seas that roar 
 Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
 
The Fatherland. 
 
 207 
 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 A temple where to sound His name. 
 O let our voice His praise exalt 
 Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
 M'hich then perhaps rebounding may 
 Echo beyond the Mexiquo bay ! " 
 — Thus sung they in the English boat 
 A holy and a cheerful note : 
 And all the way, to guide their chime, 
 ^Vith faUing oars they kept the time. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 THE CAVALIER'S SON&. 
 
 A STEED ! a steed of matchless speed, 
 
 A sword of metal keen ! 
 All else to nol le hearts is dross. 
 
 All else on earth is mean. 
 
 The neigliing of the war-horse proud, 
 The rolling of the drum. 
 
 The clangour of the trumpet loud. 
 Be sounds from heaven that come. 
 
 And oh ! the thundering press of 
 knights 
 
 Whenas their war cries swell. 
 May tole from heaven an angel bright, 
 
 And rouse a fiend from hell. 
 
 Then mount! then mount, brave 
 gallants, all. 
 
 And don your helms amain : 
 Death's couriers, Fame and Honour, 
 
 Call us to the field again. 
 
 No shrewish tears shall fill our eye 
 When the sword-hilt's in our hand, — 
 
 Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit 
 sigh 
 For the fairest of the land ! 
 
 Let piping swain, and craven wight. 
 
 Thus weep and puling cry. 
 Our business is like men to fight. 
 
 And hero-like to die ! 
 
 William Motherwell. 
 
 \ 
 
BALLADS. 
 
 THE BABES IN THE WOOD. 
 
 Now ponder well, you parents dear. 
 
 These words which I shall write ; 
 A doleful story you shall hear. 
 
 In time brought forth to light, 
 A gentleman of good account 
 
 In Norfolk dwelt of late. 
 Who did in honour far surmount 
 
 Most men of his estate. 
 
 Sore sick he was, and like to die. 
 
 No help his life could save ; 
 His wife by him as sick did lie, 
 
 And both possessed one grave. 
 No love between these two was lost. 
 
 Each was to other kind ; 
 In love they lived, in love they died. 
 
 And left two babes behind. 
 
 The one a fine and pretty boy, 
 
 Not passing three years old ; 
 The other a girl more young than he. 
 
 And framed in beauty's mould. 
 The father left his little son. 
 
 As plainly doth appear. 
 When he to perfect age should come. 
 
 Three hundred pounds a year. 
 
 And to his little daughter, Jane, 
 
 Five hundred pounds in gold, 
 To be paid down on marriage-day. 
 
 Which might not be controlled. 
 But if the children chance to die 
 
 Ere they to age should come. 
 Their uncle should possess their wealtli ; 
 
 For 80 the will did run. 
 
 " Now, brother," said the dying man, 
 " Look to my children dear ; 
 
 Be good unto my boy and girl. 
 No friends have e se they here : 
 
 To God and you I recommend 
 My children dear this day ; 
 
 But little while be sure we have 
 Within this world to stay. 
 
 " You must be father and mother both, 
 
 And uncle all in one ; 
 God knows what will become of them 
 
 When I am dead and gone." 
 With that bespake their mother dear, 
 
 " Oh brother kind," quoth she, 
 " You are the man must bring our babes 
 
 To wealth or misery : 
 
 " And if you keep them carefully. 
 
 Then God will you reward ; 
 But if you otherwise should deal, 
 
 God will your deeds regard." 
 With lips as cold as any stone. 
 
 They kissed their children small : 
 " God bless you both, my children 
 dear ! " 
 
 With that the tears did fall. 
 
 These speeches then their brother spoke. 
 
 To this sick couple there : 
 " The keeping of your little ones. 
 
 Sweet sister, do not fear : 
 God never prosper me nor mine. 
 
 Nor ought else that I have. 
 If I do wrong your children dear, 
 
 WJicn you are laid in grave." 
 
 The parents being dead and gone. 
 
 The children home he takes, 
 And brings them straight imto his house. 
 
 Where much of them he makes, 
 lie had not kept these pretty babes 
 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 But, for their wealth, he did devise 
 
 To make them both away. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 299 
 
 He bargained with two ruffians strong. 
 
 Which were of furious mood. 
 That they should take these children 
 young. 
 
 And slay them in a wood. 
 He told his wife an artful tale. 
 
 He would the chiUlren send. 
 To be brcnight up in fair London, 
 
 With one that was his friend. 
 
 Away then went those pretty babea 
 
 Rejoicing at their tide, 
 Rejoicing in a merry mind, 
 
 They should on cock-horse ride. 
 They prate and prattle pleasantly 
 
 As they rode on the way, 
 To those that should their butchers be, 
 
 And work their lives' decay. 
 
 Thus wandered these poor innocents. 
 
 Till death did end their grief ; 
 In one another's arms they died. 
 
 As wanting due relief : 
 No burial this pretty pair 
 
 Of any man receives. 
 Till Robin Redbreast piously 
 
 Did cover them with leaves. 
 
 And now the heavy wrath of God 
 
 Upon their uncle fell ; 
 Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house. 
 
 His conscience felt an hell : 
 His barns were fired, his goods con- 
 sumed. 
 
 His lands were barren made. 
 His cattle died within the field. 
 
 And nothing with him stayed. 
 
 So that the pretty speech they had 
 
 Made Murder's heart relent ; 
 And they that undertook the deed 
 
 Full sore did now repent. 
 Yet one of them more liard of heart 
 
 Did vow to do his charge. 
 Because the wretch that hired him 
 
 Had paid him very large. 
 
 And in a voyage to Portugal 
 
 Two of his sons did die ; 
 And to conclude, himself was brought 
 
 To want and misery : 
 He pawned and mortgaged all his land 
 
 Ere seven years came about ; 
 And now at length this wicked act 
 
 Did by this means come out : 
 
 The other won't agree thereto. 
 
 So here they fall to strife ; 
 With one another they did fight. 
 
 About the children's life ; 
 And he that was of mildest mood 
 
 Did slay the other tliere, 
 Within an unfrequented wood ; 
 
 The babes did quake for fear | 
 
 The fellow that did take in hand 
 
 These children for to kill. 
 Was for a robbery judged to die. 
 
 Such was God's blessed will ; 
 So did confess the very truth. 
 
 As here hath been displayed ; 
 Their uncle having died in gaol. 
 
 Where he for debt was laid. 
 
 He took the children by the hand. 
 
 Tears standing in their eye. 
 And bade them straightway follow him 
 
 And look they did not cry. 
 And two long miles he led them on, 
 
 Wilde they for food complain ; 
 " Stay here," quoth he ; " I'll bring 
 you bieid 
 
 When I come back again." 
 
 You that executors be made 
 
 And overseers eke 
 Of children that be fatherless 
 
 And infants mild and meek ; 
 Take you example by this thing. 
 
 And yield to each his right. 
 Lest God with such like misery 
 
 Your wicked minds requite. 
 
 These pretty babes, with hand in hand. 
 
 Went wandering up and down ; 
 But never more could see the man 
 
 Approaching from the town : 
 Their pretty lips with blackberries 
 
 AVere all besmeared and dyed ; 
 And when they saw the darksome night 
 
 They sat them down and cried. 
 
 THE LOVING BALLAD OF 
 LORD BATEMAN. 
 
 LoED Bateman he was a noble lord, 
 A noble lord of high degree ; 
 
 He shipped himself on board a ship, 
 Some foreign country he would go see. 
 
300 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 He sailed east, and lie sailed went. 
 Until he came to proud Turkey ; 
 
 When he was taken and put to prison, 
 Until his life was almost wearic. 
 
 And in this prison there grew a tree, 
 It grew so stout, and grew so strong ; 
 
 Where he was chained by the middle, 
 Until his life was almost gone. 
 
 This Turk he had one only daughter, 
 The fairest creature my eyes did see ; 
 
 8he stole the keys of her father's prison. 
 And swore Lord Batenian she would 
 set free. 
 
 " Have you got houses ? have vou got 
 lands ? 
 Or does Northumberland belong to 
 thee ? 
 What would you give to the fair young 
 lady, 
 That out of prison would set you 
 free ? " 
 
 " I have got houses, 1 have got lands, 
 And half Northumberland belongs 
 to me ; 
 
 I'll give it all to the fair young lady 
 That out of prison would set me free." 
 
 Oh ! then she took him to her father's 
 hall. 
 And gav§ to him the best of wine ; 
 And every health she drunk unto him, 
 " I wish Lord Bateman that you 
 were mine ! " 
 
 Now in seven years I'll make a vow 
 And seven years I'll keep it strong. 
 
 If you'll wed with no other woman, 
 I will wed with no other man." 
 
 Oh ! then she took him to her father's 
 harbour. 
 And gave to him a ship of fame, 
 " Farewell, farewell to you, liOrd 
 Bateman, 
 I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again." 
 
 Now seven long years are gone and past. 
 And fourteen days well known to 
 thee ; 
 She packed \np all her gay clothing, 
 And swore Lord Bateman she would 
 go see. 
 
 But when she came to Lord Bateman'a 
 castle. 
 So boldly she rang the bell ; 
 " Who's there ? who's there ? " cried 
 the proud porter ; 
 " Who's there ? unto me come tell." 
 
 " Oh is this Lord Bateman's castle ? 
 Or is his loi'dship here within ? " 
 *' Oh, yes I oh, yes ! " cried the young 
 porter, 
 " He's just now taken his new bride 
 in." 
 
 " Oh, tell him to send me a slice of 
 bread. 
 And a bottle of the best wine ; 
 And not forgetting the fair young 
 lady 
 Who did release Mm when close 
 confine." 
 
 Away, away went this proud young 
 porter. 
 Away, away, and away went he. 
 Until he came to Lord Bateman's 
 ■ chamber— 
 Down on his bended knees fell he. 
 
 " What news, what news, my proud 
 young porter ? 
 What news hast thou brought unto 
 me ? " 
 " There is the fairest of all young 
 creatures 
 That ever my two eyes did see ! 
 
 " She has got rings on every finger, 
 And round one of them she has got 
 three. 
 And as much gay clothing round 
 her middle 
 As would buy all Northumberlea. 
 
 " She bids you send her a slice of 
 bread, 
 And a bottle of the best wine ; 
 And not forgetting the fair young 
 lady 
 Who did release you when close 
 confine." 
 
 Lord Bateman he then in a passion 
 flew. 
 And broke his sword in splinters 
 three ; 
 
Ballads. 
 
 301 
 
 Saying, " I will give all my fatlior's 
 riches 
 If Sophia has crossed the sea." 
 
 Then up spoke the young bride's 
 mother, 
 Who never was heard to speak so 
 free : 
 *' You'll not forget my only daughter, 
 If Sophia has crossed the sea." 
 
 " I own I made a bride of your 
 daughter, 
 She's neither the better nor worse 
 for me ; 
 She came to me with her horse and 
 satldlc. 
 She may go back in her coacli and 
 three." 
 
 Lord Bateman prepared anothei' mar- 
 riage. 
 And sang, with heart so full of 
 glee, 
 " I'll range no more in foreign 
 countries 
 Now, since Sophia has crosscil the 
 sea." 
 
 THE RAREST BALLAD THAT 
 EVER WAS SEEN, OF THE 
 BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER 
 OF BETHNAL GREEN. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 It was a blind beggar had long lost 
 
 his sight, 
 He had a fair daughter of beauty 
 
 most bright ; 
 And many a gallant brave suitor 
 
 had she. 
 For none was so comely as pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 And though she was of favour most 
 
 fair. 
 Yet seeing she was but a poor beggars 
 
 heir. 
 Of ancient housekeepers despised was 
 
 she, 
 Whose sons came as suitors to pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessie 
 
 did say, 
 " (Jood father and mother, let me 
 
 go away 
 To seek out my fortune, whatever 
 
 it be." 
 This suit then they granted to pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Then Bessie that was of beauty so 
 
 bright, 
 All clad in gray russet, and late in tho 
 
 night. 
 From father and mother alone parted 
 
 siie. 
 Who sighed and sobbed for pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 She went till she came to Stratford- 
 
 le-Bow ; 
 Then knew she not whither, nor which 
 
 way to go : 
 With tears she lamented her hard 
 
 destiny. 
 So sad and so heavy was pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 She kept on her journey until it was 
 day. 
 
 And went unto Romford along tlie 
 high way ; 
 
 Where at the Queen's Arms enter- 
 tained was she. 
 
 So fair and well favoured was pretty- 
 Bessie. 
 
 She had not been there a montii to 
 
 an end 
 But master and mistress and all was 
 
 her friend : 
 And every brave gallant that once did 
 
 her see, 
 Was straightway enamoured of pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 (ireat gifts did they send her of silver 
 
 and gold 
 And in their songs daily her love 
 
 was extolled ; 
 Her beauty was l)lazed in every degree. 
 So fair and so comely was pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Tlie young men of Romford in her 
 
 had their joy ; 
 She showed herself courteous, and 
 
 modestly coy ; 
 
302 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And at her commandment still \^oiild 
 
 they be. 
 So fair and so comely was pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 First get their good will and be faithful 
 
 to me. 
 And you shall then marry your pretty 
 
 Bessie." 
 
 Four suitors at once unto her did go ; 
 They craved her favour, but still she 
 
 said " No ; 
 I would not wish gentles to marry 
 
 with me ; " 
 Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessie. 
 
 The first of them was a gallant young 
 
 knight, 
 And he came unto her disguised in 
 
 the night : 
 The second a gentleman of good degi-ee, 
 Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessie. 
 
 A merchant of London, whose wealth 
 
 was not small, 
 He was the third suitor, and proper 
 
 withal : 
 Her master's own son the fourth man 
 
 must be, 
 Who swore he would die for pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 " And if thou wilt marry me," quoth 
 
 the knight, 
 " I'll make thee a lady with joy and 
 
 del'ght ; 
 My heart's so enthralled by thy 
 
 beauty. 
 That soon I shall die for pretty Bessie." 
 
 The gentleman said, " Come, marry 
 
 with me, 
 As fine as a lady my Bessie shall be ; 
 My life is distressed : oh, hear me," 
 
 quoth he ; 
 "And grant me thy love, my pretty 
 
 Bessie." 
 
 To every one this answer she made ; 
 Wlierefore imto her they joyfully 
 
 said : 
 " This thing we fulfil we all do agree ; 
 But where dwells thy father, my 
 
 pretty Bessie ? " 
 
 " My father," she said, " is soon to 
 
 be seen ; 
 The silly blind beggar of Bethnal 
 
 Green, 
 That daily sits begging there for 
 
 charitie. 
 He is the good father of pretty Bessie. 
 
 " His marks and his tokens are known 
 
 full well; 
 He always is led with a dog and a 
 
 bell : 
 A silly old man, God knoweth, is he 
 Yet he is the father of pretty Bessie." 
 
 " Nay, then," quoth the merchant, 
 
 " thou art not for me " : 
 " Not yet," said the innholder, " my 
 
 wife shalt thou be : " 
 " I loathe," said the gentle, " a beggar's 
 
 degree. 
 And therefore adieu, my pretty 
 
 Bessie ! " 
 
 " Why, then," quoth the knight, " hap 
 
 better or worse, 
 I weigh not true love by the w'eight 
 
 of the purse. 
 And beauty is beauty in every degree ; 
 Then welcome to me, my pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 " Let me be thy husband," the merchant 
 
 did say, 
 " Thou shalt live in London, both 
 
 gallant and gay ; 
 My ships shall bring home rich jewels 
 
 for thee. 
 And I will for ever love pretty Bessie." 
 
 Then Bessie she sighed, and thus she 
 
 did say : 
 " My father and mother I mean to 
 
 obey; 
 
 With thee to thy father forthwith 1 
 
 will go." 
 " Nay, soft," said his kiasmen, " it 
 
 must not be so ; 
 A poor beggar's daughter no lady 
 
 shall be. 
 Then take thy adieu of pretty Bessie." 
 
 But soon after this by break of the 
 
 day. 
 The knight had from Romford stole 
 
 Bessie away. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 303 
 
 The young men of Romford, as thick 
 
 as might be, 
 Rode after to fetch again pretty 
 
 As 8\nft as the wind to ride they 
 
 were seen, 
 Until they came near until Bethnal 
 
 Green ; 
 And as the knight lighted most 
 
 courteously. 
 They all fought against liira for pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 But rescue came speedily over the 
 
 plain. 
 Or else the young knight for his love 
 
 had been slain. 
 This fray being ended, then straightway 
 
 d'ye see, 
 His kinsmen came railing at pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 Then spake the blind beggar, " Altliougli 
 
 I be poor. 
 Yet rail not against my child at my 
 
 door ; 
 Though she be not decked in velvet 
 
 and pearl, 
 Yet I will drop angels* with you for 
 
 my girl. 
 
 " And then if my gold may better 
 
 her birth. 
 And equal the gold you lay on the 
 
 earth. 
 Then neither rail nor grudge you 
 
 to see 
 The blind beggar's daughter a lady 
 
 to be. 
 
 " But first you shall promise, and have 
 
 it well known. 
 The gold that you drop shall all be 
 
 your own." 
 With that they replied, *' Contented 
 
 be we." 
 " Then here's," quoth the beggar, " for 
 
 pretty Bessie." 
 
 With that an angel he cast on the 
 
 ground, 
 And dropped in angels full three 
 
 thousand pound ; 
 
 • Angel— Au old Enjlisli coin. 
 
 And oftentimes it was proved most 
 
 plain. 
 For the gentlemen's one the beggar 
 
 dropped twain : 
 
 So that the place wherein they did 
 
 sit. 
 With gold it was covered every wliit ; 
 The gentlemen then having dropped 
 
 all their store, 
 iSaid, "Now, beggar, hold, for we have 
 
 no more. 
 
 " Well hast thou fulfilled thy promise 
 
 aright." 
 " Then marry," quoth he, " my girl 
 
 to this knight ; 
 And here," added he, " I will throw 
 
 you down 
 A hundred pounds more to buy her a 
 
 gown." 
 
 The gentlemen all, that this treasure 
 
 had seen. 
 Admired the beggar of Bethnal Green ; 
 And all those that were her suitors 
 
 before. 
 Their flesh for very anger they tore. 
 
 Thus was fair Bessie matched to the 
 
 knight, 
 .And then made a lady in othei's' 
 
 despite : 
 A fairer lady there never was seen. 
 Than the blind beggar's daughter of 
 
 Bethnal Green. 
 
 ]^>ut of their sumptuous marriage and 
 
 feast, 
 \Vhat brave lords and knights thither 
 
 were prest. 
 The second part shall set forth to 
 
 yoirr sight, 
 With marvellous pleasure and wished 
 
 delight. 
 
 Of a blind beggar's daughter most fair 
 
 and most bright. 
 That lato was betrothed to a yoiug 
 
 knight, 
 The discourse thereof you lately did 
 
 see. 
 But now comes the wedding of pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
304 
 
 Poems for Children, 
 
 Within a gorgeous palace most brave, 
 
 Adorned with all the cost they could 
 have. 
 
 This wedding was kept most sump- 
 tuously, 
 
 And all for the credit of pretty Bessie. 
 
 All kinds of dainties and delicates 
 
 sweet 
 Were brought to the banquet, as it was 
 
 most meet ; 
 Partridge and plover, and venison 
 
 most free. 
 Against the brave wedding of pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 This wedding through England was 
 
 spread by report. 
 So that a great number thereto did 
 
 resort 
 Of nobles and gentles in every degree. 
 And all for the fame of pretty Bessie. 
 
 To church then went this gallant young 
 
 knight ; 
 His bride followed after, a lady most 
 
 bright, 
 With troops of fair ladies, the like ne'er 
 
 was seen. 
 As went with sweet Bessie of Bethnal 
 
 Greem 
 
 This marriage being solemnised then, 
 AVith music performed by the skilfullest 
 
 men. 
 The nobles and gentles sat down at 
 
 that tide. 
 Each one admiring the beautiful 
 
 bride. 
 
 Now after the sumptuous dimier was 
 
 done. 
 To talk and to reason a number 
 
 begun ; 
 They talked of the blind beggar's 
 
 daughter most bright, 
 And what with his daughter he gave 
 
 to the knight. 
 
 Tlien spake the nobles, " Much marvel 
 
 have we 
 This jolly blind beggar we cannot 
 
 here see." 
 " My Lords," said the bride, " my 
 
 father's so base. 
 He is loathe with his presence these 
 
 states to disgrace." 
 
 " The praise of a woman in question 
 
 to bring. 
 Before her own face were a flattering 
 
 thing ; 
 But we think thy father's baseness," 
 
 said they, 
 "Might by thy beauty be clean put 
 
 away." 
 
 They had no sooner these pleasant 
 
 words spoke. 
 But in comes the beggar clad in a silk 
 
 cloak ; 
 A fair velvet cap, and a feather had he ; 
 And now a musician forsooth he 
 
 would be. 
 
 He had a dainty lute imder his arm. 
 He touched the strings, which made 
 
 such a charm. 
 Said, " Please you to hear any music 
 
 of me, 
 I'll &ing you a song of pretty Bessie." 
 
 With that his lute he twanged straiglit 
 
 away. 
 And thereupon began most sweetly to 
 
 play ; 
 And after that lessons were plaj^ed 
 
 two or three. 
 He strained out tliis song most 
 
 delicately : 
 
 " A poor beggar's daughter did dwell 
 
 on the green. 
 Who for her fairness might well be a 
 
 queen, 
 A blithe bonny lassie, and a dainty 
 
 was she, 
 And many one called her pretty Bessie. 
 
 " And if anyone here her birth do 
 
 disdain. 
 Her father is ready with might and 
 
 with main, 
 To prove she is come of noble degree ; 
 Therefore never flout at pretty 
 
 Bessie." 
 
 With that the lords and the company 
 
 round 
 With hearty laughter were ready 
 
 to s wound ; 
 At last said the lords, " Full well may 
 
 we see 
 The bride and the beggar's beholden 
 
 to thee." 
 
Ballads. 
 
 305 
 
 jTi this the bride all blushing did Mont fatal that battle did prove unto 
 
 rise, tlicc. 
 
 The pearly drops standing within her Tliough thou was not born tlien, my 
 
 fair eyes, pretty Bessie ! 
 " Oh pardon my father, brave nobles," 
 
 saitli she, " ' Along with the nobles that fell at 
 
 " That through blind affection thus that tide, 
 
 doteth on me." His elder son Henry, who fought by 
 
 his side, 
 
 "If this be thy father," the nobles Was felled by a blow he received in the 
 
 did- say, light, 
 
 " Well may he be proud of this happy A blow tliat deprived him for ever 
 
 day ; of sight. 
 Yet by his countenance well may we 
 
 see. " 'Among the dead bodies all lifeless 
 
 His birth and his fortune did never he lay, 
 
 agree ; Till evening drew on of the following 
 
 day, 
 
 " And therefore, blind man, we pray When by a young lady discovered was 
 
 thee take care he, 
 
 (And look that the truth tliou to us And this was thy mother, my pretty 
 
 do declare), Bessie. 
 Thy birth and thy parentage, what 
 
 it may be, " 'A baron's fair daughter stepped forth 
 
 For the love that thou bearest to in the niglit, 
 
 pretty Bessie." To search for her father, who fell in 
 
 the fight, 
 
 *' Then give me leave, nobles and gentles And seeing young Montfort, where 
 
 each one, gasping he lay, 
 
 One song more to sing, and then I Was moved with pity, and brought 
 
 have done ; him away. 
 And if that it may not win good 
 
 report, *' < j^ secret she nursed him, and 'suaged 
 
 Then do not give me a groat for my ]^[^ pain 
 
 sport: Wliile he through the reahn was be- 
 lieved to be slain : 
 
 '"Sir Simon de Montfort my subject At length his fair bride she consented 
 
 shall be, to be, 
 
 Once chief of all tlie great barons And made him glad father of pretty 
 
 was he ; Bessie. 
 Yet fortune so cruel this lord did 
 
 ^'^^^^j " ' And now lest our foes our lives 
 
 Now lost and forgotten are he and his should betray, 
 
 i^c6- ' We clothed ourselves in beggar's 
 
 array ; 
 
 "'When the barons in arms did King Her jewels she sold, and hither came 
 
 Henry oppose. 
 Sir Simon de Montfort their leader 
 
 did chose ; 
 A leader of courage, undaunted was 
 
 he, 
 And oftimes he made their enemies flee. 
 
 we, 
 All our comfort and care was our 
 pretty Bessie. 
 
 " ' And here have we lived In fortune's 
 
 despite, 
 Though poor, yet contented with 
 
 humble delight ; 
 Full forty winters thus have I been 
 The barons were routed, and Montfort A silly blind beggar of Bethual 
 was slain; Green.* 
 
 20 
 
 " ' At length in the battle on Eversham 
 plain. 
 
306 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " And here, noble lords, is ended the 
 
 song, 
 Of one that once to your own rank 
 
 did belong ; 
 And thus have you learned a secret from 
 
 me. 
 That ne'er had been known but for 
 
 pretty Bessie." 
 
 Now when the fair company every one, 
 Had heard the strange tale in the song 
 
 he had shown, 
 They all were amazed, as well they 
 
 might be, 
 Both at the blind beggar and pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 With that the fair bride they all did 
 
 embrace 
 Saying, " .Since thou art come of an 
 
 honourable race ; 
 Thy father likewise is of noble degree. 
 And thou art well worthy a lady 
 
 to be." 
 
 Then was the feast ended with joy 
 
 and delight ; 
 A bridegroom most happy was then the 
 
 young knight ; 
 In joy and felicity long lived he. 
 All with hia fair lady, the pretty 
 
 Bessie. 
 
 " O wha is this has done this deed. 
 
 And tauld the King o' me 
 To send us out at this time of the year, 
 
 To sail upon the sea ? 
 
 " Be it wind, be it wet, be it hail, 
 be it sleet. 
 
 Our ship must sail the faem ; 
 The King's daughter of Noroway, 
 
 'Tis we must fetch her haem." 
 
 They hoysed their sails on Moneday 
 morn, 
 
 Wi' a' the speed they may : 
 They hae landed in Noroway, 
 
 Upon a Wednesday, 
 
 They hadna been a week, a week. 
 
 In Noroway, but twae. 
 When tJie lords o' Noroway 
 
 Began aloud to say : 
 
 " Ye Scottishmen spend a' our King's 
 goud. 
 
 And a' our Queen's fee." 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud j 
 
 Fu' loud I heard ye lie ; 
 
 " For I brought as much white nionie, 
 
 As gane my men and me. 
 And I brought a half-fou of gude red 
 goud. 
 
 Out o'er the sea with me. 
 
 SIB PATBICK SPENS. 
 
 The King sits in Dunfermline Town, 
 Drinking the blude-red wine ; 
 
 " () where will I get a skeely skipiDer,* 
 To sail this new ship of mine ? ' 
 
 O up and spak' an eldern knight, 
 Sat at the King's right knee, 
 
 " .Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor. 
 That ever sailed the sea." 
 
 " To Noroway, to Noroway, 
 To Noroway o'er the faem. 
 
 The King's daughter of Noroway, 
 'Tis thou maun bring her haem." 
 
 The first word that Sir Patrick read 
 Sae loud, loud laughed he ; 
 
 The neist word that Sir Patrick read. 
 The tear blinded his ee. 
 
 * Skilful mariner. 
 
 " Make ready, make ready, my men, 
 men a'. 
 
 Our gude ship sails the morn." 
 *' Now, ever alake, my master dear, 
 
 I fear a deadly storm," 
 
 " I saw the new moon late yestreen, 
 Wi' the old moon in her arm, 
 
 And if tve gang to sea, master, 
 I fear we'll come to harm." 
 
 They hadna sailed a league, a league, 
 
 A league but barely tliree. 
 When the lift grew dark, and tlie 
 wind blew loud, 
 
 And gurly grew the sea. 
 
 The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap 
 It was sic a deadly storm ; 
 
 And tlie waves cam o'er the broken 
 sliip 
 Till a' her sides were torn. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 307 
 
 " where will I get a gude sailor, 
 To take my helm in hand, 
 
 Till I get up to the tall top-mast, 
 To see if I can spy land ? " 
 
 *' O here am I, a sailor glide. 
 
 To take tlie helm in hand. 
 Till you go up to the tall top-mast : 
 
 But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." 
 
 lie hadna gane a step, a step, 
 
 A step but barely ane, 
 Wht-n a bout flew out of our goodly ship. 
 
 And the salt sea it cam in. 
 
 " f!ae, fetch a web of the silken claith, 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And wap them into our ship's side. 
 
 And let nae the sea come in ! " 
 
 Tbey fetched a web o' the silken claith, 
 
 Another o' the twine, 
 And they wrapped them round the glide 
 ship's side, 
 
 Birt still the sea cam in. 
 
 laith, laith, were our gude Scots 
 lords. 
 
 To weet their cork-heeled shoon ! 
 But lang or a' the play was played, 
 
 And they wat their hats aboon. 
 
 And mony was the feather bed. 
 That fluttered on the faem ; 
 
 And mony was the gude lord's son. 
 That never mair cam haem. 
 
 Tlie ladies wrang their fingers white, 
 Tbe maidens tore their hair, 
 
 A' for the sake of their true loves ; 
 For them they'll see nae mair. 
 
 lang, lang, may the ladies sit, 
 Wi' their fans into their hand. 
 
 Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 
 Come sailing to the strand : 
 
 lang, lang, may the maidens sit. 
 With their goud kaims in their liair, 
 
 A' waiting for their ain dear loves, 
 For them they'll see nae mair ! 
 
 forty miles off Aberdeen, 
 
 'Tis fifty fathoms deep. 
 And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens 
 
 Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. 
 
 THE BIME OF THE ANCIENT 
 MARINEH,. 
 
 It is an ancient Mariner, 
 
 And he stoppeth one of three. 
 
 " By thy long greybeard and glittering 
 
 eye. 
 Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ? 
 
 " The Bridegroom's doors are opened 
 
 wide. 
 And I am next of kin ; 
 The guests are met, the feast is set : 
 ^lay'st hear the merry din." 
 
 He holds him with his skinny hand, 
 
 " There was a ship," quoth he. 
 
 " Hold oft" ! unhand me, grey- beard 
 
 loon ! " 
 Eftsoons his hand dropt he. 
 
 He holds him with his glittering eye — 
 Tlie Wedding-Guest stood still, 
 And hstens like a three years child : 
 The Mariner hath his will. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone ; 
 He cannot choose but hear ; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man. 
 The bright-eyed Mariner. 
 
 The ship was cheered, the harbour 
 
 cleared, 
 Merrily did we drop 
 Below the kirk, below the hill, 
 Below the lighthouse top. 
 
 The Sun came up upon the left. 
 Out of the sea came he ! 
 And he shone bright, and on the rigiit 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 Higher and higher every day, 
 Till over the mast at noon — 
 The Wedding-Guest here beat his 
 
 breast. 
 For he heard the loud bassoon. 
 
 The bride hath paced into the hall. 
 Red as a rose is she ; 
 Nodding their heads before her goes 
 The merry minstrelsy. 
 
 The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast. 
 Yet he cannot choose but hear ; 
 And thus spake on that ancient man. 
 The bright-eyed Mariner. 
 
srs 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And now the Storm-blast came, and he 
 Was tyrannous and strong : 
 He striick with his o'ertaking wings, 
 And chased us south along. 
 
 With sloping masts and dipping prow, 
 As who pursued Avith 5^ell and blow 
 Still treads the shadow of his foe 
 And forward bends his head. 
 The ship drove fast, loud roared the 
 
 blast, 
 And southward aye we fled. 
 
 And now there came both mist and 
 
 snow. 
 And it grew wondrous cold : 
 And ice, mast-high, came floating by, 
 As green as emerald. 
 
 And through the drifts the snowy clift 
 Did send a dismal sheen : 
 Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken— 
 The ice was all between. 
 
 The ice was here, the ice was there, 
 
 The ice was all around : 
 
 It cracked and growled, and roared and 
 
 howled. 
 Like noises in a swound ! 
 
 At length did cross an Albatross : 
 Through the fog it came ; 
 As if it had been a Christian soul. 
 We hailed it in God's name. 
 
 It ate the food it ne'er had eat, 
 And round and round it flew. 
 The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; 
 The helmsman steered us through ! 
 
 And a good south wind sprung up 
 
 behind ; 
 The Albatross did follow. 
 And every day, for food or play. 
 Came to the mariners' hollo ! 
 
 In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud. 
 
 It perched for vespers nine : 
 
 Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke 
 
 white. 
 Glimmered the white Moon-shine. 
 
 " God save thee, ancient Mariner ! 
 From the fiends, that plague thee 
 
 thus !— 
 Why look'st thou so ? " — With my 
 
 cross-bow 
 I shot the Albatross. 
 
 Paet the Second, 
 
 The Sun now rose upon the right : 
 Out of the sea came he, 
 Still hid in mist, and on the left 
 Went down into the sea. 
 
 And the good south wind still blew 
 
 behind, 
 But no SM-eet bird did follow, 
 Nor any day, for food or play, 
 Came to the mariners' hollo ! 
 
 And I had done an hellish thing, 
 
 And it would work 'em woe : 
 
 For all averred, I had killed the bird 
 
 That made the breeze to blow. 
 
 Ah, wretch ! said they, the bird to slay 
 
 That made the breeze to blow ! 
 
 Nor dim nor red, like God's own head. 
 The glorious sun uprist : 
 Then all averred, I had killed the bird 
 That brought the fog and mist. 
 'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, 
 That bring the fog and mist. 
 
 The fair breeze blew, the white foam 
 
 flew. 
 The furrow followed free : 
 We were the first that ever burst 
 Into that silent sea. 
 
 Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropl 
 
 down, 
 'Twas sad as sad could be ; 
 And we did speak only to break 
 The silence of the sea ! 
 
 All in a hot and copper sky, 
 The bloody Sun, at noon. 
 Right up above the mast did 
 No bigger than the Moon. 
 
 itand, 
 
 Day after day, day after day. 
 We stuck, nor breath nor motion. 
 As idle as a painted ship 
 Upon a painted ocean. 
 
 Water, water, every where. 
 And all the boards did shrink ; 
 Water, water, every where. 
 Nor any drop to drink. 
 
 The very deep did rot : Christ ! 
 Tiiat ever this .should be ! 
 Yea, slimy things chd crawl witii legs 
 Upon the slimy sea. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 309 
 
 About, ahont, in reel and rout 
 The dcatli-lires danced at night ; 
 The water, like a witcli's oils. 
 Burnt green, and blue, and white. 
 
 And some in dreams assun'd were 
 Of the spirit that plagued us so ; 
 Kine fathom deep ho had followed us 
 From the land of mist and snow. 
 
 And every tongue, through utter 
 
 drought, 
 Was withered at the root ; 
 We could not speak, no more than if 
 We had been choked with soot. 
 
 Ah ! well a-day, what evil looks 
 Had I froui old and young ! 
 Instead of the cross, the Albatross 
 About my neck was hung. 
 
 Part the Third. 
 
 There passed a weary time. Each 
 
 throat 
 Was parched, and glazed each eye. 
 A weary time ! a weary time ! 
 How glazed each weary eye, 
 When looking westward I beheld, 
 A something in the sky. 
 
 At first it seemed a little speck, 
 And then it seemed a mist : 
 It moved and moved, and took at last 
 A certain shape, I wist. 
 
 A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist ! 
 And still it neared and neared : 
 As if it dodged a water-sprite. 
 It plunged and tacked and veered. 
 
 With throats unslaked, with black lips 
 
 baked. 
 We could not laugh nor wail ; 
 Through utter drought all dumb we 
 
 stood ! 
 I bit my arm, I sucked the blood. 
 And cried, A sail ! a sail ! 
 
 With throats unslaked, with black lips 
 
 baked. 
 Agape they heard me call : 
 (Jrauiercy ! they for joy did grin. 
 Ami all at once their breath drew in. 
 As they were drinking all. 
 
 See ! see ! (I cried) she tacks no more I 
 Hither to work us weal; 
 
 Without a breeze, without a tide, 
 She steadies with upright keel ! 
 
 The western wave was all a- flame. 
 The day was well-nigh done ! 
 Almost upon the western wave 
 Rested the broad bright Sun ; 
 When that strange shape drove sud- 
 denly 
 Betwixt us and the Siui. 
 
 And straight the Sun was decked with 
 
 bars 
 (Heaven's mother send us grace !) 
 As if through a dungeon-grate he 
 
 peered. 
 With broad and burning face. 
 
 Alas ! (thought I, and my heart beat 
 
 loud,) 
 How fast she nears and nears ! 
 Are those her sails that glance in the Sun, 
 Like restless gossameres ? 
 
 Are those her ribs through which the Sun 
 Did peer, as through a grate ? 
 And is that Woman all her crew ? 
 Is that a Death ? and are there two ? 
 Is Death that Woman's mate ? 
 
 Her Ups were red, her looks were free. 
 Her locks were yellow as gold ; 
 Her skin was as white as leprosy. 
 The Night-Mare Life-in-Death was she 
 Who thicks man's blood with cold. 
 
 The naked hulk alongside came. 
 And the twain were casting dice ; 
 " The game is done ; I've, I've won ! " 
 Quoth she, and whistles thrice 
 
 The Sun's rim dips ; the stars rush out : 
 At one stride comes the dark ; 
 With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea. 
 Off shot the spectre- bark. 
 
 We Ustened and looked sideways up ! 
 
 Fear at my heart, as at a cup, 
 
 My Mfe- blood seemed to sip ! 
 
 The stars were dim, and thick the night. 
 
 The steersman's face by his lamp 
 
 gleamed white ; 
 From the sails the dew did drip — 
 Till clombe above the eastern bar 
 The horned Moon, with one bright star 
 Within the nether tip. 
 
310 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 One after one, by the star-clogged .Moon, 
 
 Too quick for groan or sigh, 
 
 Each turned his face with a ghastly 
 
 pang, 
 And cursed me with his eye. 
 
 Four times fifty living men 
 (And I heard nor sigh nor groan). 
 With heavy thump, a hfeless lump, 
 They dropped do^Ti one by one. 
 
 The souls did from their bodies fly, — 
 They fled to bliss or woe ! 
 And every soul, it passed me by. 
 Like the whizz of my cross-bow I . 
 
 Part the Fourth. 
 
 " I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! 
 
 I fear thy skinny hand ! 
 
 And thou art long, and lank, and brow n, 
 
 As is the ribbed sea-sand. 
 
 " I fear thee, and thy glittering eye. 
 And thy skinny hand, so brown." — 
 Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding- 
 Guest ! 
 This body dropt not down. 
 
 Alone, alone, all, all alone. 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea ! 
 And never a saint took pity on 
 My soul in agony 
 
 The many men, so beautiful ; 
 And they all dead did lie ; 
 And a thousand thousand slimy things 
 Lived on ; and so did I. 
 
 I looked upon the rotting sea, 
 And drew my eyes away ; 
 I looked upon the rotting deck. 
 And there the dead men lay. 
 
 I looked to Heaven, and tried to praj'. 
 But or ever a prayer had gusht, 
 A wicked whisper came, and made 
 My heart as dry as dust. 
 
 I closed my lids, and kept them closj. 
 
 And the balls like jjulses beat ; 
 
 For the sky and the sea, and the sea 
 
 and the sky. 
 Lay like a load on my weary eye. 
 And the dead were at my feet. 
 
 The cold sweat melted from their limbs, 
 iS'or rot nor reek did they : 
 
 The look with which tho}^ looked on mc 
 Had never passed away. 
 
 An orphan's curse would drag to Hell 
 A spirit from on high ; 
 But oh ! more horrible than tliat 
 Is a curse in a dead man's eye ! 
 Seven days, seven nights, I saw that 
 
 ou'se. 
 And yet I could not die. 
 
 The moving Moon went up the sky. 
 And no where did abide : 
 Softly she was going up. 
 And a star or two beside — 
 
 Her beams bemocked the sultry main. 
 
 Like April hoar-frost spread ; 
 
 But where the ship's huge shadow lay. 
 
 The charmed water burnt alway 
 
 A still and awful red. 
 
 Beyond the shadow of the ship, 
 
 I ■watched the water-snakes : 
 
 They moved in tracks of shining white. 
 
 And when they reared, the elfish light 
 
 Fell off in hoary flakes. 
 
 Within the shadow of the ship 
 
 I watched their rich attire ; 
 
 Blue, glossy green, and velvet black, 
 
 Thej' coiled and swam ; and every tracli 
 
 AVas a flash of golden lire. 
 
 happy living things ! no tongu 
 Their beauty might declare : 
 
 A spring of love gushed from my heart, 
 And I blessed them unaware ! 
 Sure my kind saint took pity on me. 
 And I blessed them unaware. 
 
 The self-same moment I could pray ; 
 And from my neck so free 
 The Albatross fell off, and sank 
 Like lead into the sea. 
 
 Part the Fifth. 
 Oh, sleep ! it is a gentle thing. 
 Beloved from pole to pole ! 
 To Mary Queen the praise be given ! 
 Slie sent the gentle sleep from Heaven, 
 That shd into my soul. 
 
 The silly buckets on the deck. 
 That had so long remained, 
 
 1 lireamt that they were filled with dew ; 
 Anil when I awoke, it rained. 
 
 I 
 
Ballads. 
 
 311 
 
 My lips were wet, my throat was cold, 
 My garments all were dank ; 
 Sure I had drunken in my dreams. 
 And still my body drank. 
 
 I moved, and could not feel my limbs : 
 I was so light — almost 
 I thought that I had died in sleep. 
 And was a blessed ghost. 
 
 And soon I heard a roaring wind : 
 It did not come anear ; 
 But with its sound it shook the sails. 
 That were so t'lin and sere. 
 
 The upper air burst into Hfe ! 
 And a himdred fire-flags sheen. 
 To and fro they were hurried about I 
 And to and fro, and in and out. 
 The wan stars danced between. 
 
 And the coming wind did roar more 
 
 loud. 
 And the sails did sigh like sedge ; 
 And the rain poured down from one 
 
 black cloud ; 
 The Moon was at its edge. 
 
 The thick black cloud was cleft, and 
 
 still 
 The Moon was at its side : 
 Like waters shot from some high crag. 
 The hghtning fell with never a jag 
 A river steep and wide. 
 
 The loud wind never reached the ship. 
 Yet now the ship moved on ! 
 Beneath the hghtning and the Moon 
 The dead men gave a groan. 
 
 They groaned, they stirred, they all 
 
 uprose, 
 Nor spake, nor moved their eyes ; 
 It had been strange, even in a dream, 
 To have seen those dead men rise. 
 
 The helmsman steered, the ship moved 
 
 on ; 
 Yet never a breeze up blew ; 
 The mariners all 'gan work the ropes. 
 Where they were wont to do ; 
 They raised their limbs hke lifeless 
 
 tools — 
 We were a ghastly crew. 
 
 The body of my brother's son 
 Stood by me, knee to knee 1 
 
 The body and I pulled at one rope. 
 But he said nought to me. 
 
 " I fear thee, ancient Mariner ! " 
 Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
 'Twas not those souls that fled in pain. 
 Which to their corses came again. 
 But a troop of spirits blest : 
 
 For when it dawned — they dropped 
 
 their arms. 
 And clustered roimd the mast ; 
 Sweet sounds rose slowly through their 
 
 mouths. 
 And from their bodies passed. 
 
 Around, around, flew each sweet sound. 
 Then darted to the Sim ; 
 Slowly the sounds came back again, 
 Now mixed, now one by one. 
 
 Sometimes a-dropping from the sky 
 I heard the sky-lark sing ; 
 Sometimes all little birds that are. 
 How they seem to fill the sea and air 
 With their sweet jargoning ! 
 
 And now 'twas like all instruments. 
 Now hke a lonely flute ; 
 And now it is an angel's song. 
 That makes the Heavens be mute. 
 
 It ceased ; yet still the sails made on 
 
 A pleasant noise till noon, 
 
 A noise hke of a hidden brook 
 
 In the leafy month of June, 
 
 That to the sleeping woods all night 
 
 Singeth a quiet tune. 
 
 Till noon we quietly sailed on. 
 Yet never a breeze did breathe : 
 Slowly and smoothly went the ship. 
 Moved onward from beneath. 
 
 Under the keel nine fathom dee]), 
 From the land of mist and snow, 
 . The spirit shd : and it was he 
 That made the ship to go. 
 The sails at noon left off their tune. 
 And the ship stood still also. 
 
 The Sun, right up above the mast. 
 Had fixed her to the ocean : 
 But in a minute she 'gan stir. 
 With a short uneasy motion — 
 Backwards and forwards half her length 
 With a short uneasy motion. 
 
312 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Then like a pawing horse let go, 
 She made a sudden bound ; 
 It flung the blood into my head. 
 And I fell down in a swound. 
 
 How long in that same fit I lay, 
 I have not to declare ; 
 But ere my living hfe returned, 
 I heard and in my soul discerned 
 Two voices in the air. 
 
 " Is it he ? " quoth one, " Is this the 
 
 man ? 
 By him who died on cross, 
 With his cruel bow he laid full low. 
 The harmless Albatross. 
 
 The spirit who bideth by himself 
 In the land of mist and snow. 
 He loved the bird that loved tlie man 
 Who shot him with his bow." 
 
 The other was a softer voice, 
 
 As soft as honey-dew : 
 
 Quoth he, " The man hath penance 
 
 done. 
 And penance more will do." 
 
 Part the Sixth. 
 
 first voice. 
 
 But tell me, tell me ! speak again, 
 Thy soft response renewing — 
 What makes that ship drive on so fast ? 
 What is the Ocean doing ? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Still as a slave before his lord. 
 The Ocean hath no blast ; 
 His great bright eye most silently 
 Up to the Moon is cast — 
 
 If he may know which way to go ; 
 For she guides him smooth or grim. 
 See, brother, see ! how graciously 
 She looketh down on him. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 But why drives on that ship so fast, 
 Without or Mave or wind ? 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 The air is cut away before, 
 And closes from behind. 
 
 Fly, brother, fly ! more high, more high ! 
 Or we shall be belated : 
 For slow and slow that ship will go. 
 When the Mariner's trance is abated. 
 
 I woke, and we were sailing on 
 
 As in a gentle weather : 
 
 'Twas night, calm night, the Moon was 
 
 high ; 
 The dead men stood together. 
 
 All stood together on the deck. 
 For a charnel-dungeon fitter : 
 All fixed on me their stony ej'es. 
 That in the Moon did glitter. 
 
 The pang, the curse, with •which they 
 
 died. 
 Had never passed away : 
 I could not draw my eyes from theirs. 
 Nor turn them up to pray. 
 
 And now this spell was snapt : once 
 
 more 
 I viewed the ocean green. 
 And looked far forth, j-et little saw 
 Of what had else been seen — 
 
 Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And having once turned round walks on 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows, a frightful fiend 
 Doth close behind him tread. 
 
 But soon there breathed a wind on me. 
 Nor sound nor motion made : 
 Its path was not upon the sea. 
 In ripple or in shade. 
 
 It raised my hair, it fanned my cheek 
 Like a meadow-gale of spring — 
 It mingled strangely with my fears. 
 Yet it felt like a welcoming. 
 
 Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship. 
 Yet she sailed softly too : 
 Sweetly, sweetly blew the breo/.c — 
 On me alone it blew. 
 
 Oh ! dream of joy ! is this indeed 
 Tlie light-house top I see '! 
 Is this the hill ? is this tin- kirk ? 
 Is this my own countree '1 
 
 We drifted o'er the harbour- bar, 
 And I with sobs did pray — 
 
Ballads. 
 
 313 
 
 let nie be awake, my God I 
 Or let me sleep ahvay. 
 
 The harbour- bar was clear as glass. 
 So smoothly it was strewn ! 
 And on the bay the iiiooniiiiht lay, 
 And the shadow of the moon. 
 
 1'hc rock shone bright, the kirk no less. 
 That stands above the rock : 
 The moonlight steeped in silentness 
 The steady weathercock. 
 
 And the bay was white with silent 
 
 light, 
 Till rising from the same. 
 Full many shapes, that shadows were, 
 Li crimson colours came. 
 
 A little distance from the prow 
 Those crimson shadows were : 
 
 1 turned my eyes upon the deck— 
 Oh, Christ ! what saw I there ! 
 
 Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat, 
 Aufl, by the holy rood ! 
 A man all light, a seraph-man, 
 On every corse there stood. 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand, 
 It was a heavenly sight ! 
 They stood as signals to the land. 
 Each one a lovely light : 
 
 This seraph-band, each waved his hand 
 Xo voice did they impart — 
 No voice ; but oh ! the silence sank 
 Like music on my heart. 
 
 But soon I heard the dash of oars 
 I heard the Pilot's cheer ; 
 My head was tuined perforce away, 
 And I saM a boat appear. 
 
 The Pilot, ani4 the Pilot's boy, 
 I heard them coming fast ; 
 Dear Lord in Heaven ! it was a joy 
 The dead men could not blast. 
 
 I saw a third — I heard his voice : 
 
 It is the Hermit good ! 
 
 He singeth loud his godly hymns 
 
 That he makes in the wood. 
 
 He'll shrive my soul, he'll wash away 
 
 The Albatross's blood. 
 
 Part the Seventh. 
 
 This Hermit good lives in that wood 
 
 Which slopes do\vn to the sea. 
 
 How loudly his sweet voice he rears ! 
 
 He loves to talk with marineres 
 
 Tiiat come from a far countree. 
 
 He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve — • 
 
 Ho hath a cushion plump ; 
 
 It is the moss that wholly hides 
 
 That rotted old oak stump. 
 
 The skiff-boat neared : I heard them 
 
 talk, 
 " Why this is strange, I trow ! 
 Where are these lights so many and fair. 
 That signal made but now ? " 
 
 " Strange, by my faith ! " the Hermit 
 
 said — 
 " And they answered not our cheer ! 
 The planks looked warped ! and see 
 
 those sails 
 How thin they are and sere ! 
 I never saw aught like to them. 
 Unless perchance it were 
 
 BroMTi skeletons of leaves that lag 
 My forest- brook along ; 
 When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow. 
 And the owlet whoops to the wolf below, 
 That eats the she- wolf's young " 
 
 " Dear Lord ! it hath a fiendish look — 
 ( The Pilot made reply) 
 I am a-feared " — " Push on, push on ! " 
 Said the hermit cheerily. 
 
 The boat came closer to the ship, 
 But I nor spake nor stirred ; 
 The boat came close beneath the ship. 
 And straight a sound was heard. 
 
 Under the water it rumbled on. 
 Still louder and more dread ; 
 It reached the ship, it spUt the bay ; 
 The ship went down hke lead. 
 
 Stunned by that loud and dreadful 
 
 sound. 
 Which sky and ocean smote, 
 Like one that hath been seven days 
 
 chowned 
 My body lay afloat ; 
 But swift as dreams myself I found 
 Within the Pilot's boat. 
 
314 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Upon the whirl, where sank the ship. 
 The boat spun round and round ; 
 And all was still, save that the hill 
 Was telling of the sound. 
 
 I moved my Hps — the Pilot shrieked 
 And fell down in a fit ; 
 The holy Hermit raised his eyes. 
 And prayed where he did sit. 
 
 I took the oars ; the Pilot's boy. 
 
 Who now doth crazy go. 
 
 Laughed loud and long,and all the while 
 
 His eyes went to and fro. 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " quoth he, " full plain I see. 
 
 The Devil knows how to row." 
 
 And now, all in my own countree 
 I stood on the firm land ! 
 The Hermit stepped forth from the boat 
 And scarcely he could stand. 
 
 " O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man ! " 
 
 The Hermit crossed his brow, 
 
 " Say quick," quoth he, " I bid thee 
 
 say— 
 What manner of man art thou ? " 
 
 Forthwith this frame of mine was 
 
 wrenched 
 With a woeful agony, 
 Which forced me to begin my tale ; 
 And then it left me free. 
 
 Since then, at an uncertain hour. 
 That agony returns ; 
 And till my ghastly tale is told 
 This heart within me burns. 
 
 I pass, Uke night, from land to land ; 
 I have strange power of speech ; 
 The moment that his face I see, 
 I know the man that must hear me : 
 To him my tale I teach. 
 
 What loud uproar bmsts fiom that 
 
 door ! 
 The wedding guests are there : 
 But in the garden bower the bride 
 And bride-maids singing are ; 
 And hark the httle vesper bell. 
 Which biddeth me to prayer ! 
 
 Wedding-Guest ! this soul hath been 
 Alone on a wide, wide sea ; 
 So lonely 'twas that God himself 
 Scarce seemed there to be. 
 
 sweeter than the marriage-feast. 
 'Tis sweeter far to me. 
 To walk together to the kirk. 
 With a goodly company ! — 
 
 To walk together to the kirk, 
 
 And all together pray, 
 
 While each to his great Father bends, 
 
 Old men and babes and loving friends, 
 
 And youths and maidens gay ! 
 
 Farewell, farewell ! but this I tell 
 To thee, thou Wedding-Guest ! 
 He prayeth well, who loveth well 
 Both man and bird and beast. 
 
 He prayeth best, who loveth best 
 All things both great and small : 
 For the dear God who loveth us. 
 He made and loveth all. 
 
 The Mariner whose eye is bright. 
 Whose beard with age is hoar, 
 Is gone and now the Wedding-Guest 
 Turned from the bridegroom's door. 
 
 He went hke one that hath been 
 
 stunned, 
 And is of sense forlorn ; 
 A sadder and a wiser man. 
 He rose the morrow mom. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 liOBD liOVEL. 
 
 Lord Lovel he stood at his castle gate. 
 Combing his milk-white steed ; 
 
 When up came Lady Nancy Belle 
 To wi^ih her lover good speed, speed. 
 To wish her lover good speed. 
 
 " Where are you going. Lord Lovel ? " 
 she said, 
 " Oh ! where are you going ? " said 
 she ; 
 " I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle, 
 Strange countries for to sec, to see. 
 Strange countries for to see ! " 
 
 •' When will you be back. Lord Lovel '! " 
 said she ; 
 " Oh ! when will you come back i " 
 Baid she ; 
 
Ballads 
 
 315 
 
 "In a 5'car or t-vro— or three at the 
 most, 
 I'll return t'> my fair Nancy— cy, 
 I'll return to my fair Nancy." 
 
 But he had not been gone a year and 
 a da}''. 
 Strange countries for to see, 
 AN'heii languishing thoughts came into 
 his head. 
 Lady Nancy Belle he would go see, 
 
 see. 
 Lady Nancy Belle he would go see. 
 
 So he rode, and he rode on his milk- 
 white steed. 
 Till he came to London-town ; 
 And there he heard St. Pancras' bells. 
 And the people all mourning round, 
 
 round. 
 And the people all mourning round. 
 
 " Oh ! what is the matter ? " Lord 
 Lovel h said, 
 " Oh ! what is the matter ? " said 
 he; 
 " A lord's lady is dead," a woman 
 replied, 
 " And some call her Lady Nancy —cy 
 And some call her Lady Nancy."' 
 
 So he ordered the grave to be opened 
 wide. 
 And the shroud he turned down, 
 And there he kissed her rlay-cold lips. 
 Till the tears came trickling down, 
 
 down. 
 Till the tears came trickling down. 
 
 Lady Nancy she died as it might be 
 to-day, 
 Lord Lovel he died as to-morrow; 
 Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure 
 grief. 
 Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow, 
 
 sorrow, 
 Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow. 
 
 Lady Nancy was laid in Saint Pancras' 
 church. 
 Lord Lovel was laid in the choir ; 
 And out of her bosom there grew a red 
 rose. 
 And out of her lover's a brier, brier. 
 And out of her lover's a brier. 
 
 They grew and they grew, to the 
 church steeple too. 
 And then they could grow no higher ; 
 So there they entwined in a true lover's 
 knot. 
 For all lovers true to admire— mire, 
 For all lovers true to admire. 
 
 THE NORMAN BARON. 
 In his chamber, weak and dying, 
 Was the Norman baron Ij'ing ; 
 Loud, without, the tempest thundered. 
 
 And the castle turret shook. 
 
 In this fight was death the gainer, 
 Spite of vassal and retainer. 
 And the lands his sires had plundered, 
 Written in the Domesday Book 
 
 By his bed a monk was seated. 
 Who in humble voice repeated 
 Many a prayer and pater-noster. 
 From the missal on his knee. 
 
 And, amid the tempest pealing, 
 Sounds of bells come faintly steahng. 
 Bells, that from the neighbouring 
 kloster. 
 
 Rang for the Nativity. 
 
 In the hall, the serf and vassal 
 
 Held, that night, their Christraa.s 
 
 wassail ; 
 Many a carol, old and saintly, 
 
 Sang the minstrels and the waits. 
 
 And so loud these Saxon gleemen 
 Sang to slaves the songs of freemen. 
 That the storm was heard but faintly. 
 Knocking at the castle gates. 
 
 Till at length the lays they chauntcd 
 Reached the chamber terror-haunted. 
 Where the monk, with accents holy. 
 Whispered at the baron's ear. 
 
 Tears upon his eyelids glistened, 
 As he paused awhile and hstened. 
 And the dying baron slowly 
 
 Turned his weary head to hear. 
 
 " Wassail for the kingly stranger 
 Born and cradled in a manger ! 
 King, like David, priest, like Aaron, 
 Christ is born to set us free I " 
 
816 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And the lightning showed the sainted 
 Figures on the casement painted. 
 And exclaimed the shuddering baron, 
 " iliserere, Domine ! " 
 
 111 that hour of deep contrition, 
 He beheld, with clearer vision, 
 Through all outward show and fasliion, 
 Justice, the Avenger, rise. 
 
 All the pomp of earth had vanished. 
 Falsehood and deceit were banished. 
 Reason sjioke more loud than pasiiou. 
 And the truth wore no disguise. 
 
 Every vassal of his banner. 
 Every serf born to his manor. 
 All those wronged and wretched 
 creatures, 
 
 By his hand were freed again. 
 
 And, as on ths sacred missal 
 He recorded their dismissal. 
 Death relaxed his iron features. 
 
 And the monk replied, " Amen ! " 
 
 Many centuries have since been 
 
 numbered 
 Since in death the baron slumbered 
 By the convent's sculptured portal, 
 Mngling with the common dust. 
 
 But the good deed, through the ages 
 Living in historic pages. 
 Brighter glows and gleams immortal, 
 Unconsumed by moth or rust. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 THE 
 
 FOUNDING OF 
 PRIOBY. 
 
 BOLTON 
 
 YotJNG Romilly through Barden Woods 
 
 Is ranging high and low. 
 Ami holds a greyhound in a leash. 
 
 To let slip on buck or doe. 
 
 The pair have reached that fearful 
 chasm. 
 
 How tempting to bestride ! 
 For lordly Wharf is there pent in 
 
 With rocks on either side. 
 
 This striding place is called " the Strid," 
 A name which it took of yore ; 
 
 A thouiaud years hath it borne that 
 name. 
 And shall a thousand more. 
 
 And hither is young Romilly come ; 
 
 And what may not forbid 
 That he, perhaps for the hundreth 
 time, 
 
 Should bound across the Strid ? 
 
 He sprang in glee — for what cared he 
 That the river was strong, and the 
 rocks were steep '! 
 But the greyhound in the le.ish hung 
 back. 
 And checked him in his leap ! 
 
 The boy is in the arms of Wharf ! 
 
 And strangled with a merciless force — 
 For never more was young Romilly 
 seen 
 
 Till he rose a lifeless corse ! 
 
 Now there is a stillness in the vale. 
 And long unspeaking sorrow ; 
 
 Wiiarf shall be to pitying hearts 
 A name more sad than Yarrow. 
 
 If for a lover the lady wept, 
 A solace she might borrow 
 
 From death, and from the passion of 
 death. 
 Old Wharf might heal her sorrow. 
 
 She weeps not for the wedding-day 
 Which was to be to-morrow ; 
 
 Her hope was a further-looking hope, 
 And_ hers is a mother's sorrow. 
 
 He was a tree that stood alone. 
 
 And proudly did its branches wave ; 
 
 And the root of this delightful tree 
 Was in her husband's grave. 
 
 Long, long in darkness did she sit, 
 And her first words were, '" Let 
 there be 
 
 In Bolton, on the field of Wharf, 
 A stately Priory ! " 
 
 The stately Priory was reared. 
 And Wharf, as he moved along. 
 
 To matins joined a mournful voice. 
 Nor failed at even-song. 
 
 And the lady prayed in heaviness 
 That looked not for relief ; 
 
Ballads. 
 
 317 
 
 Flit slowly did her succour come. 
 And patience to her grief. 
 
 Oh ! tl'.cro is never sorrow of heart 
 That shall lack a timely end, 
 
 If but to (Jod we turn, and ask 
 Of Him to be our Friend. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 MARY AMBREE. 
 
 When captains codrageous, whom 
 
 death could not daunt. 
 Did march to the siege of the city of 
 
 (iaunt, 
 riicy mustered their soldiers by two 
 
 and by three. 
 And the foremost in battle was Mary 
 
 Ambree. 
 
 When brave Sir John Major was slain 
 in her sight, 
 
 W'lio was her true lover, her joy, and 
 ilelight, 
 
 !>ecause he was slain most treacher- 
 ously, 
 
 'J'hcn vowed to revenge him, Mary 
 Ambree. 
 
 Slie clothed herself from top to the 
 
 toe 
 In buff of the bravest, most seendy to 
 
 show : 
 A fair shirt of mail then slipped on 
 
 she ; 
 ^\'as not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 A helmet of proof she straight did 
 
 provide, 
 A strong arming sword she girt by her 
 
 side, 
 On her hand a goodly fair gauntlet put 
 
 she ; 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 " My soldiers," she saith, " so vahant 
 
 and bold, 
 Now follow your captain, whom you 
 
 do behold ; 
 Mill foremost in battle myself will I 
 
 be ! " 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 Then cried out her soldiers, and loud 
 
 did they say, 
 " So well thou becomest this gallant 
 
 ariay, 
 Thy heart and thy weapons so well do 
 
 agree, 
 There was none ever like Mary 
 
 Ambree ! " 
 
 She cheered her soldiers, that fonghtcn 
 
 for life, 
 With ancient and standard, with drum 
 
 and with fife, 
 A\'ith brave clanging trumpets, that 
 
 sounded so free ; 
 \Vas not tliis a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 " Before I will see the worst of you all 
 To come into danger of death or of 
 
 thrall, 
 This hand and this life I will venture 
 
 so free ; " 
 AV'as not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 She led up her soldiers in battle array, 
 '(Jainst throe times their nundjer, by 
 
 break of the tlay ; 
 Seven hours in skirmish continued she ; 
 ^Vas not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 She filled the skies with smoke of her 
 
 shot, 
 And her enemies' bodies with bullets 
 
 so hot ; 
 For one of her own men a score killed 
 
 she ; 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 And when a false gunner, to spoil her 
 
 intent. 
 Away with her pellets and powder had 
 
 sent. 
 Straight with her keen weapons she 
 
 slashed him in three ; 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree ? 
 
 Being falsely betrayed for lucre of hire, 
 At length she was forced to make a 
 
 retire ; 
 Then her soldiers into a strong castle 
 
 drew she ; 
 Was not this a brave bonny lass, Mary 
 
 Ambree '/ 
 
318 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Her foes tliey beset her on every side, 
 As thinking close siege she coiild never 
 
 abide ; 
 To beat down the walls they all did 
 
 decree ; 
 But stoutly defied them brave Mary 
 
 Ambree. 
 
 Then took she her sword and her target 
 
 in hand, 
 And mounting the walls undainited did 
 
 stand. 
 There daring their captains to match 
 
 any three, 
 O, what a brave captain was Mary 
 
 Ambree ! 
 
 " Now say, English captain, what 
 
 would'st thou give 
 To ransom thyself, which else must 
 
 not hve ? 
 Come, yield thyself quickly, or slain 
 
 thou must be." 
 Then smiled sweetly brave Mary 
 
 Ambree. 
 
 " Ye captains courageous, of valour so 
 
 bold. 
 Whom thinkest you before you now 
 
 do behold ? 
 " A knight, sir, of England, and captain 
 
 so free. 
 Who shortly with us a prisoner must be." 
 
 " No captain of England ; behold in 
 your sight. 
 
 Though attired as a soldier, I am truly 
 no knight ; 
 
 No Knight, sirs of England, nor cap- 
 tain you see. 
 
 But a poor simple lass, called Mary 
 Ambree." 
 
 " But art thou a woman as thou dost 
 declare. 
 
 Whose valour hath proved so un- 
 daunted in war ? 
 
 If England doth yield such brave lasses 
 as thee. 
 
 Full well may they conquer, fair Mary 
 Ambree ! " 
 
 THE LAY OF THE LAST 
 MINSTREL. 
 
 The way was long, the wind \\ as cold. 
 The Minstrel was infirm and old ; 
 
 His withered cheek and tresses gray 
 Seemed to have known a better day : 
 The harp, his sole remaining joy. 
 Was carried by an orphan boy : 
 The last of all the Bards was he. 
 Who sung of Border chivalry. 
 For, well-a-day ! their date was fled. 
 His tuneful brethren all were dead ; 
 And he, neglected and oppressed. 
 Wished to be with them, and at rest. 
 No more, on prancing palfrey borne, 
 He carolled, light as lark at morn ; 
 No longer courted and caressed. 
 High-placed in hall, a welcome guest. 
 He poured, to lord and lady gay. 
 The unpremeditated lay ; 
 Old times were changed — old manners 
 
 gone — 
 A stranger filled the Stuarts' throne. 
 The bigots of the iron time 
 Had called his harmless art — a crime 
 A wandering harper, scorned and poor. 
 He begged his bread from door to door ; 
 And tuned, to please a peasant's ear. 
 The harp, a king had loved to hear. 
 He passed, where Newark's stately 
 
 tower 
 Looks out from Yarrow's birchen 
 
 bower : 
 The ilinstrel gazed with Avishful eye — • 
 No humbler resting-place was nigh 
 With hesitating step, at last, 
 The embattled portal-arch he passed ; 
 Whose ponderous grate and massy bar 
 Had oft rolled back the tide of war. 
 But never closed the iron door 
 Against the desolate and poor. 
 The Duchess marked his weary pace. 
 His timid mien and reverend face ; 
 And bade her page the menials tell 
 That they should tend the old man 
 
 well ;— 
 For she had known adversity. 
 Though born in such a high degree ; 
 In pride of power, in beauty's bloom. 
 Had wept o'er Monmouth's bloody 
 
 tomb. 
 When kindness had his wants supplied. 
 And the old man was gratified. 
 Began to rise his minstrel pride ; 
 And he began to talk, anon. 
 Of good Earl Francis, dead and gone ; 
 And of Earl Walter — rest him God ! — 
 A braver ne'er to battle rode : 
 And how full many a tale he knew 
 Of the old warriors of Buccleugh ; 
 And, would the noble Duchess deign 
 
Ballads. 
 
 319 
 
 To listen to an old man's strain, 
 Though stiff his hand, his voice though 
 
 Aveak, 
 He thought, even yet, — the sooth to 
 
 speak, — 
 That if she loved the harp to hear, 
 He could make music to her ear. 
 The humble boon was soon obtained ; 
 The aged Minstrel audience gained ; 
 But when he reached the room of 
 
 state. 
 Where she, with all her ladies, sat. 
 Perchance he wished his boon denied ; 
 For, when to tune his harp he tried. 
 His trembling hand had lost the ease 
 Which marks security to please ; 
 And scenes, long past, of joy and pain. 
 Came wildering o'er his aged brain ; — 
 He tried to tune his harp, in vain. 
 Amiil the strings his lingers strayed. 
 And an uncertain warbling made ; 
 And, oft, he shook his hoary head. 
 But when he caught the measure 
 
 wild, 
 The old man raised his face, and smiled ; 
 And lighted up his faded eye. 
 With ail a poet's ecstacy ! 
 In varying cadence, soft or strong. 
 He swept the sounding chords along ; 
 The present scene, the future lot, 
 His toils, his wants, were all forgot ; 
 Cold diffidence, and age's frost, 
 In the full tide of soul were lost ; 
 Each blank in faithless memorj-^'s void, 
 The poet's glowing thought supplied ; 
 And, wliile his harp responsive rung, 
 'Twas thus the latest minstrel sung : — 
 " Breathes there the man, with soul 
 
 so dead, — 
 Who never to himself hath said. 
 This is my own, my native land ! — 
 Whose heart hath ne'er within him 
 
 burned, 
 As home his footsteps he hath tuined 
 From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
 If such there breathe, go — mark liim 
 
 weU; 
 For him, no minstrel rajitures swell: 
 High though his titles, proud his name. 
 Boundless his wealth, as wish can claim ; 
 Despite those titles, power and pelt. 
 The wretch, concentred all in self, 
 Living, shall forfeit fair renown. 
 And, doubly dying, shall go down 
 To the vile dust from whence he sprunt;, 
 Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung ! 
 
 ib't'r Waller Hcott. 
 
 LOCHINVAR. 
 
 O, YOtTNG Lochinvar is come out of the 
 
 west, 
 Through all the wide Border his steed 
 
 was the best. 
 And save his good broadsword lie 
 
 weapons had none ; 
 He rode all unarmed, and he rode all 
 
 alone. 
 So faithful in love, and so dauntless in 
 
 war. 
 There never was knight like the young 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
 He stayed not for brake, and he 
 
 stopped not for stone. 
 He swam the Eske river where ford 
 
 there was none ; 
 But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, 
 The bride had consented, the gallant 
 
 came late : 
 For a laggard in love, and a dastard in 
 
 war. 
 Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave 
 
 Lochinvar. 
 
 So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 
 Among bride's-men and kinsmen, and 
 
 brothers and all : 
 Then spoke the bride's father, his hand 
 
 on his sword 
 (For the poor craven bridegroom said 
 
 never a word), 
 " O come ye in peace here, or come 
 
 ye in war. 
 Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord 
 
 Lochinvar ? " 
 
 " I long wooed your daughter, my suit 
 
 you denied ; — 
 Love s^'^•ells like the Solway, but ebbs 
 
 hke its tide — 
 And now I am come, with this lost love 
 
 of mine. 
 To lead but one measure, drink one 
 
 cup of wine. 
 There are maidens in Scotland more 
 
 lovely by far, 
 That would gladly be bride to the young 
 
 Lochinvar." 
 
 The bride kissed the goblet ; the knight 
 
 took it up. 
 He quaffed off the wine, and he threw 
 
 down the cup, 
 
320 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 iSlie looked down to blush, and she 
 
 looked up to sigh, 
 "With a smile on her lips and a tear in 
 
 lier eye. 
 He took her soft hand, ere her mother 
 
 could bar, — 
 " Now tread we a measure ! " said 
 
 young Lochinvar. 
 
 So stately his form, and so lovely her 
 
 face. 
 That never a haU such a gaUiard did 
 
 grace ; 
 AN'hile her mother did fret, and her 
 
 father did fume. 
 And the bridegroom stood dangling his 
 
 bormet and plume ; 
 And the bride-maidens whispered, 
 
 " 'Twere better by far 
 To have matched our fair cousin with 
 
 young Lochinvar." 
 
 One touch to her hand, and one word 
 
 in her ear. 
 When they reached the haU door, and 
 
 the charger stood near ; 
 So hght to the croupe the fair lady he 
 
 swung. 
 So light to the saddle before her he 
 
 sprung ! 
 "She is won ! we are gone, over bank, 
 
 bush, and scaur ; 
 They'll have fleet steeds that follow," 
 
 quoth young Lochinvar. 
 
 There was mounting among Graemes of 
 
 the Netherby clan ; 
 Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, 
 
 they rode and they ran : 
 There was racing, and chasing, on 
 
 Cannobie Lee, 
 But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er 
 
 did they see. 
 So daring in love, and so dauntless in 
 
 war. 
 Have ye e'er heard of gallant Uke young 
 
 Lochinvar ? 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 
 
 It was a summer evening. 
 Old Kaspar's work was done. 
 
 And he before his cottage door 
 Was sitting in the sun ; 
 
 And by him sported on the green. 
 His httle grandchild, Wilhelmine. 
 
 She saw her brother Peterkin 
 Roll something large and round. 
 
 That he beside the rivulet 
 In playing there had found ; 
 
 She ran to ask what he had found, 
 
 That was so large, and smooth, and 
 round. 
 
 Old Kaspar took it from the boy. 
 Who stood expectant by ; 
 
 And then the old man shook his head. 
 And with a natural sigh — 
 
 " 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, 
 
 " Who fell in the great victory. 
 
 " I find them in my garden, for 
 
 There's many hereabout ; 
 And often when I go to plough 
 
 The ploughshare turns them out ; 
 For many thousand men," said he, 
 " Were slain in that great victory." 
 
 " Now tell us what 'twas all about," 
 
 Young Peterkin, he cries. 
 And little Wilhelmine looks up 
 
 With wonder-waiting eyes, 
 " Now teU us all about the war. 
 And what they killed each other for ? " 
 
 " It was the English," Kaspar cried, 
 " Who put the French to rout ; 
 
 But what they kill'd each other for 
 I could not well make out. 
 
 But everybody said," quoth he, 
 
 " That 'twaa a famous victory 1 
 
 *' My father lived at Blenheim then. 
 Yon little stream hard by ; 
 
 They burn'd his dweUing to the ground. 
 And he was forced to fly : 
 
 So with his wife and child he fled. 
 
 Nor had he where to rest his head ! 
 
 " With fire and sword the country 
 round 
 
 Was wasted far and wide ; 
 And many a childing mother then 
 
 And new-born baby died ! 
 But things like that, you know, must be 
 At every famous victory. 
 
 " They say it was a shocking sight 
 After the field was won ; 
 
Ballads. 
 
 .•^21 
 
 For many thousand bodies here 
 
 Lay rotting in tlie sun ! 
 But things Hke that, you know, must be 
 
 After a famous victory. 
 
 " Great praise the Duke of Marlborough 
 won. 
 
 And our good Prince Eugene." 
 " Why, 'twas a very wicked thing ! " 
 
 Said little Wilhclmine. 
 " Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth iie, 
 " It was a famous victory ! 
 
 " And everybody praised the Duke 
 Who this great fight did win." 
 
 " But what good came of it at last ? " 
 Quoth little Peterkiu. 
 
 " Why, that I cannot tell," said he, 
 
 " But 'twaa a famous victory." 
 
 Robert Sovlhey. 
 
 THE PAIiMEB. 
 
 " Open the door, some pity to f5how ! 
 
 Keen blows the northern wind ! 
 The glen is white with drifted snow. 
 
 And the path is hard to find. 
 
 " No outlaw seeks your castle gate, 
 From chasing the king's deer, 
 
 Though even an outlaw's wretched state 
 Might claim compassion here. 
 
 " A weary Palmer, worn and weak, 
 
 I wander for mj' sin. 
 O, open, for Our Lady's sake I 
 
 A pilgrim's blessing win ! 
 
 *' The hare is crouching in her form, 
 
 The hart beside the hind ; 
 An aged man amid the storm. 
 
 No shelter can I find. 
 
 *' You hear the Ettrick'a sullen roar. 
 Dark, deep, and strong is he. 
 
 And I must ford the Ettrick o'er. 
 Unless you pity me. 
 
 " The iron gate is bolted hard. 
 
 At which I knock in vain ; 
 The owner's heart is closer barr'd 
 
 Who hears me thus complain. 
 
 " Farewell, farewell ! and Heaven grant, 
 When old and frail you be. 
 
 ^'ou never may the shelter want. 
 That's now denied to nie ! " 
 
 The Ranger on his couch lay warm. 
 And heard him plead in vain ; 
 
 But oft, amid December's storm, 
 He'll hear that voice again. 
 
 For lo, when through the vapours dank 
 
 Morn shone on Ettrick fair, 
 A corpse amid the alders rank, 
 
 The Palmer weltered there. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 
 
 No stir in the air, no stir in the sea. 
 The ship was as still as she could be ; 
 Her sails from heaven received no 
 
 motion. 
 Her keel was steady in the ocean. 
 
 Without either sign or sound of their 
 
 shock. 
 The waves flow'd over the Inchcape 
 
 Rock ; 
 So little they rose, so little they fell, 
 They ditl not move the Inchcape bell. 
 
 The good Abbot of Aberbrothok 
 Had placed that bell on the Inchcape 
 
 Rock ; 
 On a buoy in the storm it floated and 
 
 swung, 
 And over the waves its warning rung. 
 
 When the rock was hid by the surge's 
 
 swell. 
 The mariners heard the warning bell : 
 And then they knew the perilous rock. 
 And blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok. 
 
 The sun in heaven was shining gay 
 All things were joyful on that day : 
 The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel 'd 
 
 around. 
 And there was joyance in their sound 
 
 The buoy of the Inchcape bell was seen, 
 A darker speck on the ocesn green ; 
 Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck, 
 And he fixed his eye on the darker speck, 
 
 21 
 
322 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 He felt the cheering power of spring. 
 It made him whistle, it made him sing ; 
 His heart was mirthful to excess — 
 But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. 
 
 His eyes were on the Inchcape float : 
 Quoth he, " My men, put out the boat, 
 And row me to the Inchcape Rock, 
 And I'll plague the Abbot of Aber- 
 brothok." 
 
 The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, 
 And to the Inchcape Rock they go ; 
 Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. 
 And he cut the bell from the Inchcape 
 float. 
 
 Down sunk the bell with a gurgling 
 
 sound — 
 The bubbles rose and burst around ; 
 Quoth Sir Ralph, " The next who comes 
 
 to the Rock 
 Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." 
 
 Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away ; 
 He scoured the seas for many a day ; 
 And, now gro'wn rich with phmder'd 
 
 store. 
 He steers his course for Scotland's shore. 
 
 So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky. 
 They cannot see the sun on high ; 
 The wind hath blown a gale all day. 
 At evening it hath died away. 
 
 On the deck the Rover takes his stand. 
 
 So dark it is they see no land. 
 
 Quoth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter 
 
 soon. 
 For there is the dawn of the rising 
 
 moon." 
 
 " Canst hear," said one, " the breakers 
 
 roar ? 
 For methinks we should be near the 
 
 shore. 
 Now where we are I cannot teU, 
 But I wish I could hear the Inchcape 
 
 bell." 
 
 They hear no sound — the swell is 
 
 strong ; 
 Though the wind hath fallen they drift 
 
 along 
 Till the vessel strikes with a shivering 
 
 shock — 
 " xVIercy ! it is the Inch ape Rock ! " 
 
 Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair. 
 And beat his breast in his despair : 
 The waves rush in on every side. 
 And the ship sinks down beneath the 
 tide. 
 
 Robert Sovthey. 
 
 FATHER WILLIAM. 
 " Yotr are old. Father William," the 
 young man cried ; 
 " The few locks that are left you are 
 gray: 
 You are hale, Father William, a hearty 
 old man ; 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray." 
 
 " In the days of my youth," Father 
 WiUiam replied, 
 " I remembered that youth would 
 fly fast ; 
 And abused not my health and my 
 vigour at first. 
 That I never might need them at 
 last." 
 
 " You are old. Father William," the 
 young man cried, 
 " And pleasures Mith j'outh pass 
 away ; 
 And yet you lament not the days that 
 are gone ; 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray." 
 
 " In the days of my youth," Father 
 William replied, 
 " I remembered that youth could 
 not last ; 
 I thought of the future, whatever I did, 
 That I never might grieve for the 
 past." 
 
 " You are old, Father William," the 
 young man cried, 
 " And life must be hastening away : 
 You are cheerful, and love to converso 
 upon death ; 
 Now tell me the reason, I pray." 
 
 " I am cheerful, young man," Father 
 
 William replied ; 
 
 " Let the cause thy attention engage ; 
 
 In the days of my youth I remembered 
 
 my CotI, 
 
 And He hath not forgotten my age ! " 
 
 Robert Sovthey 
 
Ballads. 
 
 823 
 
 THE WRECK OF THE 
 HESPERUS. 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus, 
 
 That sailed the wintry sea : 
 And the skipper had taken his httle 
 daughter, 
 
 To bear him company. 
 
 Bhie were her ej'es, as the fairy-flax. 
 Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 
 
 And her bosom white as the hawtliorn 
 buds. 
 That ope in the month of May. 
 
 The skipper he stood beside the helm. 
 His pipe was in his mouth ; 
 
 And he watched how the veering flaw 
 did blow 
 The smoke now West, now South. 
 
 Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
 Had sailed the Spanish Main : 
 
 " I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
 For 1 fear a hurricane. 
 
 " Last night, the moon had a golden 
 
 ring. 
 
 And to-night no moon we see ! ' 
 
 The skipper, he blew a whiif from his 
 
 pipe. 
 
 And a scornful laugh laughed he. 
 
 Colder and louder blew the wind, 
 A gale from the North-east ; 
 
 The snow fell hissing in the brine. 
 And the billows frothed like yeast. 
 
 Down came the storm, and smote amain 
 The vessel in its strength ; 
 
 She shuddered and paused, like a 
 frighted steed, 
 Then leaped her cable's length. 
 
 " C'oiue hither ! come hither ! my little 
 (laughter. 
 
 And do not. tremble so ; 
 For I can weather the roughest gale. 
 
 That ever wind did blow." 
 
 He wrapped her warm in his seaman's 
 coat. 
 
 Against the stinging blast ; 
 He cut a rope from a broken spar, 
 
 And bound her to th • mast. 
 
 '' O father ! I hear the chuich-bells ring, 
 
 O say, what may it be '! " 
 " 'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound 
 coast ! " — 
 
 And he steered for the open sea. 
 
 " O father ! I hear the sound of guns, 
 
 O say, what may it be V " 
 " Some ship in distress, that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea ! " 
 
 " father ! I see a gleaming light, 
 
 O say, what may it be ? " 
 But the father answered never a word, 
 
 A frozen corpse was he. 
 
 Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
 With his face turned to the skies ; 
 
 The lantern gleamed through the gleam- 
 ing snow 
 On his fixed and glassy eyes. 
 
 Then the maiden clasped her hands, 
 and prayed 
 That saved she might be ; 
 And she thought of Christ, who stilled 
 the waves. 
 On the Lake of Galilee. 
 
 And fast through the midnight dark 
 and drear, 
 
 Through the whistling sleet and snow. 
 Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
 
 Towards the reef of Norman's Woe. 
 
 And ever the fitful gusts between 
 A sound came from the land ; 
 
 It was the sound of the trampling suif. 
 On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 
 
 The breakers were right beneath her 
 bows. 
 
 She drifted a weary wreck. 
 And a whooping billow swept the crew 
 
 Like icicles from her deck. 
 
 She struck where the white and fleecy 
 waves 
 
 Looked soft as carded wool. 
 But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, 
 
 Like the horns of an angry bull. 
 
 Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice. 
 With the masts, went liy the board : 
 
 Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
 Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 
 
 21* 
 
324 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 
 
 A fisherman stood aghast, 
 To see the form of a maiden fair, 
 
 Lashed close to a drifting mast. 
 
 The salt sea "^vas frozen on her breast. 
 The salt tears in her eyes ; 
 
 And he saw her hair, like the brown 
 sea- weed. 
 On the billows faU and rise. 
 
 Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 
 In the midnight and the snow ! 
 
 Christ save us all from a death like this, 
 On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. 
 
 SoTTTHWARD witli fleet of ice 
 
 Sailed the corsair death ; 
 Wild and fast blew the blast, 
 
 And the east M'ind was his breath. 
 
 His lordly ships of ice 
 
 Glistened in the sun, 
 On each side like pennons wide 
 
 Flashing crystal streamlets run. 
 
 His sails of white sea-mist 
 
 Dripped with a silver rain, 
 But where passed there were cast 
 
 Leaden shadows o'er the main. 
 
 Eastward from Campobello 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed. 
 
 Three days or more eastward he bore, 
 Then alas ! the land-wind failed. 
 
 Alas ! the land-wind failed, 
 And ice-cold grew the night. 
 
 And never more on sea or shore. 
 
 Should Sir Humphrey see the liglit. 
 
 He sat upon the deck. 
 
 The book was in his hand, 
 " Do not fear ! heaven is as near," 
 
 He said, " by water as by land." 
 
 In the first watch of the night 
 
 Without a signal' sound 
 Out of the sea mysteriously. 
 
 The fleet of death rose all around. 
 
 The moon and the evening star 
 Were hanging in the shrouds. 
 
 Every mast as it passed, 
 
 Seemed to rake the passing clouds. 
 
 Thej' grappled with their prize 
 At midnight black and cold. 
 
 As of a rock was the shock, 
 
 Heavily the ground swell rolled. 
 
 Southward through clay and dark, 
 They drift in close embrace. 
 
 With mist and rain to the Spanish 
 Main, 
 Yet there seems no change of place 
 
 Southward for ever southward 
 They drift through dark and day. 
 
 And like a dream in the Gulf Stream 
 Sinking vanish all away. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Lony/ellow. 
 
 THE SLAVE'S DREAM. 
 
 Beside the ungathered rice he lay. 
 
 His sickle in his hand ; 
 His breast was bare, his matted hair 
 
 Was buried in the sand. 
 Again in the mist and shadow of sleep 
 
 He saw his native land. 
 
 Wide through the landscape of liii 
 dreams 
 
 The lordly Niger flowed. 
 Beneath the palm-trees on the plain 
 
 Once more a king he strode ; 
 And heard the tinkling caravans 
 
 Descend the mountain-road. 
 
 He saw once more his dark-eyed queen 
 Among her children stand ; 
 
 They clasped his neck, they kissed his 
 cheeks, 
 They held him by the hand ! — 
 
 A tear burst from the sleeper's lids - 
 And fell into the sand. 
 
 \nd then at furious speed he rode 
 
 Along the Niger's bank ; 
 His bridle-reins were golden ehains. 
 
 And, with a martial clank. 
 At each leap he could feel his scalil)aiil 
 of steel 
 
 Smiting his stallion's flank. 
 
Ballad; 
 
 325 
 
 Before him like a blood-red flag. 
 The bright flamingoes flew ; 
 
 From morn till night he followed their 
 flight. 
 O'er plains where the tamarind grew, 
 
 Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts. 
 And the ocean rose to view. 
 
 At night he heard the lion roar. 
 
 And the hyaena scream, 
 And the river-horse as he crushed the 
 reeds 
 Beside some hidden stream ; 
 And it passed, like a glorious roll of 
 drums, 
 Through the triumph of his dream. 
 
 The forests, with their myriad tongues. 
 
 Shouted of liberty ; 
 And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud, 
 
 With a voice so wild and free, 
 Ti at he started in his sleep and smiled 
 
 At their tempestuous glee. 
 
 He did not feel the driver's whip, 
 Xo tlic burning heat of day ; 
 
 For Death had illumined the Land of 
 Sleep, 
 And liis lifeless body lay 
 
 A worn-out fetter, that the soul 
 Had broken and tlirown away ! 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Lonjfellow. 
 
 BETH GELERT. 
 
 The spearmen heard the bugle sound. 
 And cheer'ly smiled the morn ; 
 
 And many a brach, and many a hound, 
 Attend Llewellyn's horn. 
 
 And still he blew a louder blast. 
 
 And gave a louder cheer ; 
 " Come, Gelert, why art thou the last 
 
 Llewellyn's horn to hear ? 
 
 " Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam, 
 
 The flower of all his race. 
 So true, so brave — a lamb at home, 
 
 A hon in the chase." 
 
 That day Llewellyn little loved 
 
 The hase of hart or hare, 
 And scant and small the booty proved, 
 
 For Gelert was not there. 
 
 Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied. 
 When, near the portal seat. 
 
 His truant Gelert he espied, 
 Bounding his lord to greet. 
 
 But when he gained the castle door. 
 Aghast the chieftain stood ; 
 
 The hound was smeared with gouts of 
 gore. 
 His lips and fangs ran blood ! 
 
 Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise : 
 
 Unused such looks to meet. 
 His favourite checked his joyful guise, 
 
 And crouched, and licked his feet. 
 
 Onward in haste Llewellyn passed 
 
 (And on went Gelert, too), 
 And still where'er his eyes were cast. 
 
 Flesh blood-gouts shocked his view ! 
 
 O'erturned his infant's bed he found, 
 The bloodstained cover rent ; 
 
 And all around the walls and ground 
 With recent blood besprent. 
 
 He called his child — no voice replied ; 
 
 He searched with terror wild ; 
 Blood ! blood ! he found on every side, 
 
 But nowhere found his child ! 
 
 " Hell-hound ! by thee my child's 
 devoured ! " 
 
 The frantic father cried ; 
 And to the hilt his vengeful sword 
 
 He plunged in Gelert's side. 
 
 His suppliant, as to earth he fell. 
 
 No pity could impart ; 
 But still his Gelert's dying yell. 
 
 Passed heavy o'er his heart. 
 
 Aroused by Gelert's dying yell. 
 Some slumberer wakened nigh ; 
 
 What words the parent's joy can tell, 
 To hear his infant cry 1 
 
 Concealed beneath a mangled heap. 
 His hurried search had missed, 
 
 All glowing from his rosy sleep. 
 His cherub-boy he kissed ! 
 
 Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread 
 But the same couch beneath 
 
 Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead. 
 Tremendous still in death 1 
 
326 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Ah ! what was then Llewellyn's pain ! 
 
 For now the truth was clear : 
 The gallant hound the wolf had slain. 
 
 To save LlewelljTi's heir. 
 
 Vain, vain was all Llewellj'n's woe ; 
 
 ■' Best of thy kind, adieu ! 
 The frantic deed which laid thee low 
 
 This heart shall ever rue ! " 
 
 And now a gallant tomb they raised. 
 With costly sculptinre decked ; 
 
 And maxbles storied with his praise 
 Poor Gelert's bones protect. 
 
 Here never could the spearman pass. 
 
 Or forester, unmoved, 
 Here oft the tear besprinkled grass 
 
 Llewellyn's sorrow proved. 
 
 And here he hung his horn and spear. 
 
 And oft, as evening fell, 
 In fancy's piercing sounds would hear 
 
 Poor Gelert's djring yell. 
 
 Hon. William Robert Spencer, 
 
 THE 'WELL OF ST, KEYNE,» 
 
 A WELL there is in the west-country. 
 And a clearer one never was seen ; 
 
 'j'liere is not a wife in the west-country 
 But has heard of the well of St.KejTie. 
 
 An oak and an elm tree stand beside. 
 And behind does an ash-tree grow, 
 
 And a willow from the bank above 
 Droops to the water below. 
 
 A traveller came to the well of St.Keyne : 
 
 Pleasant it was to his eye, 
 For from cock-crow he had been travel- 
 ling 
 
 And there was not a cloud in the sky. 
 
 He drank of the water so cool and clear. 
 
 For thirsty and hot was he. 
 And he sat down upon the bank. 
 
 Under the willow tree. 
 
 * I know not whether it be worth reporting 
 that there is in Cornwall, near the paii.h ol St. 
 Neots, a well, arched over with the rubes of lour 
 kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash, dedi- 
 cated to St. Kejne. The reported virtue of the 
 water is tliis, that whether husband or wile 
 come first to drink, thereof, they get the mas- 
 tery thereby. — TAos. Fuller, 
 
 There came a man from the neigh- 
 bouring town 
 
 At the well to fill his pail. 
 On the well-side he rested it. 
 
 And bade the stranger hail. 
 
 " Now art thou a bachelor, stranger ? '* 
 quoth he, 
 " For an if thou hast a wife. 
 The happiest draught thou hast drank 
 this day 
 That ever thou didst in thy life. 
 
 " Or has your good woman, if one you 
 have. 
 In Cornwall ever been ? 
 For an if she have, I'll venture mj' life 
 She has drank of the well of !St. 
 Keyne." 
 
 " / have left a good woman wlio never 
 was here,^' 
 The stranger he made replj' ; 
 *' But that my drauglU sliould be better 
 for thai, 
 I fray you answer me why.'" 
 
 ** St. Keyne," quoth the countryman, 
 
 " many a time 
 Drank of this crystal well. 
 And before the angel summoned her 
 She laid on the water a spell. 
 
 " If the husband of this gifted well 
 Shall drink before his wife, 
 
 A happy man thenceforth is he. 
 For he shall be master for life. 
 
 " But if the wife should drink of it first, 
 God help the husband then ! " 
 
 The stranger stoop'd to the well of St. 
 Keyne, 
 And drank of the waters again. 
 
 " You drank of the well, I warrant, 
 betimes ? " 
 He to the countryman said ; 
 But the countryman smiled as the 
 strange spake, 
 And sheepishly shook his head. 
 
 " I hastened as soon as the wedding 
 was done. 
 
 And left my wife in the porch. 
 But i' faith she had been wiser than me. 
 
 For she took a bottle to church." 
 
 Mobert Southey. 
 
Ballads 
 
 :i27 
 
 ttrCY AND COIilN. 
 
 Of Leinster fam'd for maidens fair. 
 Bright Lucy was the grace ; 
 
 Nor e'er did Lilly's liraijid stream 
 Reflect so fair a face. 
 
 Till hicldess love, and pining care 
 
 Impair'd her rosy hue. 
 Her coral lips, and damask clieelc. 
 
 And eyes of glossy blue. 
 
 (Jli ! have you seen a lily pale, 
 VV'hen beating rains descend ? 
 
 iSo droop'd the slow consuming maid. 
 Her life now near its end. 
 
 By Lucy warned, of flattering swains 
 
 Take heed, ye easy fair ; 
 Of vengeance due to broken vows. 
 
 Ye perjured swains, beware. 
 
 Three times, all in the dead of night, 
 
 A bell was heard to ring ; 
 And at her window, shrieking thrice, 
 
 The raven flapp'd his wing. 
 
 Too well the love-lorn maiden knew 
 That solemn boding sound ; 
 
 And thus, in dying words, bespoke 
 The virgins weeping round. 
 
 " I hear a voice, you cannot hear. 
 Which says, I must not stay : 
 
 I see a hand, you cannot see 
 Which beckons me away. 
 
 By a false heart, and broken vows. 
 
 In early youth I die. 
 Am I to blame, because his bride 
 
 Is thrice as rich as I ? 
 
 Ah, C!olin ! give not her thy vows ; 
 
 Vows due to me alone : 
 Nor thou, fond maid, receive his kis3. 
 
 Nor tliink him all thy own. 
 
 To-morrow in the church to wed. 
 
 Impatient, both prepare ; 
 But know fond maid, and know, falsi- 
 man, 
 
 That Lucy will be there. 
 
 Tlien bear my corse ; ye comrades, 
 bear. 
 The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
 I in my winding-sheet." 
 
 She spoke, she died ; — her corse was 
 borne, 
 
 The bridegroom blithe to meet ; 
 He in his wedding-trim so gay, 
 
 She in her winding-sheet. 
 
 Then what were perjured Colins 
 thoughts ? 
 How were those nuptials kept ? 
 The bride-men flock'd round Liny 
 dead. 
 And all the village wept. 
 
 Confusion, shame, remorse, despair 
 
 At once his bosom swelt. 
 The damps of death bedew'd his brow. 
 
 He shook, he groan'd, he fell. 
 
 From the vain bride (ah, bride no 
 more !) 
 
 The varying crimson fled. 
 When, stretch'd before her rival's corse. 
 
 She saw her husband dead. 
 
 Then to his Lucy's new-made grave, 
 Convey'd by trembling swains. 
 
 One mould with her, beneath one sod. 
 For ever now remains. 
 
 Oft at their grave the constant iiitid 
 And plighted maid are seen ; 
 
 With garlands gay, and true-love knoU 
 They deck the sacred green. 
 
 But, swain, forsworn, whoe'er thou art. 
 
 This hallow'd spot forbsar ; 
 Benieuiber Colin's dreadful fate. 
 
 And fear to meet him there. 
 
 Thomas Ticktll. 
 
 EDWIN AND ANGELINA. 
 
 " TuRX, gentle Hermit of tlie ih\le, 
 And guide my lonely way 
 
 To where yon taper cheers the vale 
 With hospitable ray. 
 
 For here forlorn and lost I tread, 
 Witix fainting steps and slow. 
 
 Where wilds, immeasurably spread. 
 Seem lengthening as I go." 
 
328 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 — " Forbear, my son," the Hermit cries, 
 " To tempt the dangerous gloom, 
 
 For yonder faithless phantom tlies 
 To hire thee to thy doom. 
 
 " Here to the houseless child of want 
 
 My door is open still ; 
 And though my portion is but scant 
 
 I give it with goodwill. 
 
 " Then turn to-night, and freely sliare 
 Whate'er my cell bestows ; 
 
 My rushy couch and frugal fare. 
 My blessing and repose. 
 
 " No flocks that range the valley free 
 
 To slaughter I condemn ; 
 Taught by that Power that pities me, 
 
 I learn to pity them : 
 
 " But from the mountain's grassy 
 
 side 
 
 A guiltless feast I bring : 
 A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied, 
 
 And water from the spring. 
 
 " Then, pilgrim ! turn ; thy cares 
 forego ; 
 
 All earth-born cares are wrong : 
 Man wants but little here below, 
 
 Nor wants that little long." 
 
 Soft as the dew from heaven descends 
 
 His gentle accents fell : 
 The modest stranger lowly bends. 
 
 And follows to the cell. 
 
 Far in the wilderness obscure 
 
 The lonely mansion lay, 
 A refuge to the neighbouring poor. 
 
 And strangers led astraJ^ 
 
 Xo stores beneath its humble thatch 
 
 Required a master's care, 
 The wicket, opening with a latch. 
 
 Received the harmless pair. 
 
 And now, when busy crowds retire 
 
 To take their evening rest, 
 The hermit trimm'd his little fire. 
 
 And cheer'd his pensive guest : 
 
 And spread his vegetable store, 
 And gaily press'd and smiled ; 
 
 And skiU'd in legendary lore. 
 The lingering hours beguiled. 
 
 Around, in sympathetic mirth. 
 
 Its tricks the kitten tries ; 
 The cricket chirrups on the hearth. 
 
 The crackling fagot flies. 
 
 But nothing could a charm impart 
 To soothe the stranger's woe ; 
 
 For grief was heavy at his heart. 
 And tears began to flow. 
 
 His rising cares the Hermit spied. 
 With answering care oppress\l : 
 
 And '' Whence, unhappy youth,'" he 
 cried, 
 " The sorrows of thy breast ? 
 
 " From better habitations spurn'd 
 
 Reluctant dost thou rove ? 
 Or grieve for friendship umeturn'd. 
 
 Or unregarded love ? 
 
 " Alas ! the joys that fortune brings 
 
 Are trifling, and decaj' ; 
 And those who prize the paltry things, 
 
 More trifling still than they. 
 
 " And what is friendship but a name, 
 A charm that luUs to sleep ; 
 
 A shade that follows wealth or fame, 
 But leaves the wretch to weep ? 
 
 " And love is still an emptier sound. 
 The modern fair-one's jest ; 
 
 On earth unseen, or only found 
 To warm the turtle's nest. 
 
 " For shame, fond youth ! thy sorrows 
 hush ; 
 
 And spurn the sex," he said ; 
 But while he spoke, a rising blush 
 
 His love-lorn guest betray'd ! 
 
 Siuprised he sees new beauties rise. 
 
 Swift mantling to the view ; 
 Like colours o'er the morning skies. 
 
 As bright, as transient too. 
 
 The bashful look, the rising breast. 
 
 Alternate spread alarms : 
 U'he lovely stranger stands eonfess'd, 
 
 A maid in all her charms. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 ?,20 
 
 And " Ah ! forgive a stranger mule, — 
 A wrett-h forlorn," she cried ; 
 
 " Wiiose feet, uuhallow'd, thus intrude 
 Where Heaven and you reside ! 
 
 " But let a maid thy pity share, 
 Whom love has taught to stray ; 
 
 Wlio seeks for rest, but finds despair 
 Companion of her way. 
 
 " My father lived beside the Tyne, 
 
 A wealthy lord was he ; 
 4nd all his wealth was mark'd as mine, 
 
 He had but only me. 
 
 " To win me from his tender arms 
 
 Unnumber'd suitors came. 
 Who praised nie for imputed charms, 
 
 And felt or feign'd a tlame. 
 
 " Each hour a mercenary crowd 
 With richest proffers strove : 
 
 Amongst the I'est, young Edwin bow'd, 
 But never talk'd of love. 
 
 '" In humble, simple habit clad. 
 No wealth, nor power had he : 
 
 Wisdom and worth were all he had. 
 But these were all to me. 
 
 " And when, b&side me in the dale. 
 
 He caroll'd laj's of love. 
 His breath lent fragrance to the gale, 
 
 And music to the grove. 
 
 " The blossom opening to the day. 
 The dews of heaven refined, 
 
 Could nought of purity display 
 To emulate his mind. 
 
 '■ But mine the sorrow, mine the 
 fault ! 
 
 And well my life shall 2)ay ; 
 I'll seek the solitude lie sought. 
 
 And stretch me where he laj'. 
 
 " And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, 
 
 I'll lay me down and die ; 
 'Twas so for me that Edwin did. 
 
 And so for him will I." 
 
 ■^' Forbid it, Heaven ! " the Hermit 
 cried. 
 And clasp'd her to his breast : 
 The wondering fair one turn'd to 
 chide — 
 'Twas Edwin's self that press'd I 
 
 " Turn, Angelina, ever dear. 
 
 My charmer, turn to see 
 Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here. 
 
 Restored to love and thee. 
 
 " Thus let me hold thee to my heart. 
 
 And every care resign : 
 And shall we never, never part. 
 
 My life — my all that's mine ? 
 
 " No, never from this hour to part. 
 We'll live and love so true : 
 
 The sigh that rends thy constant 
 heart 
 (Shall break thy Edwin's too." 
 
 Oliver Golds in ith. 
 
 " The dew, the blossom on the tree. 
 With charms inconstant shine : 
 
 Their charms were his ; but, woe to me ! 
 Their constancy was mine. 
 
 " For still I tried each fickle art, 
 
 Importunate and vain ; 
 And. while his passion touch' il my heai t. 
 
 I triumph'd in his pain : 
 
 THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF 
 ISLINGTON. 
 
 There was a youth, a well-beloveJ 
 youth. 
 
 And he was a squire's son, 
 He loved the bayliffe's daughter dear. 
 
 That lived in Islington. 
 
 " Till, quite dejected with my scorn. 
 He left me to my pride ; 
 
 An<l sought a solitude forlorn. 
 In secret, where he died. 
 
 Yet she was coy and would not believe 
 
 That he did love her so, 
 Iso nor at any time would she 
 
 Any countenance to him show. 
 
330 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 But when his friends did understand 
 
 His fond and foolish mind. 
 They sent liini up to faire London 
 
 An apprentice for to bind. 
 
 And when he had been seven long 
 years, 
 
 And never his love could see : 
 Many a tear have I shed for her sake. 
 
 When she little thought of me. 
 
 Then all the maids of Islington 
 Went forth to sport and play. 
 
 All but the bayliffe's daughter dear; 
 She secretly stole away. 
 
 She pulled off her gown of green. 
 
 And put on ragged attire. 
 And to faire London she would go 
 
 Her true love to enquire. 
 
 And as she went along the high road, 
 The weather being hot and dry. 
 
 She sat her down upon a green bank, 
 And her true love came riding bye. 
 
 She started up, with a colour so redd. 
 
 Catching hold of his bridle-reine ; 
 One penny, one penny, kind sir, she 
 
 Will ease me of much pain. 
 
 sweet- 
 
 Before I give you one penny, 
 heart. 
 
 Pray tell me where you were born. 
 At Islington, kind sir, said she, 
 
 Where I have had many a scorn. 
 
 I prythe, sweet-heart, then tell to me, 
 O tell me, whether you know, 
 
 The bayliffe's daughter of Islington. 
 She is dead, sir, long ago. 
 
 O farewell grief, and welcome joy, 
 
 Ten thousand times thorefore ; 
 For now I have found mine own true 
 love, 
 Whom I thought I should never see 
 more. 
 
 AliLAN WATER. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 When the sweet spring time did fall. 
 Was the miller's lovely daughter. 
 Fairest of them all. 
 
 For his bride a soldier sought her. 
 And a winning tongue had he. 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 None so gay as she. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 When brown autumn spread his store, 
 There I saw the miller's daughter. 
 But she smiled no more. 
 
 For the summer grief had brought her. 
 And the soldier false was he. 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 None so sad as she. 
 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 When the winter snow fell fast. 
 Still was seen the miller's daughter. 
 Chilling blew the blast. 
 
 But the miller's lovely dau rhter. 
 Both from cold and care was free, 
 On the banks of Allan Water, 
 There a corse lay she 
 
 Matthew Gregory Lewis. 
 
 If she be dead, then take my hoi-se. 
 My saddle and bridle also ; 
 
 For I will unto some far country. 
 Where no man shall me know. 
 
 stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, 
 She standeth by thy side ; 
 
 She is here aUve, she is not dcail. 
 And ready to be thy bride. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE 
 
 SWAN'S NEST. 
 
 Little EUie sits alone 
 'Mid the beeches of a meadow. 
 By a stream-side on the grass ; 
 And the trees are showering down 
 Doubles of their leaves in sha'iow 
 On (he shining hair and face. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 331 
 
 Slie has thrown her bonnet by ; 
 And her feet she has been dipping 
 In the shallow waters' flow — 
 Now she holds them nakedly 
 In her hands, all sleek antl tlrlpping. 
 While she rocketh to and fro. 
 
 Little Ellie sits alone, 
 And the smiles she softly useth 
 Fills the silence like a spcocli : 
 While she thinks what shall be done. 
 And the sweetest pleasure cliooseth 
 For her future, within reach. 
 
 Little Ellie in her smile 
 Chooseth — " I will have a lover 
 Riding on a steed of steeds ! 
 He shall love me without guile ; 
 And to him 1 will discover 
 That swan's nest among the reeds. 
 
 " And the steed it shall be red -roan. 
 And the lover shall be noble. 
 With an eye that takes the breatli ; 
 And the lute he plays upon 
 Shall strike ladies into trouble. 
 As his sword strikes men to death. 
 
 *' And the steed it shall be shod 
 
 All in silver, housed in azure, 
 
 And the mane shall swim the wind. 
 
 And the hoofs along the sod 
 
 Shall flash onward and keep measure. 
 
 Till the shepherds look behind. 
 
 " He will kiss me on the mouth 
 Then, and lead me as a lover 
 Through the crowds that praise his 
 
 deeds ; 
 And, when soul tied by one troth. 
 Unto hi7n I will discover 
 That swan's nest among the reeds." 
 
 Little EUie, with her smile 
 Not yet ended, rose up gaily — ■ 
 Tied the bonnet, dorm'd the shoe. 
 And went homeward round a mile. 
 Just to see, £is she did daily. 
 What more eggs were with the two. 
 
 Pushing through the elm-tree copse, 
 Winding by the stream, Ught-hearted, 
 TSTiere the osier pathway leads — 
 Past the boughs she stoops and stops : 
 So ! the wild swan has deserted. 
 And a rat had gnaw'd the reeds. 
 
 JOilio went home sad and slow. 
 If she found the lover over. 
 With his red-roan steed of steeds. 
 Sooth I know not ! but I know 
 She could never show him — never — 
 That swan's nest among the reeds. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Brownimj. 
 
 THE TRTJE AND THE FALSE. 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 
 
 Whom the fates sever 
 From his true maiden's breast 
 
 Parted for ever ? 
 
 Where, through groves deep and high 
 
 Sounds the far billow. 
 Where early violets die 
 
 Under the willow : — > 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Soft sJuUl be his pillow. 
 
 Thire, through the summer day 
 
 Cool streams are laving : 
 There, while the tempests sway. 
 
 Scarce are boughs waving ; 
 There ihy rest shalt thou take. 
 
 Parted for ever. 
 Never again to wake 
 
 Never, O never 1 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Never, never t, 
 
 — Where shall the traitor rest. 
 
 He, the deceiver. 
 Who could win maiden's breast. 
 
 Ruin, and leave her ? 
 In the lost battle. 
 
 Borne do^vn by the flj'ing. 
 Where mingles war's rattle 
 
 With groans of the dying ; 
 Eleu loro 
 
 There shall he he lying. 
 
 Her mng shall the eagle flap 
 
 O'er the falsehearted ; 
 His warm blood the wolf shall lap 
 
 Ere hfe be parted : 
 Shame and dishonour sit 
 
 By his grave ever ; 
 Blessing shall hallow it 
 
 Never, never ! 
 Eleu loro 
 
 Never, O never I 
 
 i>ir Walter Scott, 
 
832 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE DEEAM OF EUGENE 
 ARAM. 
 
 'TwAS in the prime of summer time. 
 
 An evening calm and cool. 
 And four-and-twenty happy boys 
 
 Came bounding out of school : 
 There were some that ran, and some 
 that leapt. 
 
 Like trout lets in a pool. 
 
 Away they sped with gamesome minds. 
 And souls untouched by sin ; 
 
 To a level mead they came, and there 
 They drave the vi'ickets in : 
 
 Pleasantly shone the setting sun 
 Over the town of Lynn. 
 
 Like sportive deer they coursed about, 
 And shouted as they ran — 
 
 Turning to mirth all things of earth, 
 As only boyhood can : 
 
 But the usher sat remote from all, 
 A melancholy man ! 
 
 His hat was off, his vest apart. 
 To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 
 
 For a burning thought was in his brow, 
 And his bosom ill at ease : 
 
 So he leaned his head on his hands, and 
 read 
 The book between his knees ! 
 
 Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er. 
 
 Nor ever glanced aside ; 
 For the peace of his soul he read that 
 book 
 
 In the golden eventide : 
 Much study had made him very lean. 
 
 And pale, and leaden-eyed. 
 
 At last he shut the ponderous tome ; 
 
 With a fast and fervent grasp 
 He strained the dusky covers close. 
 
 And fixed the brazen hasp : 
 " O God, could I so close my mind. 
 
 And clasp it with a clasp ! " 
 
 Then leaping on his feet upright. 
 Some moody turns he took ; 
 
 Now up the mead, then down the mead. 
 And past a shady nook : 
 
 And lo ! he saw a little boy 
 That pored upon a book ! 
 
 *' My gentle lad, what is't you read — 
 Komance or fairy fable Y 
 
 Or is it some historic page. 
 
 Of kings and crowns unstable ? " 
 The young boy gave an upward glance — 
 
 " It is the death of Abel." 
 
 The usher took six hasty strides, 
 
 As smit with sudden pain ; 
 Six hasty strides beyond the place. 
 
 Then slowly back again : 
 And down he sat beside the lad. 
 
 And talked with him of Cain ; 
 
 And, long since then, of bloody men. 
 Whose deeds tradition saves ; 
 
 Of lonely folk cut off imseen. 
 And hid in sudden graves ; 
 
 Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn. 
 And murders done in caves ; 
 
 And how the sprites of injured men 
 Shi'iek upward from the sod — 
 
 Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 
 To show the burial clod ; 
 
 And unknown facts of guilty acts 
 Are seen in dreams from God ! 
 
 He told how murderers walked tho 
 earth 
 
 Beneath the curse of Cain — 
 With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
 
 And flames about their brain : 
 For blood has left upon their souls 
 
 Its everlasting stain ! 
 
 " And well," quoth he, " I know, for 
 truth, 
 Their pangs must be extreme — 
 Woe, woe, unutterable woe — 
 
 Who spill life's sacred stream ! 
 For why ? Methought last night I 
 wrought 
 A murder in a dream ! 
 
 " One that had never done me wrong — 
 
 A feeble man, and old ; 
 I led him to a lonely field, 
 
 The moon shone clear and cold : 
 Now here, said I, this man shall die. 
 
 And I will have his gold ! 
 
 *' Two sudden blows with a ragged 
 stick. 
 
 And one with a heavy stona, 
 One hurried gash with a hasty knife— 
 
 And then the deed was done : 
 There was nothing lying at my foot. 
 
 But lifeless flesh and bone I 
 
Ballads. 
 
 ?,:v,i 
 
 " Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone. 
 
 That could not do me ill ; 
 And \et I feared him all the more, 
 
 For lying there so still : 
 There was a manhood in his look. 
 
 That murder could not kill 1 
 
 " And lo ! the universal air 
 
 Seemed lit with ghastly flame — 
 
 Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
 Were looking down in blame : 
 
 I took the dead man by the hand, 
 And called upon his name ; 
 
 " Oh, God ! it made me quake to see 
 Such sense within the slain ! 
 
 But when I touched the lifeless clay, 
 The blood gushed out amain ! 
 
 For every clot, a burning spot 
 Was scorching in my bi'ain ! 
 
 " My head was like an ardent coal. 
 
 My heart as solid ice ; 
 My wretched, •wTetched soul, I knew. 
 
 Was at the devil's price : 
 A dozen times I groaned, the dead 
 
 Had never groaned but twice ; 
 
 " And now from forth the frowning sky, 
 From the heaven's topmost height, 
 
 I heard a voice— the awful voice. 
 Of the blood-avenging Sprite : 
 
 ' Thou guilty man ! take up thj' dead, 
 And hide it from my sight.' 
 
 " I took the dreary body up. 
 
 And cast it in a stream — 
 A sluggish water black as ink. 
 
 The depth was so extreme. 
 My gentle boy, remember this 
 
 Is nothing but a dream ! 
 
 " Down went the corpse with a hollow 
 plunge. 
 
 And vanished in the pool ; 
 Anon I cleansed my bloody hands. 
 
 And washed my forehead cool. 
 And sat among the urchins young 
 
 That evening in the school ! 
 
 " Oh Heaven ! to think of their wliite 
 souls. 
 And mine so black and grim ! 
 I could not share in childish prayer, 
 
 Xor join in evening hymn : 
 Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 
 -Mid holy cherubim ! 
 
 " And peace went with them one and 
 all, 
 
 And each calm pillow spread ; 
 But Guilt was my grim chaml)erlain 
 
 That lighted me to bed. 
 And drew my midnight curtains round. 
 
 With lingers bloody red ! 
 
 " All night I lay in agony. 
 In anguish dark and deep ; 
 
 My fevered eyes I dare not close. 
 But stared aghast at sleep ; 
 
 For sin had rendered luito her 
 The keys of hell to keep ! 
 
 " All night I lay in agony. 
 
 From weary chime to chime. 
 With one besetting horrid hint. 
 
 That racked me all the time — 
 A mighty yearning, like the first 
 
 Fierce impulse unto crime ! 
 
 " One stern, tyi'annic thought, that 
 made 
 
 All other thoughts its slave ; 
 Stronger and stronger every pulse 
 
 Did that temptation crave — 
 Still urging me to go and see 
 
 The dead man in his grave ! 
 
 " Heavily I rose up — as soon 
 
 As light was in the sky — 
 And sought the black accursed pool 
 
 With a wild misgiving e\'e ; 
 And I saw tli:" dead in the river bed. 
 
 For the faithless stream was dry I 
 
 " Merrily rose the lark, and shook 
 The dewdrop from its wing ; 
 
 But I never marked its morning flight, 
 I never heard it sing : 
 
 For I was stooping once again 
 Under the horrid thing. 
 
 " With breathless speed, like a soul 
 in chase, 
 I took him up and ran — 
 There was no time to dig a grave 
 
 Before the day began ; 
 In a lonesome wood, with heaps of 
 leaves, 
 I hid the murdered man ; 
 
 '■ And all that day I read in school. 
 But nu' thought was other-where ! 
 
 As soon as the midday tasl; was done, 
 In secret I was there 
 
334 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And a mighty wind had swept the 
 leaves, 
 And still the corse was bare ! 
 
 " Then down I cast me on my face. 
 
 And first began to weep, 
 For I knew my secret then was one 
 
 That earth refused to keep ; 
 Or land or sea, though he should be 
 
 Ten thousand fathoms deep ! 
 
 " So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
 Till blood for blood atones ! 
 
 Ay, though he's buried in a cave. 
 And trodden down with stones. 
 
 And years have rotted off his flesh — 
 The world shall see his bones ! 
 
 " Oh, God, that horrid, horrid dream 
 
 Besets me now awake ! 
 Again — again, with a dizzy brain 
 
 The human life I take ; 
 And my red right hand grows raging hot, 
 
 Like Cranmer's at the stake. 
 
 " And still no peace for the restless clay, 
 
 Will wave or mould allow. 
 The horrid thing pursues my soul — 
 
 It stands before me now ! " 
 The fearful boy looked up, and saw 
 
 Huge drops upon his brow ! 
 
 That very night, while gentle sleep 
 The urchin's eyelids kissed. 
 
 Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, 
 Through the cold and heavy mist ; 
 
 And Eugene Aram walked between 
 With gyves upon his wrists. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST. 
 
 There came a ghost to Margaret's door, 
 With many a grievous groan, 
 
 And aye he tirled at the pin. 
 But answer she made none. 
 
 " Is that my father Philip, 
 
 Or is't my brother John ? 
 Or is't my true love Willy, 
 
 Fiom Scotland new come home ? " 
 
 " 'Tis not thy father Philip, 
 Nor yet thy brother John : 
 
 But 'tis thy true love Willy, 
 From Scotland new come home. 
 
 " O sweet Margaret, dear Margaret, 
 
 I pray thee speak to me : 
 Give me my faith and troth, Margaret, 
 
 As I gave it to thee." 
 
 " Thy faith and troth thou'lt never get, 
 
 Of me shalt never win. 
 Till that thou come within my bower 
 
 And kiss my cheek and chin." 
 
 " If I should come within thy bower, 
 
 I am no earthly man : 
 And should I kiss thy rosy lips 
 
 Thy days would not be lang. 
 
 " O sweet Margaret, O dear Margaret, 
 
 I pray thee speak to me : 
 Give me my faith and troth, Margaret, 
 
 As I gave it to thee." 
 
 " Thy faith and troth thou'lt never get, 
 
 Of me shalt never win. 
 Till yoii take me to yon kirk-yard. 
 
 And wed me Avith a ring." 
 
 " My bones are buried in yon kirk-\'ard 
 
 Afar beyond the sea. 
 And it is but my spirit, Margaret, 
 
 That's now speaking to thee." 
 
 She stretched out her lily-white hand, 
 
 And for to do her best : 
 " Have there your faith and troth, 
 Willy, 
 
 God send your soul good rest." 
 
 Now she has kilted her robes of green 
 
 A piece below her knee, 
 And all the live-long winter night 
 
 The dead corpse followed she. 
 
 " Is there any room at your head, Willy, 
 
 Or any room at your feet ? 
 Or any room at your side, Willy, 
 
 Wherein that I may creep ? " 
 
 *' There's no room at my head, 
 Margaret, 
 
 There's no room at my feet ; 
 There's no room at my side, Margaret, 
 
 My coffin's made so meet." 
 
 Then up and crew the red red cock. 
 And up then crew the grej' ; 
 
 'Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margaret, 
 That you were going away. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 S35 
 
 THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. 
 
 Earl March look'd on his dying child, 
 And smit with grief to view lier — 
 
 The youth, he cried, whom I exiled 
 Shall be restored to woo her. 
 
 She's at the window many an hour 
 
 His coming to discover : 
 And he look'd up to Ellen's bower 
 
 And she look'd on her lover — 
 
 But ah ! so pale, he knew her not, 
 Though her smile on him was dwell- 
 ing— 
 
 And am I then forgot — forgot ? 
 It broke the heart of Ellen. 
 
 In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs. 
 
 Her cheek is cold as ashes ; 
 Nor love's own kiss shall wake those 
 eyes 
 
 To hft their silken lashes. 
 
 Tkomcis CampheU. 
 
 ALICE FELL. 
 
 TirE post-boy drove with fierce career. 
 
 For threatening clouds the moon had 
 drowned : 
 When, as we hurried on, my ear 
 
 Was smitten with a startling sound. 
 
 As if the wind blew many ways, 
 
 I heard the sound, — and more and 
 more ; 
 
 It seemed to follow with the chaise. 
 And still I heard it as before. 
 
 At length I to the boy called out ; 
 
 He stopped his horses at the word ; 
 But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout, 
 
 Nor aught else like it, coukl be heard. 
 
 The boy then smacked his whip, and fast 
 The horses scampered through the 
 rain ; 
 
 And soon I heard upon the blast 
 The cry, I bade him halt again. 
 
 Forthwith, alighting on the ground, 
 ■" Whence comes," said I, "this 
 piteous moan ? " 
 
 And there a little Girl I found. 
 Sitting behind the chaise, alone. 
 
 " My cloak ! " no other word she spake. 
 But loud and bitterly she wept, 
 
 As if her innocent heart would break ; 
 And do%\Ti from off her seat she leapt. 
 
 " What ails you, child ? " — she sobbed, 
 " Look here ! " 
 
 I saw it in the Avheel entangled, 
 A weather-beaten rag as e'er 
 
 From any garden scarecrow dangled. 
 
 'Twas twisted between nave and spoke : 
 It hung, nor could at once be freed. 
 
 But our joint palms unloosed the cloak, 
 A miserable rag indeed ! 
 
 " And whither are you goinjr, child. 
 To-night along these lonesome 
 ways ? " 
 " To Durham," answered she, half 
 wild — 
 *' 'i'hen come with me into the 
 chaise." 
 
 She sat like one past all rehef ; 
 
 Sob after sob she forth did send 
 In wretchedness, as if her grief 
 
 Could never, never have an end. 
 
 " My child, in Dm-ham do you dwell ? " 
 She checked herself in her distress. 
 
 And said, " My name is Alice Fell ; 
 I'm fatherless and motherless. 
 
 " And I to Durham, sir, belong : " 
 Again, as if the thought would choke 
 
 Her very heart, her grief grew strong : 
 And all was for her tattered cloak ! 
 
 The chaise drove on, our journey's end 
 Was nigh ; and sitting by my side, 
 
 As if she had lost her only friend. 
 She wept, nor would be pacified. 
 
 Up to the tavern-door we post 
 Of Ahce and her grief I told, 
 
 And I gave money to the host, 
 To buy a new cloak for the old. 
 
 " And let it be of dufiil gray. 
 
 As warm a cloak as man can sell ! " 
 Proud creature was she the next day. 
 
 The httle orphan, Alice Fell ! 
 
 William Wordsworth, 
 
336 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 LHCY GRAY; 
 
 OR, SOLITUDE. 
 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray ; 
 
 And, when I crossed the wild, 
 I chanced to see at break of day. 
 
 The sohtary child. 
 
 No mate, no comrade Lucy knew : 
 She dwelt on a wide moor, — 
 
 Tlie sweetest thing that ever grew 
 Beside a human door ! 
 
 You yet may spy the fawn at play. 
 
 The hare upon the green ; 
 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray 
 
 Will never more be seen. 
 
 " To-night will be a stormy night — 
 You to the town must go ; 
 
 And take a lantern, Child, to light 
 Your mother through the snow." 
 
 " That, Father ! will I gladly do : 
 
 'Tis scarcely afternoon — 
 The minster-clock has just struck two. 
 
 And yonder is the moon ! " 
 
 At this the Father raised his liook. 
 And snapped a faggot band : 
 
 He plied his work ; — and Lucy took 
 The lantern in her hand. 
 
 Not blither is the mountain roe ; 
 
 With many a wanton stroke 
 Her feet disperse the powdery snow, 
 
 That rises up like smoke. 
 
 The storm came on before its time : 
 She wandered up and down ; 
 
 And many a hill did Lucy climb : 
 But never reached the town. 
 
 The wretched parents all that night 
 Went shouting far and wide ; 
 
 But there was neither sound nor sight 
 To serve them for a guide. 
 
 At daybreak on a hill they stood 
 That overlooked the moor : 
 
 And thence they saw the bridge of wood 
 A furlong from their door. 
 
 They wept — and, turning homeward, 
 cried, 
 
 " In heaven we all shall meet ; " 
 When in the snow the mother spied 
 
 The print of Lucy's feet. 
 
 Half breathless from the steep hill's 
 edge 
 They tracked the footmarks small ; 
 And through the broken hawthorn 
 hedge. 
 And by the long stone wall. 
 
 And then an open field they crossed ; 
 
 The marks were still the same ; 
 They tracked them on, nor ever lost ; 
 
 And to the bridge they came. 
 
 They followed from the snowy bank 
 Those footmarks, one by one. 
 
 Into the middle of the plank ; 
 And farther there were none ! — 
 
 Yet some maintain that to this day 
 
 She is a Uving child : 
 That you may see sweet Lucy Gray 
 
 Upon the lonesome wild. 
 
 O'er rough and smooth she trips along. 
 
 And never looks behind ; 
 And sings a solitary song 
 
 That whistles in the wind. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE 
 SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE. 
 
 Sevek daughters had Lord Archibald, 
 
 All children of one mother : 
 
 You could not say in one short day 
 
 What love they bore each other. 
 
 A garland, of seven hiies WTOught ! 
 
 Seven sisters that together dwell : 
 
 But he, bold knight as ever fought. 
 
 Their father took of them no thought. 
 
 He loved the wars so well. 
 
 Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully. 
 
 The solitude of Binnorie ! 
 
 Fresh blows the wind, a western Mind, 
 
 And from the shores of Erin, 
 
 Across the wave, a rover brave 
 
 To Binnorie is steering : 
 
 Right onward to the Scottish strand 
 
 The gallant ship is borne ; 
 
 The warriors leap upon the land. 
 
 And hark ! the leader of the band 
 
 Hath blown his bugle horn. 
 
 Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully. 
 
 The solitude of Binnorie I 
 
Ballads. 
 
 33: 
 
 Beside a grotto of their own, 
 
 With boughs above thom closing, 
 
 The seven are laid, and in the sliade 
 
 They lie like fawns reposing. 
 
 But now upstarting with affright 
 
 At noise of man and steed. 
 
 Away they fly, to left, to right — 
 
 Of your fair household, father-knight, 
 
 ;Methinlc3 you take small heed ! 
 
 Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully, 
 
 The solitude of Binnorie ! 
 
 Away the seven fair Campbells fly ; 
 
 And, over liill and hollow. 
 
 With menace proud, and insult loud. 
 
 The youthful rovers follow. 
 
 Cried they, " Your father loves to roam : 
 
 Enough for him to find 
 
 The empty house when he comes liome ; 
 
 For ns your yellow ringlets como. 
 
 For us be fair and kind ! " 
 
 Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully. 
 
 The solitude of Binnorie { 
 
 Some close behind, some side by side. 
 
 Like clouds in stormy weatlier, 
 
 Tiiey run and cry, " Nay let us die. 
 
 And let us die together." 
 
 A lake was near ; the shore was steep ; 
 
 There foot had never been ; 
 
 They ran, and with a desperate leap 
 
 Together pi unged into the deep. 
 
 Nor ever more were seen. 
 
 Sing mournfully, oh ! mournfully. 
 
 The solitude of Binnorie ! 
 
 The stream that flows out of the lake. 
 As through the glen it rambles. 
 Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone 
 For those seven lovely Campbells. 
 Seven little islands, green and bare, 
 Have risen from out the deep : 
 The fishers say those sisters fair 
 By fairies are all buried there, 
 And there together sleep. 
 Sing mournfully, oh : mournfully. 
 The solitude of Binnorie ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 For there's nae luck about the liouse, 
 
 Tliere's nae luck at a' ; 
 Tliere's nae luck about the house. 
 
 When our gudeman's awa'. 
 
 Is this a time to think of wark, 
 When Colin's at the door ? 
 
 lleacli down my cloak — I'll to tiie quay. 
 And see him come ashore. 
 
 Rise up, and make a clean fireside. 
 
 Put on the mickle pot ; 
 Gie little Kate her cotton gown. 
 
 And Jock his Sunday coat. 
 
 Mak' a' their shoon as black as slaes, 
 Tiieir stocking white as snaw ; 
 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman — 
 He likes to see them braw. 
 
 There are twa hens into the crib, 
 Hae fed this month or mair ; 
 
 Slak' haste and thraw their necks about, 
 That Colin weel may fare. 
 
 Bring down to me my bigonet, 
 
 My bishop's sattin gown, 
 For I maun tell tlie bailie's wife 
 
 That Colin's come to town. 
 
 My turkey slippers I'll put on. 
 
 My stockins pearly blue — 
 It's a' to pleasure our gudeman. 
 
 For he's baith leal and tiue. 
 
 Sae sweet his voice, sae smootli his 
 tongue, 
 
 His breath's like caller air ; 
 His very fit hae music in't. 
 
 As he comes up the stair. 
 
 An<l will I see his face again ? 
 
 And will I hear him speak ? 
 I'm downriglit dizzy wi' the tliought, 
 
 Jn troth I'm like to greet.* 
 
 William Jiiliufi MicLIe. 
 
 THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT 
 THE HOUSE. 
 
 Ri'T are ye sure the news is true ? 
 
 And are ye sure he's weel ? 
 [■< this a time to think o' wark ? 
 
 Ve jades, fiing by your wheel ! 
 
 JOCK OF HAZEIiDEAN. 
 
 " Why weep ye by the tide, ladle ? 
 
 Why weep ye by the tide '! 
 I'll wed ye to my youngest son, 
 
 And ye sail be his bride : 
 
 • " Uiwt '"— \veo|i. 
 
 22 
 
338 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And ye sail be his bride, ladie, 
 Sae comely to be seen " — 
 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " Now let this wilfu' grief be done, 
 
 And dry that cheek so pale ; 
 Young Frank is chief of Errington, 
 
 And lord of Langley-Hale ; 
 His step is first in peaceful ha', 
 
 His sword in battle keen " — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 " A chain of gold ye sail not lack, 
 
 Nor braid to bind your hair ; 
 Nor mettled hound, nor managed haA\ k, 
 
 Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; 
 And you, the foremost of them a' 
 
 Sliall ride our forest queen " — 
 But aye she loot the tears down fa' 
 
 For Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, 
 
 The tapers glimmer'd fail' ; 
 The priest and bridegroom wait the 
 bride. 
 
 And dame and knight are there. 
 Tliey sought her baith by bower and ha' 
 
 The ladie was not seen ! 
 She's o'er the Border, and awa' 
 
 Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 THE LAMENT OF THE 
 BOBDER WIDOW. 
 
 My love he built me a bonnie bower, 
 And clad it all with lily flower ; 
 A braver bower you ne'er did see, 
 Tlian my true love he built for me. 
 
 There came a man by middle day. 
 He spied his sport and went his way. 
 And brought the king that very night 
 Wlio broke my bower and slew my 
 knight. 
 
 He slew my knight to me so dear ; 
 He slew my knight and pour'd his gear ; 
 My servants all for life did flee. 
 And left me in extremitie. 
 
 I sew'd liis sheet, making my moan ; 
 i watched liis corpse, myself alone ; 
 
 I watched \\in body, night and day ; 
 No living creature came that way. 
 
 I took his body on my back, 
 
 And whiles I gaed and whiles I sat ; 
 
 I digg'd a grave and laid him in. 
 
 And happ'd him with the sod so green. 
 
 But think na ye my heart was sair 
 When I laid the mould on his yellow 
 
 hair ; 
 Think nae ye my heart was M'ae, 
 AVhen I turned about, away to gae ? 
 
 No living man I'll love again, 
 Since that my lovely knight is slain ; 
 With one lock of his yellow hair, 
 I'll bind my heart for evermair. 
 
 THE liORD OF BTJHLEIGH. 
 
 Ix her ear he whispers gaily, 
 
 " If my heart by signs can tell, 
 Maiden, I have watch'd thee dail}'. 
 
 And I think thou lov'st me well." 
 She replies, in accents fainter, 
 
 " There is none I love like thee." 
 He is but a landscape-painter. 
 
 And a village maiden slie. 
 He to lips, tliat fondly falter. 
 
 Presses his without reproof ; 
 Leads her to the village altar, 
 
 xind they leave lier father's roof. 
 
 " I can make no marriage present ; 
 
 Little can I give my wife. 
 Love will make our cottage pleasant. 
 
 And I love thee more than life." 
 
 They by parks and lodges going 
 See the lordly castles stand ; 
 
 Sviiumer woods, about them blowing, 
 Alade a murmur in the land. 
 
 From deep thought himself he rouses 
 Says to her that loves him well, 
 
 " Let us see these handsome houses 
 AVhere the wealthy nobles dwell." 
 
 So she goes by him attended. 
 Hears him lovingly converse, 
 
 Sees M'hatever fair and splendid 
 Lay betwixt his home and hers. 
 
 Park; with oak and chestnut shady, 
 i'arks and order'd gardens great. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 339 
 
 Ancient homes of lord and lady. 
 Built for pleasure and for state. 
 
 All he shows her makes him dearer ; 
 
 Evermore she scorns to gaze 
 On that cottage growing nearer. 
 
 Where they twain will spend their 
 days. 
 but she will love him truly ! 
 
 He shall have a cheerful home ; 
 Slie will order all things duly, 
 
 VVlien beneath his roof they come. 
 
 Thus her heart rejoices greatly, 
 
 Till a gateway she discerns 
 With armorial bearings stately. 
 
 And beneath the gate she turns ; 
 Sees a mansion more majestic 
 
 Than all those she saw before ; 
 Many a gallant gay domestic 
 
 Eows before him at the door. 
 
 And they speak in gentle munnur. 
 When they answer to his call, 
 
 While he treads with footstep firmer. 
 Leading on from hall to hall. 
 
 And while now she wanders blindly. 
 
 Nor the meaning can divine. 
 Proudly turns he round and kindly, 
 
 " All of this is mine and thine." 
 
 But a trouble weigh'd upon her, 
 
 And perplex'd her, night and morn 
 
 With tlie burden of an honour 
 Unto wiiicii she was not born. 
 
 Faint she grew, and ever fainter. 
 As she nuirmur'd, " Oh, that he 
 
 Were once more that landscape-painter 
 Wiiich did win my heart from me ! " 
 
 So she droop"d and droop'd before him, 
 Fading slowly from his side ; 
 
 Three fair children first she bore him. 
 Then before her time she died. 
 
 Weeping, weeping late and early. 
 
 Walking up and pacing down. 
 Deeply mourn'd the Lord of liurleigli, 
 
 Burleigh-house by Stamford-town. 
 And lie came to look upon her. 
 
 And he look'd at her and said, 
 " Bring the dress and put it on her. 
 
 That she wore when she was wed." 
 
 Then her people, softly treading, 
 Bore to earth her body, drest 
 
 In the dress that she was wed in, 
 Tliat her spirit might have rest. 
 
 . Lord Teniii/wn. 
 
 Here he lives in state and bounty. 
 
 Lord of Burleigh, fair and free. 
 Not a lord in all the county 
 
 Is so great a lord as he. 
 All at once the colour flushes 
 
 Her sweet face from brow to chin ; 
 As it were with shame she blushes. 
 
 And her spirit changed within. 
 
 Then her countenance all over 
 Pale again as death did prove : 
 
 But he clasp'd her like a lover. 
 And he cheer'd her soul with love. 
 
 THE LADY OF SHALOTT. 
 
 Pabt L 
 On either side the river lie 
 Long fields of barley and of rye, 
 That clothe the wold and meet the sky ; 
 And thro' the road runs by 
 
 To many tower'd Camelot. 
 And up and down the people go. 
 Gazing where the lilies blow, 
 Round an island there below. 
 
 The island of Shalott. 
 
 So she strove against her weakness, 
 
 Tho' at times her spirits sank ; 
 Shaped her heart with woman's meek 
 ness 
 
 To all duties of her rank ; 
 And a gentle consort made he. 
 
 And her gentle mind was such 
 That slie grew a noble lady. 
 
 And the people loved her much. 
 
 W^illows whiten, aspens quiver. 
 Little breezes dusk and shiver 
 Thro' the wave that runs for ever. 
 By the island in the river, 
 
 Flowing down to Camelot, 
 Four gray walls, and four gray towers, 
 Overlook a space of flowera. 
 And the silent isle embowers 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
340 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 By the margin, willow-veil'd, 
 Slide the heavy barges trail'd 
 By slow horses ; and unhail'd 
 The shallop fiitteth silken-sail'd 
 
 Skimming down to Camelot : 
 But who hath seen her Arave her hand ? 
 Or at the casement seen her stand ? 
 Or is she known in all the land. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott 2 
 
 Only reapers, reaping early 
 In among the bearded barley, 
 Hear a song that echoes cheerly 
 From the river winding clearly, 
 
 Down to tower'd Camelot : 
 And by the moon the reaper Aveary, 
 Piling sheaves in uplands airy. 
 Listening, whispers " 'Tis the fairy 
 
 Lady of Shalott." 
 
 Part IL 
 
 There she a\ eaves by night and day 
 A magic web "with colours gay. 
 She has heard a whisper say 
 A curse is on her if she stay 
 
 To look down to Camelot. 
 She knows not what the curse may be 
 And so she weaveth steadily, 
 And little other care hath she. 
 
 The l^dy of Shalott. 
 
 And moving thro' a mirror clear 
 That hangs before her all the year, 
 Shadows of the world appear. 
 There she sees the highway near 
 
 Winding down to Camelot : 
 There the river eddy whirls, 
 And there the surly village-chuiis. 
 And the red cloaks of market girls, 
 
 Pass onward from Shalott. 
 
 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad. 
 An abbot on an ambling pad. 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad, 
 Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad. 
 Goes by to tower'd Camelot : 
 And sometimes thro' the mirror blue 
 The knights come riding two and two : 
 She hath no loyal knight and true. 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 But in her web she still delights 
 To weave the mirror's magic sights, 
 For often thro' the silent nights 
 A funeral, with plumes and lights. 
 
 And music, Wcut to Camelot : 
 
 Or when the moon was overhead. 
 Came two young lovers lately wed " 
 " I am half sick of shadows," said 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Pakt IIL 
 
 A bow-shot from her bower-eaves. 
 He rode between the barley-sheaves. 
 The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves. 
 And flamed upon the brazen greaves 
 
 Of bold Sir Lancelot. 
 A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 
 To a lady in his shield, 
 That sparkled on the yellow field. 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 
 liike to some branch of stars we see 
 Hung in the golden Galaxy. 
 The bridle bells rang merrily 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot : 
 And from his brazen'd baldric sliaig 
 A mighty silver bulge hung. 
 And as he rode his armour rung, 
 
 Beside remote Shalott. 
 
 All in the blue unclouded weather 
 Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather 
 The helmet and the helmet-feather 
 Burn'd like one burning flame together. 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 As often thro' the purple night. 
 Below the starry clusters bright. 
 Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 
 
 Moves over still Shalott. 
 
 His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd ■ 
 On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trod ; 
 From xmderneath his helmet flow'd 
 His coal-black curls as on he rode, 
 
 As he rode down to Camelot. 
 From the bank and from the river 
 He^flash'd into the crystal mirror, 
 " Tii^ra, lirra," by the river 
 
 Sang Sir Lancelot. 
 
 She left the web, she left the loom, 
 She made three paces thro' the room, 
 She saw the water-lily bloom. 
 She saw the helmet and the plume. 
 
 She looked down to Camelot. 
 Out flew the web and floated wide ; 
 Tlie mirror crack'd from side to side ; 
 " The curse is come upon me," cried 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 341 
 
 Part IV. 
 
 In the stormy east- wind straining, 
 The pale yellow woods were waning, 
 The broad stream in ita banks com- 
 plaining, 
 Heavily the low sky raining 
 
 Over tower'd Camelot ; 
 Down she came and found a boat 
 Beneath a willow left afloat, 
 And ronnd about the prow she wTote 
 
 The Lady of Shcdott. 
 
 And down the river's dim expanse — 
 Like some bold seer in a trance. 
 Seeing all liis own mischance — 
 With a glassy countenance 
 
 Did she look to Camelot. 
 And at the closing of the day 
 She loosed the chain, and down she lay ; 
 Tiic broad stream bore her far away. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Lying, robed in snowy white 
 That loosely flew to left and right — 
 The leaves upon her falling light — 
 Thro' the noises of the niglit 
 
 She floated down to Camelot ; 
 And as the boat-head wound along 
 Tlie willowy hills and fields among. 
 They heard her singing her last song. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Heard a carol, mournful, holy. 
 Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, 
 Till her blood was frozen slowly. 
 And her eyes were darken'd wholly, 
 
 Turn'd to tower'd Camelot ; 
 For ere she reach'd upon the tide 
 The first house by the Avater-side, 
 Singing in her song she died. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Under tower and balcony, 
 By garden-wall and gallery, 
 A gleaming shape she floated by. 
 Dead-pale between the houses high. 
 
 Silent into Camelot ; 
 Out upon the wharfs they came. 
 Knight and burgher, lord and dame. 
 And round the prow they read her name. 
 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Who is this ? and what is here ? 
 And in the lighted palace near 
 Died the sound of royal cheer; 
 
 And they cross'd themselves for fear, 
 AJJ the knights at Camelot ; 
 
 But Lancelot mused a little space ; 
 
 He said, " She has a lovely face ; 
 
 God in his mercy lend her grace. 
 The Lady of Shalott." 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 SIB GAIiAHAD. 
 
 My good blade carves the casques of 
 men, 
 
 My tough lance thrusteth sure ; 
 My strength is as the strength of ten, 
 
 Because my heart is pure. 
 The shattering trumpet shrilleth high. 
 
 The hard brands shiver on the steel. 
 The splinter'd spear-ahafts crack and 
 
 fly. 
 
 The horse and rider reel ; 
 They reel, they roll in clanging lists. 
 
 And when the tide of combat stands. 
 Perfume and flowers fall in showers. 
 
 That lightly rain from ladies' hands. 
 
 How sweet are looks that ladies bend 
 
 On whom their favours fall ! 
 For them I battle till the end. 
 
 To save from shame and thrall : 
 But all my heart is drawn above. 
 
 My knees are bowed in crypt and 
 shrine : 
 I never felt the kiss of love. 
 
 Nor maiden's hand in mine. 
 More bounteous aspects on me beam. 
 
 Me mightier transports move and 
 thrUl; 
 So keep I fear thro' faith and prayer 
 
 A virgin heart in work and will. 
 
 When down the stormy crescent goes, 
 
 A light before me swims. 
 Between dark stems the forest glows, 
 
 I hear a noise of hymns : 
 Then by some secret shrine I ride ; 
 
 I hear a voice, but none are there ; 
 The stalls are void, the doors are wide. 
 
 The tapers burning fair. 
 Fair gleams the snowy altar-cloth. 
 
 The silver vessels sparkle clean. 
 The shrill bell rings, the censer swings, 
 
 And solemn chants resound between 
 
342 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres 
 
 I fmd a magic bark ; 
 I leap on board : no helmsman steers : 
 
 I float till all is dark. 
 A gentle sound, an awful light ! 
 
 Three angels bear the holy Grail : 
 With folded feet, in stoles of white, 
 
 On sleeping wings they sail. 
 Ah, blessed vision ! blood of God ! 
 
 My spirit beats her mortal bars. 
 As do-n-n dark tides the glory slides. 
 
 And star-like mingles with the stars. 
 
 'V^'lien on my goodly charger borne 
 
 Thro' dreaming towns I go, 
 The cock crows ere the Christmas 
 morn, 
 
 The streets are dumb with snow. 
 The tempest crackles on the leads. 
 
 And, ringing, spins from brand and 
 mail ; 
 But o'er the dark a glory spreads, 
 
 And gilds the driving hail. 
 1 leave the plain, I climb the height ; 
 
 Ko branchy thicket shelter yields ; 
 But blessed forms in whistling storms 
 
 Fly o'er waste fens and windy liclds. 
 
 A maiden knight— to me is given 
 
 Such hope, I know not fear ; 
 I yearn to breathe the airs of Heaven 
 
 That often meet me here. 
 I muse on joy that will not cease. 
 
 Pure spaces clothed in living beams, 
 Pure lilies of eternal peace. 
 
 Whose odours haunt my dreams ; 
 And, stricken by an angel's hand. 
 
 This mortal armour that I Mear, 
 This weight and size, this heart and 
 eyes, 
 
 Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air. 
 
 The clouds are broken in the sky. 
 
 And thro' the mountain-walls. 
 A rolling organ-harmony 
 
 Swells up, and shakes and falls. 
 Then move the trees, the copses nod, 
 
 Wings flutter, voices hover clear : 
 " just and faithful knight of God ! 
 
 Ride on ! the prize is near." 
 So pass I hostel, hall, and grange ; 
 
 By bridge and ford, by park and 
 
 pale, 
 Alt-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide, 
 
 Until I find the holy Grail. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 FAIR HELEN OE KIHCONNEIi. 
 T WISH I were where Helen lies ! 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 O that I were where Helen lies. 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee ! 
 
 Curst be the heart that thought the 
 
 thought 
 And curst the hand that fired the shot. 
 When in my arms burd Helen dropt. 
 And died to succour me ! 
 
 think na ye my heart was sair, 
 When my love dropt down and spak nae 
 
 mair ! 
 There did she swoon wi' meikle care. 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 As I went down the water side, 
 None but my foe to be my guide. 
 None but my foe to be my guide. 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 1 lighted down, my sword did draw, 
 I hacked him in pieces sma' 
 
 I hacked him in pieces sma'. 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
 O Helen fair, beyond compare ! 
 I'll make a garland for thy hair. 
 Shall hind my heart for evermair. 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 O that I were where Helen lies, 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 Out of my bed she bids me rise 
 
 Says, " Haste, and come to me ! " 
 
 Helen fair ! Helen chaste ! 
 If I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou lies low, and takes thy 
 
 rest 
 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 1 wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding sheet drawn ouer my een. 
 And I by my fair Helen lying, 
 
 On fair Kirconnel Lee. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies I 
 Night and day on me she cries. 
 And I am weary of the skies, 
 
 For her sake that died for me. 
 
Ballads. 
 
 343 
 
 "THE LINNET IN THE EOCKY 
 DEIiLS " 
 
 The linnet in the rocky dells, 
 
 The moor-lark in the air, 
 The bee among the heather bells. 
 
 That hide my lady fair : 
 
 The wild deer browse above her breast ; 
 
 The wild birds raise their brood ; 
 And they, her smiles of love caressed, 
 
 Have left her solitude ! 
 
 I ween, that when the grave's dark wall 
 
 Did first her form retain. 
 They thought their hearts could ne'er 
 recall. 
 
 The light of joy again. 
 
 They thought the tide of grief would 
 flow. 
 
 Unchecked through future years ; 
 But Avhere is all their anguisli now, 
 
 And where arc all their tears ? 
 
 Well, let them fight for honour's breath, 
 Or pleasure's shade pursue — 
 
 The dweller in the land of Death, 
 Is changed and careless too. 
 
 And if their eyes should watch and weep 
 
 Till sorrow's source were drj', 
 She would not in her tranquil sleep 
 Return a single sigh ! 
 
 Blow, west wind, by the lonely mound. 
 And murmur, summer streams — 
 
 There is no need of other sound 
 To soothe my ladj^'s dreams. 
 
 Emily Bronte. 
 
 BARBABA ALLEN'S CRUELTY. 
 In Scarlet town, where I was born. 
 
 There was a fair maid dwelling. 
 Made every youth cry " Well-away 1 " 
 
 Her name was Barbara Allen. 
 
 All in the merry month of May, 
 
 When green buds they were swelling, 
 
 Young Jemmy Grove on his death- bed 
 lay, 
 For love of Barbara Allen. 
 
 He sent his man unto her then. 
 
 To the town wlicre she was dwelling; 
 
 *' You must come to my master dear. 
 If your name be Barljara Allen. 
 
 For death is printed on his face, 
 And o'er his heart is stealing ; 
 
 Then haste away to comfort him, 
 O lovely Barbara Allen." 
 
 " Though death be printed on his face. 
 And o'er his heart is stealing. 
 
 Yet little better shall he be. 
 For bonny Barbara Allen." 
 
 So slowly, slowly, she came up. 
 And slowly she came nigh him ; 
 
 And all she said, when there she came, 
 " Young man , I think you're dying." 
 
 He turned his face imto her straight, 
 AVith deadly sorrow sighing, 
 
 " lovely maid, come pity me, 
 I'm on my death-bed lying." 
 
 " If on yoiu: death-bed you do lie. 
 What needs the tale you're telling ; 
 
 I cannot keep you from your death ; 
 Farewell," said Barbara Allen. 
 
 He tum'd his face unto the wall, 
 
 As deadly pangs he fell in ; 
 *' Adieu ! Adieu ! Adieu to you all. 
 
 Adieu to Barbara Allen." 
 
 As she was walking o'er the fields. 
 She heard the bell a-knelling. 
 
 And every stroke did seem to say, 
 " Unworthy Barbara Allen ! " 
 
 She turn'd her body round about. 
 And spied the corpse a-coming, 
 
 *' Lay down, lay down, the corpse," she 
 said, 
 " That I may look upon him." 
 
 With scornful eye she looked down. 
 Her cheeks with laughter sweUing, 
 
 Whilst all her friends cried out amain, 
 " Unworthy Barbara Allen ! " 
 
 When he was dead and laid in grave 
 Her heart was struck with sorrow, 
 
 " O mother, mother, make my bed. 
 For I shall die to-morrow." 
 
 Hard-hearted creature him to slight. 
 Who loved me so dearly ; 
 
344 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 O that I had been more kind to him, 
 When he was alive and near me ! 
 
 She, on her death- bed as she lay, 
 Begg'd to be buried by him ; 
 
 And sore repented of the day. 
 That she did ere deny him. 
 
 " Farewell," she said, " ye virgins all. 
 And shmi the fault I fell in ; 
 
 Henceforth, take warning by the fall 
 Of cruel Barbara Allen." 
 
 BOSABELIiB. 
 
 listen, listen, ladies gay ! 
 
 No haughty feat of arms I tell { 
 Soft is the note, and sad the lay, 
 
 That mourns the lovely Rosabella. 
 
 " Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant 
 crew. 
 
 And gentle lady, deign to stay ! 
 Rest thee in Castle Ravenheuch, 
 
 Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day, 
 
 " The blackening wave is edged with 
 
 white ; 
 
 To inch and rock the sea-mews fly ; 
 
 The fishers have heard the Water- Sprite, 
 
 Whose screams forbode that wreck 
 
 is nigh. 
 
 " Last night the gifted seer did view 
 A wet shroud swathed round lady 
 
 ga^y ; 
 
 Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch ?' 
 Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? " 
 
 " 'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir 
 To-night at RosUn leads the ball, 
 
 But that my lady-mother there 
 Sits lonely in her castle hall. 
 
 " 'Tis not because the ring they ride. 
 And Lindesay at the ring rides well, 
 
 But that my sire the wine will chide 
 If 'tis not fill'd by Rosabelle." 
 
 — O'er Roshn all that dreary night 
 A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; 
 
 'Twas broader than the watch-fires' light 
 And i-edder than the bright moon- 
 beam. 
 
 It glared on Roslin's castled rock. 
 It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 
 
 'Twas seen from Drj'den's groves of oak. 
 And seen from cavem'd Haw- 
 thornden. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire that chapel proud 
 Where Roslin's chiefs uncoflin'd he. 
 
 Each Baron, for a sable shroud, 
 Sheath'd in his iron panoply. 
 
 Seem'd all on fire within, around. 
 Deep sacristy and altar's pale ; 
 
 Shone every pillar foUage-bound, 
 And gUmmer'd all the dead men's 
 maU. 
 
 Blazed battlement and pinnet high. 
 Blazed every rose-carved buttress 
 fair — 
 
 So still they blaze, when fate is nigh 
 The lordly Une of high St. Clair. 
 
 There are twenty of RosUn's barons bold 
 Lie buried within that proud chapelle ; 
 
 Each one the holy vault doth hold, 
 But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle I 
 
 And each St. Clair was buried there. 
 With candle, with book, and with 
 knell; 
 But the sea-caves rung, and the wild 
 winds sung, 
 The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, 
 
 ATTLD BOBIN GRAY. 
 
 (scotch dialect.) 
 When the sheep are in the fauld, and 
 
 the kye at hame. 
 And all the world to sleep are gane, 
 The woes of my heart fall in showers 
 
 frae my e'e. 
 While my gudeman Ues sound by me. 
 
 Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought 
 
 me for his bride. 
 But saving a crown he had naething 
 
 mair beside. 
 To make the crown a pound, my Jamie 
 
 gaed to sea ; 
 And the crown and the pound were 
 
 baith for me I 
 
Ballads. 
 
 345 
 
 He hadna been gane a week but only 
 
 twa, 
 When my father brak his arm, and 
 
 our cow was stown awa ; 
 My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie 
 
 at the sea ; 
 And auld Robin Gray came a-courting 
 
 me 1 
 
 My father couldna work, my mother 
 
 couldna spin ; 
 I toiled day and night, but their bread 
 
 I couldna win ; 
 Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, 
 
 wi' tears in his ee. 
 Said ; " Jeanie, for their sakes, will you 
 
 no marry me ? " 
 
 My heart it said na — I look'd for 
 
 Jamie back ; 
 But the wind it blew high, and the ship 
 
 it was a wrack ; 
 His ship it was a wrack — why didna 
 
 Jeanie dee ? 
 Oh ! why do I live to say " Wae's me ? ' 
 
 My father argued sair ; my mother 
 
 didna speak. 
 But she looked in my face, till my heart 
 
 was like to break ; 
 So they gi'ed liirn my hand, though my 
 
 heart was at sea ; 
 And auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me. 
 
 I hadna been a wife a week but only 
 
 four, 
 When, mournful as I sat on the stane 
 
 at the door, 
 I saw my Jamie's wraith, I couldna 
 
 think it he. 
 Till he said, " I'm come hame, my love, 
 
 to marry thee." 
 
 Oh sair did we greet, and mickle did 
 we say ; 
 
 We took but ae kiss and we tore our- 
 selves away. 
 
 I wish that I were dead, but I'm no 
 like to dee ; 
 
 Oh ! why waa I bom to say, " Wae'a 
 me ! " 
 
 I gang like s ghaist, and I carena to 
 
 spin, 
 I darena think on Jamie, for that would 
 
 be a sin : 
 
 But I will do my best a gude wife aye 
 
 to be, 
 For auld Robin Gray, is a kind gudeman 
 
 to me. 
 
 Lady Anne Lindsay. 
 
 EDWABD GHAT. 
 
 Sweet Emma Moreland of yonder 
 town. 
 Met we walking on yonder way, 
 " And have you lost your heart ? " she 
 said ; 
 " And are you married yet, Edward 
 Gray ? " 
 
 Sweet Emma Moreland spoke to me : 
 Bitterly weeping I turn'd away : 
 
 " Sweet Emma Moreland, love no more 
 Can touch the heart of Edward Gray. 
 
 " Ellen Adair she loved me well, 
 
 Against her father's and mother's 
 wiU; 
 
 To-day I sat for an hour and wept. 
 By Ellen's grave, on the windy hill. 
 
 " Shy she was, and I thought her cold ; 
 
 Thought her proud and fled over the 
 sea ; 
 Fill'd I was with foUy and spite, 
 
 When Ellen Adair waa dying for me. 
 
 " Cruel, cruel the words I said ! 
 
 Cruelly came they back to-day : 
 ' You're too slight and fickle,' I said 
 
 To trouble the heart of Edward Gray. 
 
 " There I put my face in the grass — 
 Whisper'd, ' Listen to my despair : 
 
 I repent me of all I did 
 
 Speak a little, Ellen Adair I * 
 
 " Then I took a pencil, and wrote 
 On the mossy stone as I lay, 
 
 ' Here Ues the body of Ellen Adair ; 
 And here the heart of Edward Gray 1' 
 
 " Love may come, and love may go 
 And fly like a bii'd, from tree to tree : 
 
 But I will love no more, no more, 
 Till Ellen Adair come back to me. 
 
 " Bitterly wept I over the stone : 
 Bitterly weeping I turn'd awayt 
 
346 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 There lies the body of Ellen Adair ! 
 And there the heart of Edward 
 Gray 1 " 
 
 Lord Tennyson, 
 
 liA BELLE DAME SANS 
 MEKCI. 
 
 O WHAT can ail thee, Knight-at-arms, 
 Alone and palely loitering ? 
 
 The sedge has wither'd from the lake, 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 what can ail thee, knight-at-arms I 
 So haggard and so woe- begone 1 
 
 The squirrel's granary is full. 
 And the harvest's done. 
 
 1 see a hly on thy brow. 
 
 With anguish moist and fever dew. 
 And on thy cheeks a fading rose 
 Fast withered too. 
 
 I met a lady in the meads, 
 
 Full beautiful — a faery's child. 
 
 Her hair was long, her foot was hght. 
 And her eyes were wild. 
 
 I made a garland for her head. 
 
 And bracelets too, and fi-agrant zone ; 
 
 She look'd at me as she did love. 
 And made sweet moan. 
 
 I set her on my pacing steed, 
 
 And nothing else saw all day long. 
 
 For sidelong she would bend and sing, 
 A faery's song. 
 
 She found me roots of relish sweet. 
 And honey wild and manna dew. 
 
 And sure in language strange she said, 
 " I love thee true." 
 
 She took me to her elfin grot. 
 
 And there she wept, and sigh'd full 
 sore. 
 And there I shut her wild, wild eyes 
 
 With Kisses four. 
 
 And there she hdled me asleep, 
 
 And there I drcam'd — Ah ! woe 
 betide. 
 
 The latest dream I ever dream'd 
 On the cold hill's side. 
 
 I saw pale kings and princes too, 
 Pale warriors, death-pale were they 
 all; 
 They cried — " La Belle Dame sans 
 Merci 
 Hath thee in thrall ! " 
 
 I saw their starved lips in the gloam. 
 With horrid warning gaped Avide, 
 
 And I awoke and found me here. 
 On the cold hiU's side. 
 
 And this is why I sojourn here. 
 
 Alone and palely loitering, 
 Though the sedge is wither'd from the 
 lake. 
 And no birds sing. 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 ANNIE LAURIE. 
 
 Maxwelton braes are bonnie 
 Where early fa's the dew. 
 And its there that Annie Laurie 
 Gie'd me her promise true — 
 Gie'd me her promise true. 
 Which ne'er forgot wiU be ; 
 And for bonnie Annie I^aurie 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 Her brow is hke the snawdrift. 
 Her throat is like the swan. 
 Her face it is the fairest 
 That e'er the sun shone on — 
 That e'er the sun shone on : 
 And dark blue is her e'e ; 
 And for bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 Like dew on the gowan lying 
 Is the fa' o' her fairy feet ; 
 Like the winds in summer sighing. 
 Her voice is low and sweet — 
 Her voice is low and sweet ; 
 And she's' a' the world to me ; 
 And for Bonnie Annie Laurie 
 I'd lay me doune and dee. 
 
 Williain Douglas of Fingland. 
 
 LORD TTLLIN'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 A Chieftain to the Highlands bound 
 Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry 1 
 
 And I'll give thee a silver pound 
 To row us o'er the ferry I " 
 
Ballads. 
 
 347 
 
 —"Now, who be ye, would cross 
 Lochgyle 
 
 This dark and stormy water ? " 
 — " O I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, 
 
 And this. Lord Ullin's daughter. 
 
 " And fast before her father's men 
 Three days we've fled together. 
 
 For should he find us in the glen. 
 My blood would stain the heather. 
 
 " His horsemen hard behind us ride — 
 Should they our steps discover. 
 
 Then who will cheer my bonny bride 
 When they have slain her lover ? " 
 
 Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 
 " I'll go, my chief, I'm ready : 
 
 It is not for your silver bright. 
 But for your winsome lady : — 
 
 " And by my word ! the bonny bird 
 
 In danger shall not tarry ; 
 So though the waves are raging white, 
 
 I'll row you o'er the ferry." 
 
 By this the storm grew loud apace. 
 The water-wraith was shrieking ; 
 
 And in the scowl of heaven each face 
 Grew dark as they were speaking. 
 
 But still as wilder blew the wind. 
 And as the night grew drearer, 
 
 Adown the glen rode armed men, 
 Their trampling sounded nearer. 
 
 " O haste thee, haste ! " the lady cries, 
 " Though tempests round us gather ; 
 
 I'll meet the raging of the skies, 
 But not an angry father ! " 
 
 The boat has left a stormy land, 
 A stormy sea before her — 
 
 When, O ! too strong for human hand 
 The tempest gather'd o'er her. 
 
 And still they row'd amidst the roar 
 
 Of waters fast prevailing : 
 Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore, — 
 
 His wrath was changed to wailing. 
 
 for, sore dismay'd, through storm and 
 shade 
 
 His child he did discover : — 
 One lovely hand she strctch'd for aid, 
 
 And one was round her lover. 
 
 " Come back ! come back ! " he cried 
 in grief. 
 
 Aero s this stormy water : 
 And I'll forgive your Highland chief : — 
 
 My daughter ! — O my daughter ! " 
 
 'Twas vain : the loud waves lash'd the 
 shore, 
 
 lletuin or aid preventing : 
 The waters wild went o'er his child, 
 
 And he was left lamenting. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 TAFFAR. 
 
 Jaffar, the Barmecide, the good Vizier, 
 
 The poor man's hope, the friend 
 without a peer. 
 
 Jaffar was dead, slain by a doom 
 imjust ; 
 
 And guilty Haroun, sullen with mis- 
 trust 
 
 Of what the good, and e'en the bad 
 might say, 
 
 Ordain'd that no man living from that 
 day 
 
 Should dare to speak his name on pain 
 of death. 
 
 All Araby and Persia held their breath. 
 
 All but the brave Mondeer. — He, 
 
 proud to show 
 How far for love a grateful soul could 
 
 go, 
 And facing death for very scorn and 
 
 grief, 
 (For his great heart wanted a great 
 
 relief,) 
 Stood forth in Bagdad, daily in the 
 
 square 
 Where once had stood a hajjpy houtse, 
 
 and there 
 Harangued the tremblers at the 
 
 scymitar 
 On all they owed to the divine Jaffar. 
 
 " Bring me this man," the cahph cried : 
 
 the man 
 Was Ijrought, was gazed upon. The 
 
 mutes began 
 To bind his arms. '' Welcome, brave 
 
 cords," cried he ; 
 " From bonds far worse Jaffar dcliver'd 
 
 me ; 
 
U8 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 From wants, from shames, from love- 
 less household fears ; 
 
 Made a man's eyes friends with 
 delicious tears ; 
 
 Restor'd me, loved me, put me on a 
 par 
 
 With his great self. How can I pay 
 JafEar ? " 
 
 Haroun, who felt that on a soul like 
 
 this 
 The mightiest vengeance could but 
 
 fall amiss, 
 Now deigned to smile, as one great 
 
 lord of fate 
 Might smile upon another half as 
 
 great. 
 He said, " Let worth grow frenzied if 
 
 it will ; 
 The caUph's judgment shall be master 
 
 still. 
 Go, and since gifts so move thee, take 
 
 this gem, 
 The richest in the Tartar's diadem, 
 And hold the giver as thou deemest 
 
 fit." 
 " Gifts ! " cried the friend. He took ; 
 
 and holding it 
 High towards the heaven, as though 
 
 to meet his star 
 Exclaimed, " This, too, I owe to thee, 
 
 Jaffar 1 " 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Till all the pit, with sand and mane, 
 was in a thundrous smother ; 
 
 The bloody foam above the bars came 
 whisking through the air ; 
 
 Said Francis, then, " Faith, gentlemen, 
 we're better here than there ! " 
 
 De Lorge's love o'erheard the King, a 
 
 beaut 0U3, hvely dame. 
 With smiUng lips, and sharp, bright 
 
 eye=>, which always seemed the same : 
 She thought, "the Count my lover, is 
 
 as brave as brave can be. 
 He surely would do wondrous things 
 
 to show his love of me ! 
 King, ladies, lovers, all look on, the 
 
 occasion is divine ; 
 I'll drop my glove to prove his love, 
 
 great glory will be mine ! " 
 
 She dropped her glove to prove his 
 
 love, then looked at him and smiled : 
 He bowed, and in a moment leaped 
 
 among the hons wild ; 
 The leap was quick ; return was quick ; 
 
 he has regained his place. 
 Then threw the glove, but not with love, 
 
 right in the lady's face ! 
 " In truth ! " cried Francis, " rightly 
 
 done ! " and he rose from where he 
 
 sat ; 
 " No love," quoth he, " but vanity 
 
 sets love a task Hke that." 
 
 Leigh Hunt, 
 
 THE GliOVE AND THE LIONS. 
 
 King Francis was a hearty king, and 
 
 loved a royal sport, 
 And one day, as his Uons fought, sat 
 
 looking on the court ; 
 The nobles fiU'd the benches, and the 
 
 ladies in their pride. 
 And 'mongst them sat the Count de 
 
 Lorge, with one for whom he sigh'd ; 
 And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see 
 
 that crowning show — 
 Valour and love, and a king above, 
 
 and the royal beasts below. 
 
 Ramped and roared the lions, with 
 
 horrid, laughing jaws ; 
 They bit, they glared, gave blows like 
 
 beams, a wind went with their paws ; 
 With wallowing might and stifled roar 
 
 they rolled one on another. 
 
 THE OUTLAWS SONG. 
 
 The chough and crow to rest are gone, 
 
 The owl sits in the tree. 
 The hush'd wind wails with feebl;* moan. 
 
 Like infant charity. 
 The wild fire dances on the fen. 
 
 The red star sheds its ray ; 
 Uprouse ye, then, my merry men I 
 
 It is our opening day. 
 
 Both child and nurse are fast asleep, 
 
 And closed is every flower. 
 And winking tapers faintly peep 
 
 Higli from my lady's bower ; 
 Bewildered hinds with shortened ken 
 
 Shrink on their murky way ; 
 Uprouse ye, then, my merry men ! 
 
 It is our opening day 
 
Ballads. 
 
 349 
 
 Nor board nor gamer own we now, 
 
 Nor roof nor latched door. 
 Nor kind mate, bound by holy vow. 
 
 To bless a good man's store ; 
 Noon lulls us in a gloomy den, 
 
 And night is grown our day ; 
 Uprouse ye, then, my merry men. 
 
 And use it as ye may." 
 
 Joanna Baillie, 
 
 THE OUTLAW. 
 O Bkignall banks are wild and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green, 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 And as I rode by Dalton-Hall 
 
 Beneath the turrets high, 
 A Maiden on the castle-wall 
 
 Was singing merrily : 
 " O Brignall Banks are fresh and fair. 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our Enghsh quten." 
 
 " If, Maiden, thou wouldst wend with 
 me, 
 
 To leave both bower and town, 
 Thou first must guess what hfe lead we 
 
 That dwell by dale and down. 
 And if thou canst that riddle read, 
 
 As read fuU well you may. 
 Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed 
 
 As blithe as Queen o' May." 
 Yet sung she, " Brignall banks are fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are green ; 
 I'd rather rove with Edmund there 
 
 Than reign our English queen," 
 
 " I read you by your biiglc-horn 
 
 And by your palfrey good, 
 I read you for a ranger sworn 
 
 To keep the king's greenwood." 
 " A Ranger, lady, winds his horn. 
 
 And 'tis at peep of light ; 
 His blast is heard at merry morn, 
 
 And mine at dead of night." 
 Yet sung she, " Brignall banks arc fair, 
 
 And Greta woods are gay ; 
 I would I were with Edmund there 
 
 To reign his Queen of May ! 
 
 " With bumish'd brand and musketoon 
 
 So gallantly you come. 
 I read you for a bold dragoon 
 
 That lists the tuck of drum." 
 " I list no more the tuck of drum, 
 
 No more the trumpet hear ; 
 But when the beetle sounds his ham 
 
 My comrades take the spear. 
 And O ! though Brignall banks be fair, 
 
 And Greta woods be gay. 
 Yet mickle must the maiden dare 
 
 Would reign my Queen of May ! 
 
 " Maiden ! a nameless life I lead, 
 
 A nameless death I'll die ! 
 The fiend whose lantern lights the meail 
 
 Were better mate than I ! 
 And when I'm with my comrades met 
 
 Beneath the greenwood bough 
 What once we were we all forget. 
 
 Nor think what we are now." 
 
 Ghokus. 
 
 Yet Brignall banks are fresh and fair, 
 And Greta woods are green. 
 
 And you may gather garlands there 
 Would grace a summer-queen. 
 
 Sir Walter ScoU. 
 
GIRLHOOD. 
 
 THE NAMES. 
 In Christian world Mary the garland 
 
 wears ! 
 Rebecca sweetens on a Hebrew's ear ; 
 Quakers for pure Priscilla are more 
 
 clear ; 
 And the light Gaul by amorous Ninoh 
 
 swears. 
 Among the lesser lights how Lucy 
 
 shines ! 
 What air of fragrance Rosamond 
 
 tlirows around 1 
 How like a hymn doth sweet Cecilia 
 
 sound ' 
 Of Marthas, and of Abigails, few 
 
 lines 
 Have bragg'd in verse. Of coarsest 
 
 household stuff 
 Should homely Joan be fashioned. 
 
 But can 
 You Barbara resist, or Marian ? 
 And is not Clare for love excuse 
 
 enough ? 
 Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess. 
 These all, than Saxon Edith, please 
 
 me less. 
 
 Cluirles Lamb. 
 
 TO A CHILD OF NOBLE BIRTH. 
 
 My noble, lovely, little Peggy, 
 Let this my First Epistle beg ye. 
 At dawn of morn and close of even. 
 To lift your heart and hands to Heaven. 
 In double duty say your prayer : 
 Our Father first, then Notre Pere. 
 
 And, dearest cliild, along the day. 
 In everything you do and say. 
 Obey and please my lord and lady. 
 So God shall love and angels aid ye. 
 
 If to these precepts you attend. 
 No second letter need I send. 
 And so I rest your constant friend. 
 
 Matthew Prior, 
 
 CHEBRY RIPE. 
 
 Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry. 
 
 Full and fair ones — come and buy 
 
 If so be you ask me where 
 
 These do grow ? — I answer • There 
 
 Where my Julia's lips do smile — 
 
 Whose plantations fully show 
 
 All the year where cherries grow. 
 
 Eobert Herrick. 
 
 WINNT, 
 
 Her blue eyes they beam and they 
 twinlde. 
 Her lips have made smiling more 
 fair ; 
 On cheek and on brow there's no 
 wrinkle. 
 But thousands of curls in her hair. 
 
 She's little, — you don't wish her 
 taller ; 
 Just half through her teens is her 
 age; 
 And baby or lady to call her, 
 
 Wefe something to puzzle a sage I 
 
 Her walk is far better than dancing ; i 
 She spealvS as another might sing ; 
 
 And all by an innocent chancing. 
 Like lambkins and birds in the spring. 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 351 
 
 William Allingham. 
 
 j Unskilled in the airs of the city, 
 1 She's perfect in natural grace ; 
 She's gentle, and truthful, and witty, 
 And ne'er spends a thought on her 
 1 face. 
 
 j Her face, with the fine glow that's in it, 
 i As fresh as an apple-tree bloom ; 
 
 And O ! when she conies, in a minute, 
 
 kLike sunbeams she brightens the 
 room. 
 LirCY'S BIBTHDAY. 
 Seventeen rose-buds in a ring, 
 \ Thick with sister flowers beset. 
 In a fragrant coronet, 
 Lucy's servants this day bring. 
 Be it the birthday wreath she wears 
 
 Fresh and fair and symbolling 
 The young number of her years. 
 The sweet blushes of her spring. 
 
 Types of youth and love and hope ! 
 
 Friendly hearts your mistress greet. 
 
 Be you ever fair and sweet. 
 And grow lovelier as you ope ! 
 Itcntle nurseling, fenced about 
 
 With fond care, and guarded so. 
 Scarce you've heard of storms without. 
 
 Frosts that bite or winds that blow ! 
 
 Kindly has your life begun, 
 
 And we pray that Heaven may send 
 To our floweret a warm sun, 
 
 A calm summer, a sweet end. 
 And where'er shall be her home, 
 
 May she decorate the place ; 
 Still expanding into bloom, 
 
 And developing in grace. 
 
 William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 I LOVE IN ISA'S BED TO LIE.* 
 " I LOVE in Isa's bed to lie, 
 Oh ! such a joy and luxury. 
 At the bottom of the bed I sleep, 
 
 ' ilarjorie Fleming died at the age of eight 
 years. Isa was her cousin Isabelle. 
 
 And with great care I myself keep ; 
 Oft I embrace her feet of lilies 
 But she has gotten all the pillies I 
 Her neck I never can embrace 
 But I do hug her feet in place. 
 Yet I am sure I'd rather be 
 In a small bed at liberty ! " 
 
 Marjorie Fleming. 
 
 TO HELEN". 
 
 Helen, thy beauty is to mo 
 
 Like those Nicean barks of yore. 
 
 That gently, o'er a perfumed sea. 
 The weary way-worn wanderer bore 
 To his own native shore. 
 
 On desperate seas long wont to roam. 
 Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face. 
 
 Thy Naiad airs have brougiit me homo 
 To the glory that was Greece 
 
 And the grandeur that was Rome. 
 
 Lo ! in your brilliant window-niche 
 How statue-like I see thee stand 
 The agate lamp within thy hand. 
 
 Ah ! Psyche, from the regions which 
 Are Holy land. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 HOSE AYLMER. 
 
 Ah ! what avails the sceptred Race 
 And what the form divine ? 
 
 What every virtue, every grace ? 
 Rose Aylmer, all were thine ! 
 
 Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 
 
 May weep but never see, 
 A niglit of memories and sighs 
 
 I consecrate to thee. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 HAVE YOU SEEN A BBIGHT 
 LILY GROW. 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
 Before rude hands have touched it ? 
 
 Have you marked but the fall of the 
 snow. 
 Before the soil hath smutched it ? 
 
3.52 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver T 
 Or swan's down ever ? 
 Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier ? 
 Or the nard i' the fire ? 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 Oh, so white ! oh, so soft ! oh, so sweet, 
 is she I 
 
 Ben Jonson, 
 
 TO DIANA'. 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep. 
 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 State in wonted manner keep. 
 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose ; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear, when day did close ; 
 Bless us then with wished sight. 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart. 
 And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 
 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever : 
 
 Thou that mak'st a day of night 
 
 Goddess, excellently bright. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 WHO IS SILVIA? 
 
 Who is Silvia ? What is she. 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 
 Holy, fair, and wise is she; 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her. 
 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair ? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness : 
 Love doth to her eyes repair. 
 
 To help him of his blindness ; 
 And, being helped, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling 
 She excels each mortal thing 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling ; 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 THE BEaGAR MAID. 
 
 Her arms across her breast she laid ; 
 
 She was more fair than words can 
 say: 
 Bare- footed came the beggar maid 
 
 Before the king Cophetua. 
 In robe and crown the king stept down, 
 
 To meet and greet her on her way ; 
 •' It is no wonder," said the lords, 
 
 *' She is more beautiful than day." 
 
 As shines the moon in clouded skies. 
 
 She in her poor attire was seen : 
 One praised her ankles, one her eye? 
 
 One her dark hair and lonesome mien. 
 So sweet a face, such angel grace. 
 
 In all that land had never been : 
 Cophetua sware a royal oath : 
 
 " This beggar maid shall be my 
 queen [ " 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 SHE WAS A PHANTOM OF 
 DELIGHT. 
 
 She was a Phantom of dehght 
 When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
 A lovely Apparition, sent 
 To be a moment's ornament ; 
 Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; 
 Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair : 
 But aU things else about her drawn 
 From May-time and the cheerful Dawn. 
 A dancing Shape, an Image gay. 
 To haunt, to startle, and way-lay. 
 I saw her upon nearer view, 
 A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 
 Her household motions light and free, 
 And steps of virgin liberty ; 
 A countenance in which did meet 
 Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 
 A Creature not too bright or good 
 For human nature's daily food ; 
 For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
 Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and 
 smiles. 
 
 And now I see with eye serene 
 The very pulse of the machine ; 
 A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
 A Traveller between life and death : 
 The reason firm, the temperate will, 
 Endurance, foresight, strength, and 
 skill ; 
 
Girlhood 
 
 353 
 
 A perfect Woman, nobly planned, 
 To warn, to comfort, and comnuui<l ; 
 And yet a Spirit still, and bright. 
 With something of angelic light. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 SHE DWELT AMONG THE 
 trNTRODDEN WAYS. 
 
 She dwelt among the yntrodden wciya 
 heside the springs of Dove, 
 
 A maid whom there were none to praise. 
 And very few to love : 
 
 A violet by a mossy stone 
 Half hidden from the eye ! — ■ 
 
 Fair as a star, when only one 
 Is shining in the sky. 
 
 She lived unknown, and few could 
 know 
 When Lucy ceased to be : 
 But she is in her grave, and, oh ! 
 The difference to me ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 MATJD. 
 
 Birds in the high Hall-garden 
 When twilight was falling, 
 
 Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud, 
 They were crying and calling. 
 
 Where was Maud ? in our wood ; 
 
 And I, who else, was with her. 
 Gathering woodland lilies. 
 
 Myriads blow together. 
 
 Birds in our woods sang 
 
 Kinging thro' the valleys, • 
 
 .Maud is here, here, here. 
 In among the lilies. 
 
 I kiss'd her slender hand. 
 She took the kiss sedately ; 
 
 Maud is not seventeen. 
 
 But she is tall and stately. 
 
 I to cry out on pride 
 
 Who have won her favour ; 
 O Maud were sure of Heaven 
 
 If lowliness could save her. 
 
 I know the way she went 
 
 Home with her maiden posy. 
 
 For her feet have touch'd the meadows 
 And left the daisies rosy. 
 
 Birds in the high Hall-garden 
 Were crying and calling to her. 
 
 Where is Maud, Maud, Maud ? 
 One is come to woo her. 
 
 Look, a horse at the door, 
 
 And little King Charles is snarling, 
 Go back, my lord, across the moor, 
 
 You are not her darling. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 THE SOLITARY REAPER. 
 
 Behold her, single in the field. 
 Yon solitary Highland lass ! 
 Heaping and singing by herself ; 
 
 Stop here, or gently pass ! 
 Alone she cuts, and binds the grain. 
 And sings a melancholy strain ; 
 
 Usten ! for the Vale profound 
 Is overflowing with the sound. 
 
 No nightingale did ever chant 
 More welcome notes to weary bands 
 Of travellers in some shady haunt, 
 
 Among Arabian sands : 
 A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard, 
 In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, 
 Breaking the silence of the seas, 
 Amongst the farthest Hebrides. 
 
 Will no one tell me what she sings ! 
 Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
 For old, unhappy, far-off things. 
 
 And battles long ago : 
 Or is it some more humble lay, 
 Familiar matter of to-day ? 
 Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain. 
 That has been, and may be again ! 
 
 Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
 As if her song could have no ending : 
 
 1 saw her singing at her work. 
 And o'er the sickle bending ; — 
 
 I listened, motionless and still ; 
 And, as I mounted up the hill, 
 The music in my heart I bore. 
 Long after it was heard no more. 
 
 WiUiam Wordsworth 
 23 
 
354 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE MAY QUEEN. 
 
 You must wake and call me early, call 
 
 me early, mother dear ; 
 To-morrow 'ill be the happiest time of 
 
 all the glad New-year ; 
 Of all the glad New-year, mother, the 
 
 maddest merriest day ; 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 There's many a black black eye, they 
 
 say, but none so bright as mine ; 
 There's Margaret and Mary, there's 
 
 Kate and Caroline : 
 But none so fair as little Alice in all 
 
 the land they say, 
 So I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 
 
 I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 I sleep so sound all night, mother, that 
 
 I shall never wake, 
 If you do not call me loud when the 
 
 day begins to break : 
 But I must gather knots of flowers, and 
 
 buds and garlands gay. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, 
 
 I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 As I came up the valley whom thinli ye 
 should I see. 
 
 But Robin leaning on the bridge be- 
 neath the hazel-tree ? 
 
 He thought of that sharp look, mother, 
 I gave him yesterday — 
 
 But I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 He thought I was a ghost, mother, for 
 
 I was all in white. 
 And I ran by him without speaking, 
 
 like a flash of light. 
 They call me cruel-hearted, but I care 
 
 not what they say. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 They say he's dying all for love, but 
 
 that can never b? : 
 They say his heart is "breaking, mother 
 
 — what i^ that to me ? 
 There's many a bolder lad 'ill woo me 
 
 any summer day, 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow 
 
 to the green. 
 And you will be there, too, mother, to 
 
 see me made the Queen ; 
 For the shepherd lads on every side 
 
 ■wiH. come from far away. 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the ]\Iay, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 The honeysuckle round the porch has 
 
 wov'n its wavy boMcre, 
 And by the meadow-trenches blow the 
 
 faint sweet cuckoo-flowers ; 
 And the wild marsh-marigold shines 
 
 like fire in swamps and hollows gra}% 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 The night winds come and go, mother, 
 
 upon the meadow-grass. 
 And the happy stars above them seem 
 
 to brighten as they pass ; 
 There will not be a drop of rain the 
 
 whole of the live-long day. 
 And I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 All the valley, mother, wiU be fresh 
 
 and green and still, 
 And the cowslip and the crowfoot are 
 
 over all the hill. 
 And the rivulet in the flowery dale will 
 
 merrily glance and play. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 
 So you must wake and call nie early, 
 
 call me early, mother dear. 
 To-morrow 'iU be the happiest time of 
 
 all the glad New-year : 
 To-morrow 'ill be of all the year the 
 
 maddest merriest day. 
 For I'm to be Queen o' the May, 
 
 mother, I'm to be Queen o' the May. 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 NEW-YEAB'S EVE. 
 
 If you're waking call me early, call i e 
 
 early, mother dear. 
 For I would see the sun rise upon the 
 
 glad New-year. 
 It is the last New-year that I shall ever 
 
 see. 
 Then you may lay me low i' the mould 
 
 and think no more of me. 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 355 
 
 To-night I saw the sun set : he set and 
 
 left behind 
 The good old year, the dear old time, 
 
 and all my peace of mind : 
 And the New-year's coming up, mother, 
 
 but I shall never see 
 The blossom on the blackthorn, the 
 
 leaf upon the tree. 
 
 Last May we made a crown of flowers : 
 
 we had a merry day ; 
 Beneath the hawthorn on the green they 
 
 made me Queen of May ; 
 And we danced about the may-pole 
 
 and in the hazel copse. 
 Till Charles's Wain came out above 
 
 the tall white chimney-tops. 
 
 There's not a flower on all the hills : 
 
 the frost is on the pane : 
 I only wish to live till the snowdrops 
 
 come again : 
 I wish the snow would melt and the 
 
 sun come out on high : 
 I long to see a flower so before the 
 
 day I die. 
 
 The building rook 'ill caw from the 
 
 windy tall elm-tree, 
 And the tufted plover pipe along the 
 
 fallow lea. 
 And the swallow 'ill come back again 
 
 with summer o'er the wave. 
 But I shall lie alone, mother, witliin 
 
 the mouldering grave. 
 
 Upon the chancel-casement, and upon 
 
 that grave of mine. 
 In the early early morning the summer 
 
 sun will shine. 
 Before the red cock crows from the 
 
 'arm upon the hill, 
 Wlien you are warm-asleep, mother, 
 
 and aU the world is still. 
 
 When the flowers come attain, mother, 
 
 beneath the waning light. 
 You'll never see me more in the long 
 
 gray fields at night ; 
 When from the dry dark wold the 
 
 summer airs blow cool 
 On the oat-gFass and the sword-grass, 
 
 and the bulrush in the pool. 
 
 You'll bury me, my mother, just be- 
 neath the hawthorn shade. 
 
 And you'll come sometimes and see 
 me where I am lowly laid. 
 
 I shall not forget you, motlier, I shall 
 liear you when you pass. 
 
 With your feet above my licad in (lie 
 long and pleasant grass. 
 
 I have been wild and wayward, but 
 
 you'll forgive me now ; 
 You'll kiss me, my own mother, and 
 
 forgive me ere I go ; 
 Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let 
 
 your grief be wild. 
 You should not fret for me, mother, 
 
 you have another child. 
 
 If I can I'll come again, mother, from 
 
 out my resting-place ; 
 Though you'll not see me, mother, I 
 
 shall look upon your face ; 
 Though I cannot speak a word, I shall 
 
 hearlvcn what you saj^ 
 And be often, often with you, when 
 
 you think I'm far away. 
 
 Good-night, good-night, when I have 
 
 said good-night for evermore, 
 And you see me carried out from the 
 
 threshold of the door ; 
 Don't let Effie come to see me till my 
 
 grave be growing green : 
 She'll be a better child to you than ever 
 
 I have been. 
 
 She'll find my garden-tools upon the 
 
 granary floor : 
 Let her take 'em : they are hers : I 
 
 shall never garden more : 
 But tell her, when I'm gone, to train 
 
 the rose-bush that I set, 
 About the parlour window and the box 
 
 of mignonette. 
 
 Good-night, sweet mother ; call me 
 
 before the day is born. 
 All night I lie awake, but I fall asleep 
 
 at morn ; 
 But I would see the sun rise upon tlu" 
 
 glad New-year, 
 So, if you're waking, call me, call me 
 
 early, mother dear. 
 
 Lord Tenni/finn. 
 
 23*" 
 
356 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 C0NCLT7SI01T TO THE MAY 
 
 QUEEN AND NEW YEAR'S 
 
 EVE. 
 
 I THOUGHT to pass away before, and 
 yet alive I am ; 
 
 And in the fields all round I hear the 
 bleating of the lamb. 
 
 How sadly, I remember, rose the morn- 
 ing of the year ! 
 
 To die before the snow-drop came, and 
 now the violet's here. 
 
 O sweet is the new violet, that comes 
 
 beneath the skies. 
 And sweeter is the young lamb's voice 
 
 to me that cannot rise, 
 And sweet is aU the land about, and all 
 
 the flowers that blow. 
 And sweeter far is death than life to 
 
 me that long to go 
 
 It seemed so hard at first, mother, to 
 
 leave the blessed sim. 
 And now it seems as hard to stay, and 
 
 yet His will be done ! 
 But still I think it can't be long before 
 
 I find release : 
 And that good man, the clergyman, 
 
 has told me words of peace. 
 
 O, blessings on his kindly voice, and 
 
 on his silver hair ! 
 And blessings on his whole life long, 
 
 until he meet me there ! 
 0, blessings on his kindly heart, and 
 
 on his silver head ! 
 A thousand times I blest him, as he 
 
 knelt beside my bed. 
 
 He taught me all the mercy, for he 
 
 showed me all the sin. 
 Now, though my lamp was lighted late, 
 
 there's One will let me in : 
 Nor would I now be well, mother, again 
 
 if that could be. 
 For my desire is but to pass to Him 
 
 that died for me. 
 
 I did not hear the dog howl, mother, or 
 
 the dead-watch beat. 
 There came a sweeter token when the 
 
 night and morning meet : 
 But sit beside my bed, mother, and put 
 
 your hand in mine. 
 And Effie on the other side, and I will 
 
 tell the sign. 
 
 All in the wild March-morning I heard 
 
 the angels call ; 
 It was when the moon was setting, and 
 
 the dark was over all ; 
 The trees began to whisper, and the 
 
 wind began to roll. 
 And in the wild March-morning I 
 
 heard them call my souk 
 
 For, lying broad awake, I thought of 
 
 you and Efiie dear ; 
 I saw you sitting in the house, and I 
 
 no longer here ; 
 With aU my strength I prayed for 
 
 both, and so I felt resigned. 
 And up the valley came a swell of 
 
 music on the wind. 
 
 I thought that it was fancy, and I lis- 
 tened in my bed. 
 
 And then did something speak to me — 
 I know not what was said ; 
 
 For great delight and shuddering took 
 hold of all my mind. 
 
 And up the vaUey came again the 
 music on the wind. 
 
 But you were sleeping ; and I said, 
 
 " It's not for them, it's min e ; " 
 And if it comes three times, I thought, 
 
 I take it for a sign. 
 And once again it came, and close 
 
 beside the window-bars. 
 Then seemed to go right up to Heaven 
 
 and die among the stars. 
 
 So now I think my time is near. I 
 
 trust it is, I know 
 The blessed music went that way my 
 
 soul will have to go. 
 And for myself, indeed, I care not if 
 
 1 go to-day. 
 But, Effie, you must comfort her when 
 
 I am past away. 
 
 And say to Robin a kind word, and 
 
 tell him not to fret ; 
 There's many worthier than I, would 
 
 make him happy yet. 
 If I had lived— I cannot tell— I might 
 
 have been his wife ; 
 But all these things have ceased to be, 
 
 with my desire of life. 
 
 O look ! the sun begins to rise, the 
 
 heavens are in a glow ; 
 He shines upon a hundred fields, and 
 
 all of them I know ; 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 357 
 
 And there I move no longer now, and 
 there his light may shine — 
 
 Wild flowers in the valley for other 
 hands than mine. 
 
 0, sweet and strange it seems to me, 
 
 that ere this day is done 
 The voice, that now is spealdng, may 
 
 be beyond the sun — 
 For ever and for ever with those just 
 
 souls and true — 
 And what is life, that we should moan f 
 
 why make we such ado ? 
 
 For ever and for ever, all in a b'essed 
 
 home — 
 And there to wait a little while till 
 
 you and Effie come — 
 To be within the light of Go:l, as I lie 
 
 upon j'our breast — 
 An<l iho wicked cease from troubling, 
 
 and tlie weary are at rest. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 HESTER. 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die. 
 Their place ye may not well supply, 
 Though ye among a thousand try. 
 With vain endeavour. 
 
 A month or more hath she been dead. 
 Yet cannot I by force be led 
 To think upon the wormy bed. 
 And her together. 
 
 A springy motion in her gait, 
 A rising step did indicate 
 Of pride and joy no common rate. 
 That flush' d her spirit. 
 
 I know not by what name beside 
 I shall it call : — if 'twas not pride. 
 It was a joy to that allied. 
 She did inherit. 
 
 Her parents held the Quaker rule. 
 Which doth the human feeling cool. 
 But she was train'd in Nature's school. 
 Nature had blest her. 
 
 A waking eye, a prying mind, 
 A heart that stirs, is hard to bind, 
 A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind. 
 Ye could not Hester. 
 
 My sprightly neighbour, gone before 
 To that unknown and silent shore. 
 Shall we not meet as heretofore. 
 Some summer morning, 
 
 When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
 Pfath struck a bliss upon the day, 
 A bliss that would not go away, 
 A sweet forewarning ? 
 
 Cliarlea Lamb. 
 
 A POBTBAIT. 
 
 I wiu. paint her as I see her : 
 Ten times have the lilies blown. 
 Since she looked upon the sun. 
 
 And her face is lily-clear — 
 Lily-shaped, and drooped in duty 
 To the law of its own beauty. 
 
 Oral cheeks encolored faintly. 
 Which a trail of golden hair 
 Keeps from fading off to air : 
 
 And a forehead fair and saintly. 
 Which two blue eyes undershine. 
 Like meek prayers before a shrine. 
 
 Face and figure of a child — 
 Though too calm, you think, and tender, 
 For the childhood you would lend her. 
 
 Yet child — simple, undefiled, 
 Frank, obedient — waiting still 
 On the turnings of your wilL 
 
 Moving light, as all young things — 
 As young birds, or early wheat 
 When the wind blows over it. 
 
 Only free from flutterings 
 
 Of loud mirth that scorneth measure — 
 
 Taking love for her chief pleasure. 
 
 Choosing pleasures (for the rest) 
 Which come softly — just as she, 
 When she nestles at your knee. 
 
 Quiet talk she likest best, 
 In a bower of gentle looks — 
 Watering flowers, or reading books. 
 
358 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And her voice, it murmurs low 13% 
 As a silver stream may run, 
 Wliioli yet feels, you "feel, the sun. 
 
 And her smile, it seems half holy, 
 As if drawn from thoughts more fair 
 Than our common jestings are. 
 
 And if any poet knew her, 
 
 He would sing of her with falls 
 
 Used in lovely madrigals. 
 
 And if any painter drew her. 
 He would paint her iinaware 
 With a halo round her hair. 
 
 And if reader read the poem. 
 
 He would whisper, " You have done a 
 
 Consecrated little Una ! " 
 
 And a dreamer (did you show him 
 That same picture) would exclaim, 
 " 'Tis my angel, with a name ! " 
 
 And a stranger — when he sees her 
 In the street even — smileth stilly, 
 Just as you would at a lily. 
 
 And all voices that address her. 
 Soften, sleeken every word. 
 As if speaking to a bird. 
 
 And all fancies yearn to cover 
 
 The hard earth whereon she passes 
 
 With the thymy scented grasses. 
 
 And all hearts do pray, " God love 
 
 her ! " 
 Ay, and always, in good sooth, 
 We may all be sure He doth. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 THE SANDS OF DEE. 
 " O Mary, go and call the cattle home. 
 And call the cattle home. 
 And call the cattle home, 
 Across the sands of Dee ! " 
 The western wind was wild and dank 
 with foam. 
 And all alone went she. 
 
 The western tide came up along the 
 sand. 
 And o'er and o'er the sand. 
 
 And round and round the sand, 
 As far as eye could see ; 
 The rolling mist came down and hid the 
 land. 
 And never home came she. 
 
 Oh ! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair 
 
 A tress of golden hair. 
 
 Of drowned maiden's hair 
 
 Above the nets at sea ? 
 Was never salmon yet that shone so fair 
 
 Among the stakes at Dee ! 
 
 They rowed her in across the rolling 
 foam. 
 The cruel, crawling foam, 
 The cruel, hungry foam. 
 To her grave beside the sea : 
 But still the boatmen hear her call the 
 cattle home 
 Across the sands of Dee. 
 
 Charles Kingsley. 
 
 liADY CLABE. 
 
 It was the time when lilies blow, 
 And clouds are highest up in air. 
 
 Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe 
 To give his cousin. Lady Clare. 
 
 I trow they did not part in scorn ; 
 
 Lovers long betroth'd were they ; 
 They two will wed the morrow morn ; 
 
 God's blessing on the day ! 
 
 " He does not love me for my birth. 
 Nor for my lands so broad and fair ; 
 
 He loves me for my own true worth. 
 And that is well," said Lady Clare. 
 
 In there came old Alice the nurse. 
 Said, " Who was this that went from 
 thee ? " 
 
 " It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, 
 " To-morrow he weds with me." 
 
 " O God be thank'd ! " said AUce the 
 nurse, 
 " That all comes round so just and 
 fair : 
 Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands. 
 And you are not the Lady Clare." 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 359 
 
 " Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, 
 
 my nurse," 
 
 Said Lady Clare, " that ye speak so 
 
 wild ? " 
 
 " As God's above," said Alice the nurse, 
 
 "Ispeak the truth : you are my child. 
 
 " The old Earl's daughter died at my 
 breast ; 
 
 I speak the truth, as I live by bread ! 
 I buried her like my own sweet child. 
 
 And put my child in her stead." 
 
 " Falsely, falsely have ye done, 
 
 O mother," she said, " if this be true. 
 
 To keep the best man under the sun 
 So many years from his due." 
 
 " Nay now, my child," said Alice the 
 nurse, 
 
 " But keep the secret for your life. 
 And all you have will be Lord Ronald's, 
 
 When you are man and wife." 
 
 " If I'm a beggar bom," she said, 
 " I will speak out, for I dare not lie. 
 
 Pull off, pull off, the brooch of gold. 
 And fling the diamond necklace by." 
 
 " Nay now, my child," said Alice the 
 nurse. 
 
 " But keep the secret all ye can." 
 She said " Not so : but I will know 
 
 If there be any faith in man." 
 
 " Nay now, what faith ? " said Alice the 
 nurse, 
 " The man will cleave unto his right." 
 " And he shall have it," the lady 
 rephed, 
 " Tho' I should die to-night." 
 
 The lily-white doe Lord Ronald had 
 brought 
 
 Leapt up from where she lay, 
 Dropt her head in the maiden's hand, 
 
 And follow'd her all the way. 
 
 Down stept Lord Ronald from his 
 
 tower, 
 
 " O Lady Clare, you shame your 
 
 worth ! 
 
 Why come you drest like a village maid, 
 
 That are the ifower of the earth ? " 
 
 " If I come drest like a village maid, 
 I am but as my fortunes are : 
 
 I am a beggar born," she said, 
 " And not the Lady Clare." 
 
 " Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
 " For I am yours in words and in deed. 
 
 Play me no tricks," said Lord Ronald, 
 " Your riddle is hard to read." 
 
 O and proudly stood she up ! 
 
 Her heart Avithin her did not fail : 
 She look'd into Lord Ronald's eyes, 
 
 And told him all her nurse's tale. 
 
 He laugh'd a laugh of merry scorn : 
 He turn'd and kiss'd her where she 
 stood 
 
 " If you are not the heiress bom. 
 And I," said he, " the next in blood — 
 
 " If you are not the heiress bom. 
 And I," said he, " the lawful heir. 
 
 We two will wed to-morrow morn. 
 And you shall still be Lady Clare." 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 " Yet give one kiss to your mother dear ! 
 
 Alas ! my child, I sinn'd for thee." 
 " O mother, mother, mother," she said, 
 
 " So strange it seems to me. 
 
 " Yet here's a kiss for my mother dear. 
 My mother dear, if this be so. 
 
 And lay your hand upon my head. 
 And bless me, mother, ere I go." 
 
 She clad herself in a russet gown. 
 She was no longer Lady Clare : 
 
 She went by dale, and she went by 
 down, 
 ^Vith a single rose in her hair. 
 
 PHOXTD SCAISIEI 
 
 Pboud Maisie is in the wood. 
 
 Walking so early ; 
 Sweet Robin sits on the bush 
 
 Singing so rarely. 
 
 *' Tell me, thou bonny bird. 
 When shall I marry me ? " 
 
 " When six braw gentlemen 
 Kirkward shall carry ye. 
 
 " Who makes the bridal bed 
 Birdie, say truly ? " 
 
360 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " The grey-headed sexton 
 That delves the grave duly. 
 
 " The glow-worm o'er grave and stone 
 
 Shall hght thee steady ; 
 The owl from the steeple sing 
 
 Welcome, proud lady." 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 MY PEGGY. 
 
 My Peggy is a yoimg thing. 
 Just entered in her teens. 
 
 Fair as the day, and always gay. 
 
 My Peggy is a young thing, 
 And I'm not very auld. 
 
 Yet well I like to meet her at 
 The wauking of the fauld. 
 
 ANNABEIiliE liEB. 
 
 It was many and many a year ago, * 
 
 In a kingdom by the sea, 
 That a maiden there Uved whom you 
 may know 
 By the name of Annabelle Lee ; 
 And this maiden she hved with no other 
 thought. 
 Than to love and be loved by me. 
 
 I was a child, and she was a child. 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea ; 
 But we loved with a love that was more 
 than love, 
 I and my AjinabeUe Lee : 
 With a love that the winged seraphs of 
 heaven 
 Coveted her and me. 
 
 And this was the reason that long ago. 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea, 
 A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 
 
 My beautiful Annabelle Lee, 
 So that her high-born kinsman came. 
 
 And bore her away from me. 
 To shut her up in a sepulchre. 
 
 In this kingdom by the sea. 
 
 But the moon never beams without 
 bringing me dreams 
 Of the beautiful Annabelle Lee ; 
 And the stars never rise but I feel the 
 bright e3'e3 
 Of the beautiful Annabelle Lee ; 
 And so, all the night-tide, I lie down 
 
 by the side 
 Of my darling — my darling — my life 
 and my bride. 
 In the sepulchre there by the sea. 
 In the tomb by the sounding sea. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly. 
 
 When on my pipe I play ; 
 
 By a' the rest it is confest. 
 
 By a' the rest, that she sings best. 
 
 My Peggy sings sae saftly. 
 
 And in her sangs are tauld. 
 With innocence, the wale of sense. 
 
 At wauking of the fauld. 
 
 Allan Ramsay, 
 
 THE BEVERIE OF POOR 
 
 SUSAN. 
 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when 
 
 daylight appears, 
 Hangs a Thrush that sings loud — it has 
 
 sung for three years ; 
 Poor Susan has passed by the spot, 
 
 and has heard 
 In the silence of morning the song of 
 
 the Bird. 
 
 'Tis a note of enchantment : what ails 
 
 her ? She sees 
 A mountain ascending, a vision of 
 
 trees ; 
 Bright volumes of vapour through 
 
 Lothbury ghde. 
 And a river flows on through the vale 
 
 of Cheapside. 
 
 Green pastures she views in the midst 
 
 of the dale, 
 Down which she so often has tripped 
 
 with her pail ; 
 And a single small cottage, a nest hke 
 
 a dove's. 
 The one only dwelling on earth that 
 
 she loves. 
 
 She looks, and her heart is in heaven : 
 
 but they fade, 
 The mist and the river, the hill and 
 
 the shade ; 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 3(il 
 
 The stream will not flow, and the hill 
 
 will not rise. 
 And the colours have all passed away 
 
 from her eyes ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 " Sure," I said, " Hcav'n did not mean 
 Where I reap thou shouldst but glean ; 
 Lay thy sheaf adown and come. 
 Share my harvest and my home." 
 
 Thomas Hood 
 
 \ THE TJGIiY PRINCESS. 
 
 My parents bow, and lead me forth. 
 
 For all the crowd to see — 
 Ah, well ! the peoi)le might not care 
 
 To cheer a dwarf Uke me. 
 
 They Uttle know how I could love, 
 How I could plan and toil. 
 
 To swell those drudges' scanty gains. 
 Their mites of rye and oil. 
 
 They httle know what dreams have been 
 My playmates, night and day ; 
 
 Of equal kindness, helpful care, 
 A mother's perfect sway. 
 
 Now earth to earth in convents walls. 
 To earth in churchyard sod : 
 
 I was not good enough for man, 
 And so am given to God. 
 
 Charles Kiiujdcy. 
 
 BTJTH. 
 
 Shb stood breast-high amid the corn, 
 Clasp'd by the golden light of morn. 
 Like the sweetheart of the sun. 
 Who many a glowing kiss had won. 
 
 On her cheek an autumn flush, 
 Deeply ripen'd : such a blush 
 In the midst of brown was born. 
 Like red poppies grown with corn. 
 
 Round her eyes her tresses fell. 
 Which were blackest none could tell. 
 But long lashes veil'd a light 
 That had else been all too bright. 
 
 And her hat, with shady brim, 
 Made her tressy forehead dim ; 
 Thus she stood amid the stooks. 
 Praising God with sweetest looks. 
 
 NO, THANK YOIT, TOM. 
 
 They met, when they were girl and boy. 
 
 Going to school one day. 
 And, " Won't you take my peg-top, 
 dear ? " 
 
 Was all that he could say. 
 She bit her httle pinafore. 
 
 Close to his side she came ; 
 She whispered, " No I no, thank you, 
 Tom," 
 
 But took it all the same. 
 
 They met one day, the self-same way, 
 
 When ten swift years had flown ; 
 He said, " I've nothing but my heart. 
 
 But that is yours alone. 
 And won't you take my heart ? " he 
 said. 
 
 And called her by her name ; 
 She blushed, and said, " No, thank 
 you, Tom," 
 
 But took it all the same. 
 
 And twenty, thirty, forty years 
 
 Have brought them care and joy ; 
 She has the httle peg-top still 
 
 He gave her when a boy. 
 " I've had no wealth, sweet wife," said 
 he; 
 
 " I've never brought you fame " ; 
 She whispers, " No ! no, thank you, 
 Tom, 
 
 You've loved me all the same." 
 
 Fred. E. Weatherly. 
 
 liTJCY. 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and 
 
 shower ; 
 Then Nature said, " A lovelier Hower 
 On earth was never sown : 
 This child I to myself will take ; 
 She shall be mine, and I will make 
 A lady of my own. 
 
362 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 "Myself wilt to my darling be 
 
 Both law and impulse : and with me 
 
 The girl in rock and plain, 
 
 In earth and heaven, in glade and bower. 
 
 Shall feel an overseeing power 
 
 To kindle or restrain. 
 
 " She shall be sportive as the fawn 
 That, wild with glee, across the lawn 
 Or up the mountain springs ; 
 And hers shall be the healing balm. 
 And hers the silence and the calm 
 Of mute insensate things. 
 
 " The floating clouds their state shall 
 
 lend 
 To her : for her the willow bend ; 
 Nor shall she fail to see 
 E'en in the motions of the storm 
 Grace that shall mould the maiden's 
 
 form 
 By silent sympathy. 
 
 " The stars of midnight shall be dear 
 To her ; and she shall lean her ear 
 In many a secret place 
 Where rivulets dance their wayward 
 
 round. 
 And beauty born of murmuring sound 
 Shall pass into her face. 
 
 " And vital feelings of delight 
 
 Shall rear her form to stately height. 
 
 Her virgin bosom swell ; 
 
 Such thoughts to Lucy I will give 
 
 While she and I together hve 
 
 Here in this happy dell." 
 
 Thus Nature spake — the work was 
 
 done — 
 How soon my Lucy's race was run ! 
 She died and left to me 
 Tliis heath, this calm and quiet scene ; 
 The memory of what has been, 
 And nevermore will be. 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 CHIiOE. 
 
 It was the charming month of May, 
 When all the flowers were fresh and gay 
 One morning by the break of day, 
 The youthful, charming Chloe 
 
 From peaceful slumbers she arose. 
 
 Girt on her mantle and her hose. 
 
 And o'er her flowery mead she goes. 
 
 The youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 Lovely was she by the dawn, 
 
 Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
 Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. 
 The youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 The feathered people you might see, 
 Perch'd all around on every tree. 
 In notes of sweetest melody 
 
 They hail the charming Chloe ; 
 Till painting gay the eastern skies. 
 The glorious sun begins to rise, 
 Outrivall'd by the radiant eyes 
 
 Of youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 Lovely was she by the dawn. 
 Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, 
 
 Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. 
 The youthful, charming Chloe. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 MY NANNIES AW A'. 
 
 Now in her green mantle blythe Nature 
 
 arrays. 
 An' hstens the lambkins that bleat 
 
 o'er the braes ; 
 While birds warble welcome in ilka 
 
 green shaw ; 
 But to me it's dehghtless — my Nannie's 
 
 aw a'. 
 
 The snaw-drap an' primrose our wood- 
 lands adorn, 
 
 An' violets bathe in the weet o' the 
 morn ; 
 
 They pain my sad bosom, sae sweetly 
 they blaw. 
 
 They mind me o' Nannie — an Nannie's 
 awa'. 
 
 Thou lav'rock that springs frae the 
 dews of the lawn. 
 
 The shepherd to warn o' the gray- 
 breaking dawn. 
 
 An' thou mellow mavis that hails the 
 night- fa', 
 
 Give over for pity — my Nannie's awa'. 
 
 Come, autumn, sae pensive, in yellow 
 an' gray, 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 363 
 
 /^n' soothe me wi' tidings o' Nature's 
 decay ; 
 
 The dark, dreary winter, an' wild- 
 driving snaw, 
 
 Alane can dehght me — now Nannie's 
 awa'. 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 Oo, thou sweet one, all day long. 
 Like a glad bird pour thy song ; 
 And let thy young, graceful head. 
 Be with sea-flowers garlanded ; 
 For all outward signs of glee. 
 Well befit thee, Marien Lee ! 
 
 Mary Howitt. 
 
 I LOVE MY JEAN. 
 Of a' the airts the wind can blaw, 
 
 I dearly like the west. 
 For there the bonnie lassie lives. 
 
 The lassie I lo'e best ; 
 There wild woods grow, and rivers row. 
 
 And nionie a hill between ; 
 But day and night my fancy's flight 
 
 Is ever wi' my Jean. 
 
 I see her in the dewy flowers, 
 
 I see her sweet and fair ; 
 I hear her in the tunefu' birds, 
 
 I hear her charm the air : 
 There's not a bonnier flower that 
 springs 
 
 By fountain shaw or green ; 
 There's not a bonnie bird that sings, 
 
 But minds me o' my Jean. 
 
 Robert Bicrns. 
 
 MARIEN liEE. 
 
 Not a care hath Marien Lee, 
 Dwelling by the sounding sea ! 
 Her young life's a flowery way : — 
 Without toil from day to day. 
 Without bodings for the morrow - 
 Marien was not made for sorrow I 
 Like the summer-billows wild, 
 liCaps the happy-hearted child ; 
 Sees her father's fishing- boat 
 O'er the waters gaily float ; 
 Hears her brother's fishing-song 
 On the fight gale borne along ; 
 Half a league she hears the lay, 
 Ere they turn into the bay. 
 And with glee, o'er cliff and main, 
 Sings an answer back again. 
 Which by man and Ijoy is heard. 
 Like the carol of a bird. 
 Look, she sitteth laughing there. 
 Wreathing sea- weed in her hair ; 
 Haw ye e'er a thing so fair ? 
 
 MAHIANA. 
 
 " Mariana in tlie raoateii grani,'e." 
 
 —Meusurefor Measure. 
 
 With blackest moss the flower-plots 
 Were thickly crusted, one and all ; 
 The rusted nails fell from the knots 
 That held the peach to the garden- 
 wall. 
 The broken sheds look'd sad and 
 strange : 
 Unlifted was the clinking latch ; 
 Weeded and worn the ancient thatch ; 
 Upon the lonely moated grang?;. 
 She only said, " My life is dreary. 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 Her tears fell with the dews at even ; 
 Her tears fell ere the dews Avere dried ; 
 She could not look on the sweet heaven. 
 
 Either at morn or eventide. 
 After the flitting of the bats, 
 
 When thickest dark did trance the 
 
 sky. 
 She drew her casement curtain by, 
 And glanced athwart the glooming flats. 
 She only said, "The night is dreary. 
 
 He cometh not," she said ; 
 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 Upon the middle of the night. 
 
 Waking she heard the night- fowl 
 crow ; 
 The cock sung out an hour ere light : 
 
 From the dark fen the oxen's low- 
 Came to her : without hope of change. 
 In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn. 
 Till cold winds woke the grey-eyed 
 morn. 
 About the lonely moated grange. 
 She only said, " The day is dreary. 
 
 He cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead 1 " 
 
864 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 About a stone-cast from the wall 
 
 A sluice with blacken'd waters slept. 
 And o'er it many, round and small, 
 
 The cluster'd marish- mosses crept. 
 Hard by a poplar shook alway. 
 
 All silver-green with gnarled bark ; 
 
 For leagues no other tree did mark 
 The level waste, the rounding gray. 
 
 She only said, " My hfe is dreary. 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead 1 " 
 
 And ever when the moon was low, 
 And the shrill winds were up and 
 away. 
 In the white curtain, to and fro. 
 
 She saw the gusty shadow sway. 
 But when the moon was very low. 
 And wild winds boimd within their 
 
 cell. 
 The shadow of the poplar fell 
 Upon her bed across her brow. 
 
 She only said, " The night is dreary, 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 All day within the dreamy house. 
 
 The doors upon their hinges creak'd ; 
 The blue fly sung on the pane ; the 
 mouse 
 Behind the mouldering wainscot 
 shriek' d. 
 Or from the crevice peer'd about. 
 Old faces ghmmer'd thro' the doors. 
 Old footsteps trod the upper floors, 
 Old voices called her from without. 
 She only said, " My life is dreary. 
 
 He Cometh not," she said ; 
 She said, " I am aweary, aweary, 
 I would that I were dead ! " 
 
 The sparrows chirrup on the roof, 
 
 The slow clock ticking, and the sound 
 Which to the wooing wind aloft 
 The poplar made, did all confound 
 Her sense ; but most she lo^th'd the 
 
 hour 
 
 When the thick-moted sunbeam lay 
 
 Athwart the chambers, and the day 
 
 Was sloping towards his western bower. 
 
 Then said she, " I am very dreary. 
 
 He will not come," she said ; 
 She wept, " I am aweary, aweary. 
 Oh God, that I were dead ! " 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 SHE WALKS IN BEATJTY. 
 
 She walks in beauty, hke the night 
 Of cloudless chmes and starry skies : 
 
 And all that's best of dark and bright 
 Meet in her aspect and her eyes ; 
 
 Thus mellowed to that tender light 
 Wliich Heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One shade the more, one ray the less 
 Had half impaired the nameless 
 grace. 
 Which waves in every raven tress. 
 
 Or softly lightens o'er her face ; 
 Where thoughts serenely sweet express, 
 How pure, how dear, their dweUing 
 place. 
 
 And on that cheek, and o'er that brow. 
 So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
 
 The smiles that win, the tints that 
 glow. 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, 
 
 A mind at peace with all below, 
 A heart whose love is innocent. 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 THE NIGHT-PIECE. 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee ; 
 And the little elves also. 
 Whose httle eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 
 No Will-o'-the-Wisp misUght thee. 
 Nor snake or slow- worm bite thee ; 
 
 But on, on thy way. 
 
 Not making a stay. 
 Since ghost there's none to affright thee. 
 
 Let not the dark thee cumber ; 
 
 What though the moon does slumber ? 
 The stars of the night 
 Will lend thee their hght. 
 
 Like tapers clear, without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee. 
 Thus, thus, to come unto me ; 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvery feet. 
 My soul I'll pour into thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
Girlhood. 
 
 365 
 
 I 
 
 liOVE AND QliORT. 
 
 Young Henry was as brave a youth 
 As ever graced a gallant story ; 
 
 And Jane was fair as lovely truth, 
 She sigh'd for Love, and he for Glory ! 
 
 With her liia faith he meant to plight, 
 And told her many a gallant story ; 
 
 Till war, their coming joys to blight, 
 Call'd him away from Love to Glory I 
 
 Yoimg Henry met the foe with pride ; 
 Jane followed, fought ! ah, hapless 
 story ! 
 In man's attire, by Henry's side. 
 She died for Love, and ho for Glory. 
 Thomas Dibdin. 
 
 ON THE BIRTHDAY OF A 
 YOUNG LADY. 
 
 FOUR YEARS OLD. 
 
 Old creeping time, with silent tread. 
 Has stol'n four years o'er Molly's head : 
 The rosebud opens on her cheek. 
 The meaning eyes begin to speak ; 
 And in each smiling look is seen 
 The innocence which plays within. 
 Nor is the faltering tongue confined 
 To lisp the dawning of the mind. 
 But firm and full her words convey 
 The httle all they have to say. 
 And each fond parent, as they fall, 
 Finds volumes in that httle all. 
 
 !May every charm which now appears 
 Increase and brighten with her years ! 
 ^\nd may that same old creeping time 
 Go on till she has reached her prime, 
 Then, like a master of his trade, 
 Stand still, nor hurt the work he made. 
 William Wliitehead, 
 
 JULIA. 
 
 Some asked me where the rubies grew, 
 
 And nothing did I say, 
 But with my tiugcr ^winted to 
 
 The lips of Julia. 
 
 Some asked how pearls did grow, and 
 where. 
 
 Then spake I to my girl. 
 To part her lips, and show me there 
 
 The quarelets of pearl. 
 
 One asked me where the roses grew, 
 
 I bade him not go seek ; 
 But forthwith made my Julia shew 
 
 A bud on either cheek. 
 
 Bobert Herrick. 
 
 A PAREWELIj. 
 
 My fairest child, I have no song to give 
 you; 
 No lark could pipe to skies so dull 
 and grey : 
 Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave 
 you 
 
 For every day. 
 
 Be good, sweet maid, and let who will 
 be clever. 
 Do noble things, not dream them, all 
 day long ; 
 And so make life, death, and that vast 
 for- ever 
 
 One grand, sweet song. 
 
 Charles Kingsky. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 THE PIPER. 
 Piping down the valleys wild, 
 
 Piping songs of pleasant glee. 
 On a cloud I saw a child. 
 
 And he laughing said to me : 
 
 " Pipe a song about a lamb." 
 So I piped with merry cheer. 
 
 " Piper, pipe that song again " ; 
 So I piped ; he wept to hear. 
 
 " Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe. 
 Sing thy songs of happy cheer " 
 
 So I sang the same again. 
 
 While he wept with joy to hear. 
 
 " Piper, sit thee down and write 
 In a book that all may read — " 
 
 So he vanished from my sight ; 
 And I plucked a hollow reed, 
 
 And I made a rural pen. 
 
 And I stain'd the water clear, 
 
 And I wrote my happy songs, 
 Every child may joy to hear. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 The violets, and the lily-cupg. 
 Those flowers made of light ! 
 
 The lilacs, where the robin built, 
 And where my brother set 
 
 The laburnum on his birthday : 
 The tree is living yet ! 
 
 I remember, I remember, 
 
 Where I was used to swing. 
 And thought the air must rush as fresh, 
 
 To swallows on the wing. 
 My spirit flew in feathers then. 
 
 That is so heavy now ; 
 And summer pools could hardly cool 
 
 The fever on my brow | 
 
 I remember, I remember. 
 
 The fir-trees, dark and high ; 
 I used to think their slender tops 
 
 Were close against the sky : 
 It was a childish ignorance : 
 
 But now, 'tis little joy 
 To know I'm further off from heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy. 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 I BEMEMBEB. 
 I REMEMBER, I remember, 
 
 The house where I was born. 
 The little window, where the sun 
 
 Came peeping in at morn : 
 He never came a wink too soon, 
 
 Nor brouglit too long a day, 
 But now I often wish the night 
 
 Had borne my breath away | 
 
 I remember, I remember. 
 The roses, red and white. 
 
 THE BOY IN THE WILDER- 
 NESS. 
 
 Encinctured with a twine of leaves, 
 
 That leafy twine his onl}' dress — 
 A lovely boy was plucking fruits. 
 
 By moonlight, in a wilderness. 
 The moon was bright, the air was free. 
 
 And fruits and flowers together grew 
 On many a shrub and many a tree ; 
 
 And all put on a gentle liue, 
 Hanging in the shadowy air 
 Like a picture rich and rare ! 
 It was a climate where, they say. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 367 
 
 The night is more beloved than day. 
 But who that beauteous boy beguiled, 
 That beauteous boy, to linger here, 
 Alone by night, a little child. 
 In place so silent and so wild ? — 
 Has he no friend, no loving mother 
 near 7 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 MY LOST YOUTH. 
 
 Often I think of the beautiful town 
 
 That is seated by the sea ; 
 Often in thought go up and down 
 The pleasant streets of that dear old 
 town. 
 And my youth conies back to nic. 
 
 And a verse of Lapland song 
 Is haunting my memory still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 I long thoughts." 
 
 I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 
 
 And catch in sudden gleams. 
 The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
 And islands that were the Hesperidcs 
 Of all my boyish dreams. 
 
 And tiie burden of that old song, 
 P It murmurs and whispers still : 
 
 f " A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 remember the black wharves and the 
 slips, 
 ; And the sea-tides tossing free ; 
 ' And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, 
 And t he beauty and mystery of the ships, 
 And the magic of the sea. 
 
 And the voice of that wayward song 
 Is singing and saying still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 I remember the bulwarks by the shore, 
 
 And the fort upon the hill : 
 The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar. 
 The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, 
 And the bugle wild and shrill. 
 And the music of that old song 
 Throbs in my memory still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 I remember the sea-fight far away, 
 
 How it thundered o'er the tide ! 
 And the dead captains, as they lay 
 In their graves, o'erlooking the tranqui 
 bay. 
 Where they in battle died. 
 
 And the sound of that mournful 
 song 
 
 Goes through mo with a thrill : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 I can see the breezy dome of groves. 
 
 The shadows of Uecring's Woods ; 
 
 And the friendships old and the early 
 
 loves 
 Come back with a Sabbath sound as of 
 doves 
 In quiet neighbourhoods. 
 
 And the verse of that sweet old song 
 It flutters and murmurs still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 I remember the gleams and glooms that 
 dart 
 Across the schoolboy's brain : 
 The song and the silence in the heart. 
 That in part are prophecies, and in part 
 Are longings wild and vain. 
 
 And the voice of that fitful song 
 Sings on, and is never still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 There are things of which I may not 
 speak ; 
 There are dreams that cannot die ; 
 There are thoughts that make the 
 strong heart weak. 
 And bring a pallor into the cheek, 
 And a mist before the eye. 
 And the words of that fatal song 
 Come over me like a chill : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 Strange to me now are the forms I meet 
 
 When I visit the dear old town : 
 But the native air is pure and sweet. 
 And the trees that o'ershadow each 
 well-known street. 
 As they balance up and down. 
 
 I 
 
368 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 11 
 
 Are singing the beautiiwl song, 
 Are sighing and ■whispering still : 
 " A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoufjhts." 
 
 And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, 
 
 And with joy that is almost pain 
 My heart goes back to wander there, 
 And among the dreams of the days that 
 were, 
 I find my lost youth again. 
 
 And the strange and beautiful song. 
 The groves are repeating it still : 
 " A boy's will is the A?ind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, 
 long thoughts." 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longjdlow. 
 
 THE PET-NAME. 
 I HAVE a name, a little name, 
 
 Uncadenced for the ear, 
 Unhonoured by ancestra.l claim, 
 Unsanctified by prayer and psahn, 
 
 The solemn font anear. 
 
 It never did to pages wove 
 Nor gay romance belong ; 
 It never dedicate did move 
 As " Sacharissa " imto love, 
 " Orinda " unto song. 
 
 My brother gave that name to me 
 
 When we were children twain. 
 When names acquired baptismally 
 Were hard to utter, as to see 
 That life had any pain. 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 LATJQHINQ SONG. 
 
 When the green woods laugh with tlie 
 
 voice of joy. 
 And the dimpling stream runs laughing 
 
 When the air does laugh with our merry 
 
 wit. 
 And the green hill laughs with the 
 
 noise of it ; 
 
 And the grasshopper laughs in the 
 
 merry scene. 
 When Mary and Susan and Emily 
 Wfth their sweet round mouths sing 
 
 Ha, ha, he | 
 
 When the painted birds laugh in the 
 
 shade. 
 When our table with cherries and nuts 
 
 is spread, 
 Come live and be happy and join with 
 
 me 
 To sing the sweet chorus of Ha, ha, lie ! 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPEB. 
 
 When my mother died I was very 
 
 young. 
 And my father sold me while yet my 
 
 tongue 
 Could scarcely cry, " 'weep, 'weep, 
 
 'weep, 'weep ! " 
 So yoiu- chimneys I sweep and in soot 
 
 I 
 
 There's little Tom Dacre, who cried 
 
 when his head. 
 That curl'd like a lamb's back, was 
 
 shav'd : so I said : 
 •' Hush, Tom, never mind it, for when 
 
 your head's bare 
 You know that the soot cannot spoil 
 
 your white hair." 
 
 And so he was quiet ; and that very 
 
 night. 
 As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a 
 
 sight ; 
 That thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, 
 
 Ned and Jack, 
 Were all of them lock'd up in coffins of 
 
 black. 
 
 And by came an angel who had a bright j 
 
 key. 
 And he open'd the coffins and set them 
 
 all free ; 
 Then down a green plain, leaping, 
 
 laughing they run. 
 And wash in a river, and shine in the 
 
 sun. 
 
 When the meadows laugh with lively 
 green. 
 
 Then naked and white, all their bags 
 left behind. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 369 
 
 They rise upon clouds and sport in the 
 
 wind ; 
 And the angel told Tom if he'd be a 
 
 good boy. 
 He'd have God for his father and never 
 
 ■want joy. 
 
 And so Tom awoke ; and we rose in 
 
 the dark, 
 And got with our bags and our brushes 
 
 to work. 
 Though tlie morning was cold Tom was 
 
 happy and warm : 
 So if all do their duty they need not 
 
 fear harm. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE lilTTIiE BLACK BOY. 
 
 My mother bore me in the southern wild, 
 And I am black, but oh ! my soul is 
 white ; 
 
 White as an angel is the English child, 
 But 1 am black, as if bereaved of light. 
 
 My mother taught me underneath a 
 tree. 
 And sitting down before the heat of 
 day, 
 She took me on her lap, and kissed me, 
 And, pointing to the east, began to 
 say :— 
 
 "■ Look on the rising sun — there God 
 does live 
 And gives His light, and gives His 
 heat away ; 
 And flowers, and trees, and beasts, and 
 men receive 
 Comfort in morning, joy in the noon- 
 day. 
 
 " And we are put on earth a little space, 
 That we may learn to bear the beams 
 of love ; 
 And these black bodies, and this sun- 
 burnt face 
 Are but a cloud, and like a shady 
 grove. 
 
 '* For when our souls have learnt the 
 heat to bear, 
 The clouds will vanish, we shall hear 
 his voice. 
 
 Saying, * Come out from the grove, my 
 love and care. 
 And round my golden tent like lambs 
 rejoice' " 
 
 Thus did my mother say, and kissed 
 me : 
 And thtis I say to little English boy, — 
 " When I from black, and he from 
 white cloud free, 
 And round the tent of God like 
 lambs we joy. 
 
 " I'll shade him from the heat, till he 
 can bear 
 To lean in joy upon our Fatlier's 
 knee ; 
 And then I'll stand, and stroke his 
 silver hair. 
 And be like him, and he will then 
 love me." 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY LOST. 
 
 Father ! father, where are you going ? 
 
 O, do not walk so fast. 
 Speak, father, speak to your little boy. 
 
 Or else I shall be lost. 
 
 The night was dark, no father was 
 there ; 
 The child was wet ■with dew ; 
 The mire was deep and the child did 
 weep. 
 And away the vapour flew. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY FOUND. 
 
 The little boy lost in the lonely fen, 
 Led by the wandering light. 
 
 Began to cry ; but God, ever nigh, 
 Appear'd like his father in white ; 
 
 He kiss'd the child, and by the hand led, 
 And to his mother brought. 
 
 Who, in sorrow pale, thro' the lonely 
 dale. 
 Her little boy, weeping, sought. 
 
 William Blake. 
 24 
 
370 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 NUESE'S SONG-. 
 
 When the voices of children are heard 
 on the green 
 
 And laughing is heard on the hill, 
 My heart is at rest within my breast, 
 
 And everything else is still. 
 
 Then come home, my children, the sun 
 is gone down. 
 And the dews of night arise ; 
 Come, come, leave off play, and let us 
 away 
 Till the morning appears in the skies. 
 
 No, no, let us play, for it is yet day. 
 And we cannot go to sleep ; 
 
 Besides, in the sky the little birds fly. 
 And the hills are all cover'd with 
 sheep. 
 
 Well, well, go and play till the light 
 fades a\\ ay. 
 And then go home to bed. 
 The little ones leap'd and shouted and 
 laugh'd. 
 And all the hills echoed. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 X WILLIE WINKIE. 
 Wee Willie Winkie 
 
 Rins through the town. 
 Up stairs and down stairs 
 
 In his nicht-gown ; 
 Tii'Ung at the window, 
 
 Crying at the lock, 
 " Are the weans in their bed, 
 
 For it's now ten o'clock ? " 
 
 Hey, Willie Winkie, 
 
 Are ye coming ben ? 
 The cat's singing grey thrums. 
 
 To the sleeping hen ; 
 The dog's spelder'd on the floor. 
 
 And doesna' gie a ch cp, 
 But here's a waukrife laddie 
 
 That winna' fa' asleep. 
 
 Onything but sleep, you rogue ! 
 
 Glow'ring like the moon. 
 Rattling in an airn jug 
 
 Wi' an airn spoon ; 
 Rumblin', tumblin', round about, 
 
 Crawing like a cock, 
 
 Skirlin' like a kenna — what, 
 Wauk'nin' sleeping folk. 
 
 Hey, Willie Winkie— 
 
 The wean's in a .creel ! 
 Wamblin's aff a body's knee 
 
 Like a very eel, 
 Ruggin' at the cat's lug, 
 
 Rav'llin' a' her thrums — 
 Hey, Willie Winkie — 
 
 See, there he comes ! 
 
 Wearied is the mither 
 
 That has a stoorie wean, 
 A wee stumpie stousie. 
 
 That canna rin his lane. 
 That has a battle aye wi' sleep, 
 
 Before he'll close an e'e — 
 But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips, 
 
 Gies strength anew to me. 
 
 William Miller. 
 
 GREE, BAIRNIES, GREE. 
 
 The moon has rowed her in a cloud, 
 
 Stravaging win's begin 
 To shuggle and daud the window-brods. 
 
 Like loons that wad be in ! 
 Gae whistle a tune in the lum-head. 
 
 Or craik in saughen tree ! 
 We're thankfu' for a cozie hame — 
 
 Sae gree, my bairnies, gree. 
 
 Though gurgling blasts may doubly 
 blaw, 
 
 A rousing fire will throw 
 A straggler's taes, and keep fu' cosh 
 
 My tousie taps o'-tow. 
 wha would cule j'our kail, my bairns, 
 
 Or bake your bread like me ? 
 Ye'd get the bit frae out my mouth, 
 
 Sae gree, my bairnies, gree. 
 
 Oh, never fling the warmsome boon 
 
 O' bairnhood's love awa' ; 
 Mind how ye sleepit, cheek to cheek, 
 
 Bet^\een me and the wa' ; 
 How ae kind arm was owre ye baith : 
 
 But, if ye disagree. 
 Think on the saft and kindly r un' 
 
 O' " Gree, my bairnies, gree." 
 
 William Miller. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 371 
 
 THE SliEEPY LADDIE. 
 
 Are ye no gaun to waukcn the day, 
 
 ye rogue ? 
 Your parritch is ready and cool in the 
 
 cog, 
 Auld baudions sae gaucy, and Tam o' 
 
 that ilk 
 Would fain hae a drap o' my wee 
 
 laddie's milk. 
 
 There's a wee birdie singing, get up, 
 
 get up ! 
 And listen, it says, " tak' a waup, tik' 
 
 a waup ; " 
 But I kittle his bosie — a far bettor 
 
 plan — 
 Or pouther his pow wi' a watering can. 
 
 There's claes to wash, and the house 
 
 to redd, 
 And I canna begin till I mak' the bed ; 
 For I count it nae brag to be clever 
 
 as some, 
 Wha while thrang at a bakin', can socp 
 
 the lum. 
 
 It's far i' the day now, and brawly ye 
 
 ken. 
 Your father has scarcely a minute to 
 
 spen' ; 
 But ae blink o' his wife wi' the bairn 
 
 on her knee, 
 He says lichens his toil, though sair it 
 
 may be. 
 
 So up to your parritch, and on wi' 
 
 your claes ; 
 There's a fire that might warm the 
 
 cauld Norlan braes ; 
 For a coggie weel fill'd and a clean 
 
 fire en' 
 Should mak' ye jump up, and go 
 
 skelping ben. 
 
 William Miller. 
 
 MEG MERRIIilES. 
 
 Old Meg she was a gipsy, 
 And lived upon the moors : 
 
 Her bed it was the brown heath turf. 
 And her house was out of doors. 
 
 Her apples were swart blackberries. 
 Her currants, pods o' broom ; 
 
 Her wine was dew o' the wild white rose, 
 Her book a churchyard tomb. 
 
 Her Brothers were the craggy hills. 
 
 Her Sisters larchcn trees ; 
 Alone with her great family, 
 
 She lived as she did please. 
 
 No breakfast had she many a morn, 
 
 No dinner many a noon, 
 And, 'stead of supper, she would stare 
 
 Full hard against the Moon. 
 
 But every morn, of woodbine fresh. 
 
 She made her garlanding. 
 And every night the dark glen Yew, 
 
 She wove, and she would sing. 
 
 And with her fingers, old and brown. 
 She plaited Mats of Rushes, 
 
 And gave them to the Cottagers 
 She met among the Bushes. 
 
 Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen, 
 
 And tall as Amazon ; 
 An old red blanket cloak she wore, 
 
 A chip hat had she on. 
 God rest her aged bones somewhere : 
 
 She died full long agone. 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 )SpHE songs of ATJTOIiYCTJS 
 
 I. 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer, — 
 
 With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, — 
 Why then comes in the sweet o' the 
 year ; 
 For the red blood reigns in the 
 winter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the 
 hedge, — 
 With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how 
 they sing ! — • 
 Doth set my pugging* tooth on edge 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark that tirra-lirra chants, — 
 With heigh ! with hey ! the thrush 
 and the jay. 
 
 Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 • Fugging— thieviner. 
 
372 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 n. 
 
 Jog on. Jog on, the foot-path way, 
 And merrily hent* the stile-a : 
 
 A merry heart goes all the day. 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. 
 
 III. 
 
 Will you buy any tape. 
 
 Or lace for your cape, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a T 
 
 Any silk, any thread. 
 
 And toys for your head. 
 Of the newest and finest wear-a T 
 
 Come to the pedlar, 
 
 Money's a meddler. 
 That doth utter all men's ware-a. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lawn, aa white as driven snow ; 
 Cyprus, black as e'er was crow ; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses ; 
 Bugle-bracelet, necklace-amber ; 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber ; 
 Golden quoifs, and stomachers. 
 For my lads to give their dears ; 
 Pins, and poking sticks of steel ; 
 What maids lack from head to heel ; 
 Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, 
 
 come buy ; 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 
 Come, buy. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THE BAIN IT BAINETH 
 EVERY DAY. 
 
 When that I was and a Uttle tiny boy. 
 With heigh-ho ! the wind and the rain, 
 
 A foohsh thing was but a toy. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came to man's estate, 
 With heigh-ho ! the wind and the rain, 
 
 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut 
 their gate. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came, alas ! to wive. 
 With heigh-ho ! the wind and the rain. 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 • Hent— stize hold of. 
 
 A great while ago the world begun. 
 
 With heigh-ho ! the wind and the rain ; 
 But that's all one, our play is done, 
 And we'll strive to -please you every 
 day. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 COME UNTO THESE YELLOW 
 SANDS. 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands. 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd 
 
 (The wild waves, whist), 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 
 And sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark ! 
 Burden, Bowgh, • wowgh. 
 The watch dogs bark : 
 Burden, Bowgh, wowgh. 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticlere 
 
 Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 THE EOESAKEN MERMAN. 
 
 Come, dear children, let us away ; 
 
 Down and away below ! 
 
 Now my brothers call from the bay. 
 
 Now the great winds shoreward blow. 
 
 Now the salt tides seaward flow ; 
 
 Now the wild white horses play. 
 
 Champ and chafe and toss in the spray. 
 
 Children dear, let us away I 
 
 This way, this way ! 
 
 Call her once before you go — 
 
 Call once yet ! 
 
 In a voice that she will know : 
 
 " Margaret ! Margaret ! " 
 
 Children's voices should be dear 
 
 (Call once more) to a mother's ear ; 
 
 Children's voices, wild with pain — 
 
 Surely she will come again ! 
 
 Call her once and come away ; 
 
 This way, this way ! 
 
 " Mother dear, we cannot stay ! 
 
 The wild white horses foam and fret." 
 
 Margaret ! Margaret 1 
 
 Come, dear children, come away down ; 
 Call no more ! 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 One last look at the white- wall'd town, 
 And the little grey church on the windy 
 
 shore ; 
 Then come down ! 
 She will not come though you call all 
 
 day; 
 Come away, come away ! 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 
 We heard the sweet bells over the bay ? 
 In the caverns where we lay, 
 Through the surf and through the swell. 
 The far-off sound of a silver bell ? 
 Sand-strewn caverns, cool and deep. 
 Where the winds are all asleep ; 
 Where the spent hghts quiver and 
 
 gleam. 
 Where the salt weed sways in the 
 
 stream. 
 Where the sea-beasts, ranged all round, 
 Feed in the ooze of their pasture - 
 
 ground 
 Where the sea-snakes coil and twine. 
 Dry their mail and bask in the brine ; 
 Where great whales come sailing by, 
 Sail and sail, with unshut eye. 
 Round the world for ever and aye T 
 When did music come this way ? 
 Children dear, was it yesterday ? 
 
 Children dear, was it yesterday 
 (Call yet once) that she went away ? 
 Once she sate with you and me. 
 On a red gold throne in the heart of the 
 
 sea. 
 And the youngest sate on her knee. 
 She comb'd its bright hair, and she 
 
 tended it well. 
 When down swung the sound of a far-off 
 
 bell. 
 She sigh'd, she look'd up through the 
 
 clear green sea ; 
 She said, " I must go, for my kinsfolk 
 
 pray 
 In the little grey church on the shore 
 
 to-day. 
 'Twill be Easter-time in the world — 
 
 ah me ! 
 And I lose my poor soul. Merman ! here 
 
 with thee." 
 I said : "Go up, dear heart, through 
 
 the waves ; 
 Say thy prayer, and come back to the 
 
 kind sea-caves ! " 
 She smiled, she went up through the 
 
 surf in the bay. 
 Children dear, was it yesterday ? 
 
 Children dear, were we long alone 
 
 " The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
 
 moan ; 
 Long prayers," I said, "in, the world 
 
 they say ; 
 Come ! " 1 said ; aad we rose through 
 
 the surf in the bay. 
 We went up the beach, by the sandy 
 
 down 
 Where the sea-stocks bloom, to tiie 
 
 white-waU'd town ; 
 Through the na'row paved streets. 
 
 where all was still. 
 To the little grey church on the wiiidv 
 
 hiU. 
 From the church came a niuriimr of 
 
 folk at their prayers. 
 But we stood without in the cold 
 
 blowing airs. 
 We climb'd on the graves, on the 
 
 stones worn with rains, 
 And we gazed up the aisle through the 
 
 small leaded panes. 
 She sate by the pillar ; we saw her 
 
 clear : 
 " Margaret hist ! come quick, we are 
 
 here I 
 
 Dear heart," I said, " we are long 
 
 alone ; 
 The sea grows stormy, the little ones 
 
 raoan." 
 But, ah, she gave me never a look. 
 For her eyes were sealed to the holy 
 
 book ! 
 Loud prays the priest ; shut stands the 
 
 door. 
 Come away, children, call no more ! 
 Come away, come down, call no more ! 
 Down, down, down ! 
 Down to the depths of the sea ! 
 She sits at her wheel in the humming 
 
 town. 
 Singing most joyfully. 
 Hark what she sings : " O joy, O jo}-. 
 For the humming street, and the cliiid 
 
 with its toy ! 
 For the priest, and the bell, anil liu- 
 
 holy well ; 
 For the wheel where I spun. 
 And the blessed light of the sun ! " 
 And so she sings her fill, 
 Singing most joyfully. 
 Till the spindle drops from her hand. 
 And the whizzing wheel stands still. 
 She steals to the window, and looks at 
 
 the sand. 
 
374 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And over the sand at the sea ; 
 
 And her eyes are set in a stare ; 
 
 And anon' there breaks a sigh, 
 
 And anon there drops a tear, 
 
 From a sorrow-clouded eye. 
 
 And a heart sorrow-laden, 
 
 A long, long sigh ; 
 
 For the cold strange eyes of a little ;\rer- 
 
 maiden, 
 And the gleam of her golden hair. 
 
 Come away, away, children ; 
 
 Come, childi'en, come down ! 
 
 The hoarse wind blows colder ; 
 
 Lights shine in the town. 
 
 She will start from her slumbei 
 
 When gusts shake the door : 
 
 She will hear the winds howling^ 
 
 Will hear the waves roar. 
 
 We shall see, while above us 
 
 The waves roar and whirl, 
 
 A ceiHng of amber, 
 
 A pavement of pearl. 
 
 Singing : " Here came a mortal. 
 
 But faithless was she ! 
 
 And alone dwell for ever 
 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 But children, at midnight, 
 
 When soft the winds blow, 
 
 When clear falls the moonlight. 
 
 When spring-tides are low ; 
 
 When sweet airs come seaward 
 
 From heaths starr'd with broom. 
 
 And high rocks throw mildlj^ 
 
 On the blanch'd sands a gloom. 
 
 Up the still, glistening beaches 
 
 Up the creeks we will hie. 
 
 Over banks of bright seaweed 
 
 The ebb-tide leaves dry. 
 
 We will gaze, from the sand-hills. 
 
 At the white, sleeping town. 
 
 At the chirrch on the hill-side — 
 
 And then come back down. 
 
 Singing : " There dwells a loved one, 
 
 But cruel is she ! 
 
 She left lonely for ever 
 
 The kings of the sea." 
 
 Matthew Arnold, 
 
 THE RAVEN". 
 
 Once upon a midnight dreary, while I 
 pondered, weak and weary, 
 
 Over many a quaint and curious volume 
 of forgotten lore — 
 
 While I nodded, nearly napping, sud- 
 denlj' there came a tapping. 
 
 As of someone gently rapping, rapping 
 at my chamber door — 
 
 *' 'Tis some visitor," I muttered, " tap- 
 ping at my chamber door — 
 Only this, and nothing more." 
 
 Ah ! distinctly I remember, it was in 
 
 the bleak December, 
 And each separate dying ember 
 
 UTOught its ghost upon the floor ; 
 Eagerly I wished the morrow ; vainly 
 
 I had sought to borrow 
 From my books surcease of sorrow — 
 
 sorrow for the lost Lenore — 
 For the rare and radiant maiden whom 
 
 the angels name Lenore — 
 Nameless here for evermore. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling 
 
 of each piu-ple curtain 
 Thrilled me — filled me with fanta.stie 
 
 terrors never felt before ; 
 So that now, to still the beating of mv 
 
 heart, I stood repeating, 
 " 'Tis some visitor entreating entrance 
 
 at my chamber door — 
 Some late visitor entreating entrance 
 
 at my chamber door : 
 
 Tliis it is, and nothing more." 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger ; hesi- 
 tating then no longer, 
 
 " Sir,"' said I, " or madam, truly your 
 forgiveness I implore ; 
 
 But the fact is, I was napping, and so 
 gently you came rapping. 
 
 And so faintly you came tapping, tap- 
 ping at my chamber door. 
 
 That I scarce was sure I heard you." 
 Here I opened wide the door : 
 
 Darkness there, and nothing more. 
 
 Deep into that darkness peering, long 
 I stood there, wondering, fearing. 
 
 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal 
 ever dared to dream before ; 
 
 But the silence was unbroken, and the 
 stillness gave no token. 
 
 And the only word there spoken was the 
 whispered word, " Lenore ! " 
 
 This I whispered, and an echo mur- 
 mured back the word, " Lenore ! " 
 Merely this, and nothing more. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 375 
 
 Back into my chamber turning, all ray 
 soul within me burning, 
 
 Soon again I heard a rapping, some- 
 thing louder than before : 
 
 " Surely," said I, " surcl}' that is some- 
 thing at my window lattice ; 
 
 Let me see then, what thereat is, and 
 this mystery explore — 
 
 Let my heart be still a moment, and 
 this mystery explore. 
 
 'Tis the wind, and nothing more." 
 
 Open here I flung the shutter, when, 
 
 with many a flirt and flutter. 
 In there stepped a stately Raven, of 
 
 the saintly days of yore ; 
 Not the least obeisance made he, not a 
 
 minute stopped or stayed he ; 
 But with mien of lord or lady, perched 
 
 above my chamber door — 
 Perched above a bust of Pallas, just 
 
 above my chamber door — 
 
 Perched, and sat, and nothing more. 
 
 Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad 
 
 fancy into smiling. 
 By the grave and stern decorum of t!ie 
 
 countenance it wore : 
 " Though thy crest be shorn and 
 
 shaven, thou," I said, " art sure, no 
 
 craven ; 
 " Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, 
 
 wandering from the nightly shore 
 Tell me what thy lordly name is on 
 
 the night's Plutonian shore ? "' 
 
 Quoth the Raven, " Never more." 
 
 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl 
 
 to hear discourse so plainly. 
 Though its answer little meaning, little 
 
 relevancy bore ; 
 For we cannot help agreeing that no 
 
 Uving human being 
 Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird 
 
 above his chamber door — 
 Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust 
 
 above his chamber door 
 
 With such name as " Never more." 
 
 But the Raven, sitting lonely on that 
 
 placid bust, spoke only 
 That one word, as if his soul in that one 
 
 word he did outpour : 
 Nothing further then he uttered, not a 
 
 feather then he fluttered. 
 Till I scarcely more than mutte ed — 
 
 " Other friends have flown before. 
 
 On the morrow he will leave me, a.s 
 my hopes have flown lufore." 
 
 Then the bird said, " Never more." 
 
 Startled by the stillness broken by 
 reply so aptly spoken, 
 
 " Doubtless," said I, " what it utte s i.s 
 its only stock and store. 
 
 Caught from some unhappy miser, 
 whom unmerciful disaster 
 
 Followed fast and followed faster, till 
 his songs one burden bore — 
 
 Till the dirges of his hope this melan- 
 choly burden bore — 
 Of ' Never, never more.' " 
 
 But the Raven still bcguiUng all my 
 
 sad soul into smiling. 
 Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in 
 
 front of bird, and bust, and door ; 
 Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook 
 
 myself to linking 
 Fancy into fancy, thinking what this 
 
 ominous bird of yore — 
 What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, 
 
 gaunt, and ominous bird of yore 
 Meant in croaking " Never more." 
 
 Thus I sat engaged in j^uessing, but no 
 
 syUable expressing 
 To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned 
 
 into my bosom's core ; 
 This and more I sat divining, with my 
 
 head at ease rechning 
 On the cushion's velvet lining, that the 
 
 lamp-light gloated o'er. 
 But whose velvet violet lining, with 
 
 the lamp-light gloating o'er. 
 She shall press, ah, never more ! 
 
 Then methought the air grew denser, 
 
 perfumed from an unseen censer 
 S\vung by seraphim, whose footfalls 
 
 tinkled on the tufted floor. 
 " Wretch," I cried, " thy God hath 
 
 lent thee — by these angels he hath 
 
 sent thee 
 Respite — respite and nepenthe from 
 
 my memories of Lenore ! 
 Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and 
 
 forg?t this lost Lenore ! " 
 
 Quoth the Raven, " Never more." 
 
 " Prophet," said I, " thing of evil — 
 prophet still, if bird or devil ! 
 
 Whether tempter sent, or whether 
 tempest tossed thee here ashore 
 
376 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this 
 
 desert land enchanted. 
 On this home by honor haunted— tell 
 
 me truly, I implore, 
 Is there — is there balm in Gilead ? — 
 
 tell me, tell me, I implore ! " 
 
 Quoth the Raven, " Never more." 
 
 " Prophet," said I, " thing of evil ! — 
 
 prophet stiU, if bird or devil ! 
 By that heaven that bends above us — 
 
 by that God we both adore — 
 TeU this soul, with sorrow laden, if, 
 
 within the distant Aiden 
 It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom 
 
 the angels name Lenore ! 
 Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom 
 
 the angels name Lenore ? " 
 
 Quoth the Raven, " Never more." 
 
 •' Be that word our sign of parting, 
 
 bird or fiend," I shrieked upstarting — 
 " Get thee back into the tempest and 
 
 the night's Plutonian shore ; 
 Leave no black plume as a token of that 
 
 lie thy soul hath spoken. 
 Leave my loneliness unbroken — quit 
 
 the bust above my door, 
 Take thy beak from out my heart, and 
 
 take thy form from off my door ! " 
 Quoth the Raven, " Never more." 
 
 And the Raven, never flitting, still is 
 
 sitting, still is sitting. 
 On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above 
 
 my chamber door ; 
 And his eyes have all the seeming of a 
 
 demon's that is dreaming, 
 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming, 
 
 throws his shadow on the floor ; 
 And my soul from out that shadow, 
 
 that lies floating on the floor, 
 Shall be lifted — never more ! 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe, 
 
 IT IS NOT THE TEAB. 
 
 It is not the tear at this moment shed, 
 When the cold turf has just been laid 
 o'er him. 
 That can tell how beloved was the 
 friend that's fled. 
 Or how deep in our hearts we deplore 
 him. 
 
 'Tis the tear, through many a long day 
 wept, 
 
 'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded ; 
 'Tis the one ivmembrance, fondly kept. 
 
 When all lighter griefs have faded. 
 
 Thus, his memory, like some holy light 
 Kept alive in our hearts, will improve 
 them. 
 For worth shall look fairer, and truth 
 more bright, 
 When we think how he lived but to 
 love them. 
 And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume, 
 
 Where buried saints are lying. 
 So our hearts shall borrow a sweetening 
 bloom. 
 From the image he left there in dying I 
 
 Thomas Moore, 
 
 THE THREE FISHEBS. 
 
 Three fishers went sailing away to the 
 West, 
 Away to the West as the sun went 
 down ; 
 Each thought on the woman who loved 
 him the best. 
 And the children stood watching 
 
 them out of the town ; 
 For men must work, and women 
 
 must weep. 
 And there's little to earn, and many 
 to keep. 
 Though the harbour- bar be moan- 
 ing. 
 
 Three wives sat up in the lighthouse 
 tower, 
 And trimmed the lamps as the sun 
 went down. 
 And they looked at the squall, and they 
 looked at the shower, 
 And the night rack came rolling up, 
 
 ragged and brown ; 
 But men must work, and women 
 
 must weep. 
 Though storms be sudden, and waters 
 deep, 
 And the harbour-bar be moaning. 
 
 Three cor])scs lay out on the shining 
 sands. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 377 
 
 In the morning gleam as the tide 
 went down. 
 And the women are watching and wring- 
 ing their hands, 
 For those who will never come home 
 
 to the town. 
 For men must work, and women must 
 
 weep, 
 And the sooner it's over, the sooner 
 to sleep. 
 And good-bye to the bar and its 
 moaning. 
 
 Charles KingsUy. 
 
 THE HIDDEN MERMAIDS. 
 
 Sand, sand, liills of sand, 
 And the wind where notliing is 
 Green and sweet of the land — 
 No grass, no trees. 
 No birds, no butterfly 
 But hills, liills of sand, 
 And a burning sky. 
 
 Sea, sea mounds of the sea. 
 Hollow and dark and blue. 
 Flashing incessantly 
 
 The whole sea through ; 
 
 No flower, no jutting root. 
 Only the floor of the sea 
 
 With foam afloat. 
 
 Blow, blow windy shells I 
 
 And the watery fish. 
 Deaf to the hidden bells 
 
 In the waters plash : 
 No streaming gold, no eyes 
 Watching along the waves, 
 But far-blown shells, faint bells, 
 
 From the darkling caves. 
 
 Walter Bamal. 
 
 •♦HOW SWEET I ROAMED."* 
 How sweet I roam'd from field to field 
 
 And tasted all the summer's pride. 
 Till I the Prince of Love beheld 
 
 Who in the sunny beam^ did glide ! 
 
 • Said to have been written when tlie Author 
 was under fourteen years old, 
 
 He shew'd me lilies for my hair, 
 And blushing roses for my brow ; 
 
 He led me through his gardens fair 
 Where all his golden pleasures grow. 
 
 With sweet May-dews my wings were 
 wet. 
 
 And Phoebus fired my vocal rage ; 
 He caught me in his silken net. 
 
 And shut me in his golden cage. 
 
 He loves to sit and hear me sing, 
 
 Then, laughing, sports and plays with 
 me ; 
 
 Then stretches out my golden wing 
 And mocks my loss of liberty. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 
 
 Can I see another's woe, 
 .\nd not be in sorrow too ? 
 Can I see another's grief. 
 And not seek for kind reUef ? 
 
 Can I see a falling tear. 
 And not feel my sorrow's share ? 
 Can a father see his child, 
 Weep, nor be with sorrow filled ? 
 
 Can a mother sit and hear 
 An infant groan, an infant fear ? 
 No, no ! never can it be ! 
 Never, never can it be ! 
 
 And can He who smiles on all. 
 Hear the wren with sorrows small. 
 Hear the small bird's grief and care 
 Hear the woes that infants bear — 
 
 And not sit beside the nest. 
 Pouring pitj' in their breast. 
 And not sit the cradle near, 
 Weeping tear on infant's tear ? 
 
 And not sit both night and day. 
 Wiping all our tears away ; 
 Oh no ! never can it be : 
 Never, never can it be I 
 
 He doth give His joy to all : 
 He becomes an infant small. 
 He becomes a man of woe. 
 He doth feel the sorrow too. 
 
378 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Think not thou cans't sigh a sigh, 
 And thy Maker is not by : 
 Think not thou cans't weep a tear. 
 And thy Maker is not near. 
 
 Oh, He who gives to us His joy. 
 That our grief He may destroy : 
 Till our grief is fled and gone 
 He doth sit by us and moan. 
 
 William Blake, 
 
 Now hke a mighty wind they raise to 
 
 heaven the voice of song. 
 Or like harmonious thuuderings the 
 
 seats of heaven among. 
 Beneath them sit the aged men, wise 
 
 tfiiardiang of the poor ; 
 Then cherish pity lest you drive an 
 
 angel from your door. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 THE LOST PliAYMATB 
 
 There is wind where the rose was. 
 Cold rain where sweet grass was. 
 
 And clouds hke sheep 
 
 Stream o'er the steep 
 Grey sky where the lark was. 
 
 Nought gold where your hair was ; 
 Nought warm where your hand was; 
 
 But phantom, forlorn, 
 
 Beneath the thorn 
 Your ghost where your face was. 
 
 Sad winds where your voice was ; 
 Tears, tears, where my heart was ; 
 
 And ever with me, 
 
 Child, ever with me 
 Silence where hope was. 
 
 Walter Bamal, 
 
 liOVE ANT) FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Love is liko the wild rose-briar ; 
 Friendship like the holly-tree. 
 The liolly is dark when the rose-briar 
 blooms. 
 But which will bloom most con- 
 stantly ? 
 
 The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring. 
 Its summer blossoms scent the air ; 
 
 Yet wait till winter comes again, 
 And who will call the wild briar 
 fair? 
 
 Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now. 
 And deck thee with the holly's 
 sheen, 
 
 That when December blights thy brow. 
 He still may leave thy garland green. 
 
 Emily Bronte. 
 
 HOIiY THUBSDAT". 
 
 'TwAS on a Holy Thursday, their 
 
 innocent faces clean. 
 The children walking two and two, in 
 
 red and blue and green. 
 Grey-headed beadles walk'd before 
 
 with wands as white as .snow. 
 Till into the high dome of Paul's they 
 
 like Thames' waters flow. 
 
 Oh what a multitude they seem'd, 
 
 these flowers of London town ; 
 Seated in companies, they sit with 
 
 radiance all their own. 
 The hum of multitudes was there, but 
 
 multitudes of lambs. 
 Thousands of little boys and girls 
 
 raising their innocent hands. 
 
 JOHN ANDERSON". 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 AVhen we were fii-st acquent 
 Your locks were hke the raven. 
 Your bonnie brow was brent ; 
 But now your brow is bald, John, 
 Your locta are hke the snaw ; 
 But blessings on your frosty pow, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 John Anderson my jo, John, 
 We clamb the hill thegither. 
 And mony a canty day, John, 
 We've had wi' ane anither : 
 Now we maim totter down, John, 
 But hand in hand we'll go. 
 And sleep thegither at the foot, 
 John Anderson my jo. 
 
 Robert Bums. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 379 
 
 "I WANDERED BY THE 
 
 BECOK-SIDE." 
 I wander'd by the brook-side, 
 
 I Tvauder'd by the mill, — 
 I could not hear the brook flow, 
 
 Tho' noisy wheels were still ; 
 There was no burr of grasshopper, 
 
 Iso chirp of any bird ; 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 I sat beneath the elm-tree, 
 
 I watch 'd the long, long shade. 
 And as it grew still longer 
 
 I did not feel afraid ; 
 For I Usten'd for a foot-fall, 
 
 I listen'd for a word, — 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 He came not, — no, he came not ; 
 
 The night came on alone ; 
 The Uttle stars sat one by one 
 
 Each on his golden throne ; 
 The evening air pass'd by my cheek. 
 
 The leaves above were stirr'd, — ■ 
 But the beating of my own heart 
 
 Was all the sound I heard. 
 
 Fast silent tears were flowing. 
 
 When someone stood behind ; 
 A hand was on my shoulder, 
 
 I knew its touch was kind : 
 It drew me nearer, nearer ; 
 
 We did not speak a word, — 
 For the beating of oiu: own hearts 
 
 Was all the sound we heard. 
 
 Lord Houghton. 
 
 ANSWER TO A CHILD'S 
 QUESTION. 
 
 Do you ask what the birds say ? The 
 
 sparrow and the dove. 
 The hnnet, and thrush say, " I love, and 
 
 I love ! " 
 In the winter they're silent, the wind 
 
 is so strong ; 
 What it says I don't know, but it 
 
 sings a loud song. 
 But green leaves, and blossoms, and 
 
 sunny warm weather. 
 And singing and loving — all come back 
 
 together. 
 
 But the lark is so brimful of gladness 
 
 and love. 
 The green fields below him, the blue 
 
 sky above. 
 That he sings, and he sings, and for 
 
 ever sings he, 
 " I love my Love, and my Love loves 
 
 me." 
 
 <S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 "AS THRO' THE LAND AT EVE 
 
 WE WENT." 
 
 As thro' the land at eve we went. 
 
 And pluck'd the ripen'd ears, 
 We fell out, my wife and I, 
 
 And kiss'd again with tears : 
 And blessings on the falling-out 
 
 That all the more endears, 
 AVhen we fall out with those we love. 
 
 And kiss again with tears ! 
 For when we came where hes the child. 
 
 We lost in other years. 
 There above the Uttie grave. 
 
 We kiss'd again with tears. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 Two children in two neighbour villages 
 Playing mad pranks along the healthy 
 
 leas ; 
 Two strangers meeting at a festival ; 
 Two lovers whispering by an orchard 
 
 wall ; 
 Two lives bound fast in one with 
 
 golden ease ; 
 Two graves grass-green beside a grey 
 
 church-tower, 
 Wash'd with still rains and dais}'- 
 
 blossomed ; 
 Two children in one hamlet born and 
 
 bred ; 
 So runs the round of life from hour 
 
 to hour. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 CHARACTER OF A HAPPY 
 LIFE. 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 
 That serveth not another's will ; 
 
380 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Wliose armour is his honest thought, 
 And simple truth his, utmost skill ! 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are, 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death. 
 Not tied unto the world with care 
 Of pubhc fame, or private breath ; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise 
 Or vice ; who never understood 
 How deepest wounds are given by 
 
 praise ; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good : 
 
 Who hath his hfe from rumours freed ; 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
 AVhose state can neither flatterers feed. 
 Nor ruin make accusers great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a well-chosen book or friend ; 
 
 — This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands ; 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 Sir Henry Wottori, 
 
 THE DAWNING DAY. 
 
 So here hath been dawning 
 
 Another blue day : 
 Think, wilt thou let it 
 
 Shp useless away ? 
 
 Out of Eternity 
 
 This new day is born ; 
 Into Eternity 
 
 At night doth return. 
 
 Behold it aforetime 
 
 No eyes ever did : 
 So soon it for ever 
 
 From all eyes is hid. 
 
 Here hath been dawning 
 
 Another blue day : 
 Think, wilt thou let it 
 
 Shp useless away T 
 
 Thomas Carlyle. 
 
 A PSAIiM OP LIFE. 
 
 Tell me not, in mournful numbers. 
 Life is but an empty dream ! 
 
 For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
 And things are not what they seem. 
 
 Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 
 
 And the grave is not its goal ; 
 Dust thou art, to dust returnest. 
 
 Was not spoken of the soul. 
 
 Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 
 Is our destined end or way ; 
 
 But to act, that each to-morrow 
 Finds us farther than to-day. 
 
 Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 
 And our hearts, though stout and 
 brave. 
 
 Still, hke muffled drums, are beating 
 Funeral marches to the grave. 
 
 In the world's broad field of battle. 
 
 In the bivouac of Life, 
 Be not hke dumb, driven cattle I 
 
 Be a hero in the strife ! 
 
 Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 
 
 Let the dead Past bury its dead I 
 Act — act in the Uving Present ! 
 
 Heart within, and God o'erhead 1 
 
 Lives of great men all remind us 
 We can make our hves sublime. 
 
 And, departing, leave behind us 
 Footprints on the sands of time ; 
 
 Footprints, that perhaps another. 
 Sailing o'er hfe's solemn main, 
 
 A forlorn and shipwrecked brother. 
 Seeing, shall take heart again. 
 
 Let us, then, be up and doing, 
 With a heart for any fate ; 
 
 Still achieving, still pursuing, 
 Learn to labour and to wait. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 A NAME IN THE SAND. 
 Alone I walked the ocean strand ; 
 A pearly shell was in my hand : 
 I stooped and wrote upon the sand 
 My name — the year — the day. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 881 
 
 As onward from the spot I passed, 
 One lingering look behind I cast ; 
 A wave came rolling high and fast, 
 And washed my lines away. 
 
 And so, methought, 'twill shortly ho 
 With every mark on earth from iiic ; 
 A wave of dark oblivion's sea 
 
 Will sweep across tlic place, 
 Where I have trod the sandy shore 
 Of time, and been to be no more, 
 Of me — my day — the name I bore, 
 
 To leave nor track, nor trace. 
 
 And yet, with Him who counts the 
 sands 
 
 And holds the waters in His hands, 
 I know a lasting record stands. 
 
 Inscribed against my name, 
 ( )f all this mortal part has wrought ; 
 Of all this thinking soul has thought; 
 And from their fleeting moments caught 
 
 For glory or for shame. 
 
 Hannah ilagg Gould. 
 
 EXCEIiSIOR. 
 
 The shades of night were falling fast. 
 As through an Alpine village passed 
 A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
 A banner, with the strange device. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
 Flashed like a faulchion from its slieath. 
 And like a silver clarion rung 
 The accents of that unknown tongue, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 In happy homes he saw the light 
 Of household fires gleam warm and 
 
 bright ; 
 Above, the spectral glaciers shone. 
 And from his lips escaped a groan. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Try not the Pass ! " the old man said, 
 " Dark lowers the tempest overhead, 
 The roaring torrent is deep and wide ! " 
 And loud that clarion voice replied. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " stay ! " the maiden said, " and rest 
 Thy weary head upon this breast ! " 
 
 A tear stood in his bright blue eye. 
 But still he answered, with a sigli. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 " Beware the pine-tree's withered 
 
 branch ! 
 Beware the awful avalanche ! " 
 This was the peasant's last good-night ! 
 A voice replied, far up the height. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 At break of day, as heavenward 
 The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
 Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
 A voice cried through the startled air, 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
 Half-buried in the snow, was found. 
 Still grasping in his hand of ice 
 That banner, with the strange device. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 'I'licre, in the twilight cold and grey. 
 Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
 And from the sky, serene and far, 
 A voice fell, like a falling star. 
 Excelsior ! 
 
 Henry Wadu worth Long fellow. 
 
 PROCRASTINATIOIir. 
 
 Shun delays, they breed remorse ; 
 
 Take thy time while time is lent thee ; 
 Creeping snails have weakest force ; 
 
 Fly thy fault, lest thou repent thee ; 
 Good is best when soonest wrought ; 
 Lingering labours come to nought. 
 
 Hoist up sail while gale doth last ; 
 
 Tide and wind wait no man's 
 pleasure ; 
 Seek not time when time is past ; 
 
 Sober speed is wisdom's leisure ; 
 Afterwits are dearly bought. 
 Let thy forewit guide thy thought. 
 
 Time wears all his locks before. 
 
 Take thou hold upon his forehead ; 
 
 When he flies he turns no more. 
 And behind his scalp is naked : 
 
 Works adjourned have many stays, 
 
 Long demurs breed new delays, 
 
 Robert Southwell. 
 
382 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 BUB OB BUST. 
 Idler, why lie down to die ? 
 
 Better rub than rust. 
 Hark ! the lark sings in the sky — 
 
 " Die when die thou must ! 
 Day is waking, leaves are shaking. 
 
 Better rub than rust." 
 
 In the grave there's sleep enough — 
 
 " Better rub than rust. 
 Death, perhaps, is hunger-proof. 
 
 Die when die thou must ; 
 Men are mowing, breezes blowing, 
 
 Better rub than rust." 
 
 He who will not work shall want ; 
 
 Nought for nought is just. 
 Won't do 7nust do, when he canH, — 
 
 " Better rub than rust. ' 
 Bees are flying, sloth is dying, 
 
 Better rub than rust." 
 
 Ebenezer Elliott. 
 
 CONTENTMEITT. 
 My mind to me a kingdom is ; 
 
 Such perfect joy therein I find. 
 As far exceeds all earthly bliss 
 
 That world affords, or grows by kind : 
 Tliough much I want what most men 
 
 have, 
 Yet doth my mind forbid me crave. 
 
 Content I live — this is my stay ; 
 
 I seek no more than may suffice — 
 I press to bear no haughty sway ; 
 
 Look — what I lack my mind supplies. 
 Lo ! thus I triumph like a king, 
 Content with that my mind doth bring. 
 
 I see how plenty surfeits oft, 
 And hasty climbers oft do fall ; 
 
 I see how those that sit aloft 
 
 Mishap doth threaten most of all ; 
 
 They get — they toil — they spend with 
 care : 
 
 Such cares my mind could never bear. 
 
 I laugh not at another's loss, 
 I grudge not at another's gain ; 
 
 No worldly wave my mind can toss ; 
 I brook that is another's pain. 
 
 I fear no foe — I scorn no friend : 
 
 I dread no death — I fear no end- 
 
 Some have too much, yet still they 
 crave ; 
 I little have, yet seek no more : 
 They are but poor, though much they 
 have. 
 And I am rich — with little store. 
 They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give : 
 They lack, I lend : they pine, I live. 
 
 I wish not what I have at will : 
 
 I wander not to seek for more : 
 I like the plain ; I climb no hill : 
 In greatest storm I sit on shore. 
 And laugh at those that toil in vain. 
 To gain what must be lost again. 
 This is my choice ; for why — I find 
 No wealth is like a quiet mind. 
 
 Sir E. Dyer. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE ANGEI.. 
 
 Morning, evening, noon, and night, 
 " Praise God," sang Theocrite. 
 
 Then to his poor trade he turned. 
 
 By which the daily meal was earned. 
 
 Hard he laboured, long and well ; 
 Over his work the boy's curls fell : 
 
 But ever, at each period, 
 
 He stopped and sang, " Praise God." 
 
 Then back again his curls he tlirew. 
 And cheerful turned to work anew. 
 
 Said Blaise, the listening monk, " Well 
 
 done ; 
 I doubt not thou art heard, my son." 
 
 " As well as if thy voice to-day 
 Were praising God, the Pope's great 
 way. 
 
 " This Easter Day the Pope at Rome 
 Praises God from Peter's dome." 
 
 Said Theocrite, " Would God that I 
 Miglit praise Him, that great way, and 
 die ! " 
 
 Night passed, day shone 
 And Theocrite was gone. 
 
 With God a day endures alway, 
 A thousand years are but a day. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 383 
 
 God said in Heaven, " Nor day nor 
 
 night 
 Kow brings the voice of my delight.'' 
 
 Then Gabriel, like a rainbow's birth, 
 Spread his \m1g3 and sank to earth ; 
 
 Entered in flesh, the empty cell, 
 Lived there and played the craftsman 
 well : 
 
 And morning, evening, noon and night. 
 Praised God in place of Theocrite. 
 
 And from a boy, to youth he grew ; 
 The man put off the stripling's hue ; 
 
 The man matured and fell away 
 Into the season of decay ; 
 
 And ever o'er the trade he bent, 
 And ever lived on earth content. 
 
 (He did God's will ; to him all one 
 If on the earth or in the sun.) 
 
 God said, " A praise is in My ear : 
 There is no doubt in it, no fear ; 
 
 " So sing, old worlds, and so 
 
 New worlds that from my footstool go. 
 
 " Clearer loves sound other ways : 
 I miss my little human praise." 
 
 Then forth sprang Gabriel's wings ; off 
 
 fell 
 The flesh disguise, remained the cell. 
 
 Tw as Easter Day : he flew to Rome, 
 Auil paused above Saint Peter's dome. 
 
 In the tiring-room close by 
 The great outer gallery, 
 
 \\ith his holy vestments dight, 
 iStood the new Pope, Theocrite : 
 
 And all his past career 
 Came back upon him clear, 
 
 Since when, a boy, he plied his trade, 
 Till on his life the sickness weighed ; 
 
 And in his cell, wlicn death drew near, 
 An angel in a dream brought cheer : 
 
 And rising from the sickness drear 
 He grew a priest, and now stood here. 
 
 'J'o the East with praise he turned. 
 And on his right the angel burned. 
 
 " I bore thee from thy craftsman's ceil 
 And set thee here ; I did not well. 
 
 " Vainly I left my angel's sphere. 
 Vain was thy dream of many a year. 
 
 " Thy voice's praise seemed weak ; it 
 
 dropped — 
 Cieation's chonis stopped { 
 
 "Go back and praise again 
 The early way — while I remain. 
 
 " With that weak voice of our disdain. 
 Take up Creation's pausing strain. 
 
 " Back to the cell and poor employ : 
 Become the craftsman and the boy ! " 
 
 Theocrite grew old at home ; 
 
 A new Pope dwelt in Peter's Dome. 
 
 One vanished as the other died : 
 They sought God side by side. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 ABOXT BEN ADHEM AND THE 
 ANGEL. 
 
 Abott Ben Adhem (may his tribe 
 
 (increase 
 Awoke one night from a deep dream of 
 
 peace, 
 And saw, within the moonlight of the 
 
 room, 
 Making it rich, and like a Hly in 
 
 bloom, 
 An angel writing in a book of gold : — 
 Exceeding peace had made Ben Adlieni 
 
 bold. 
 And to the presence in the room he 
 
 said, 
 " What writest thou ? " The vision 
 
 rais'd his head. 
 And with a look made of all sweet 
 
 accord, 
 Answer'd, "The names of those who 
 
 love the Lord." 
 
384 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " And is mine one ? " said Abou. 
 
 " Nay, not so," 
 Replied the angel. Abou spoke more 
 
 low. 
 But oheerly still ; and said : " I pray 
 
 thee then, 
 Write me as one that loves his fellow 
 
 men." 
 
 The angel wrote, and vanish'd. The 
 
 next night 
 It came again with a great wakening 
 
 hght, 
 And show'd the names whom love of 
 
 God had bless'd 
 And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the 
 
 rest. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 WOIiSEY. 
 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed a 
 
 tear 
 In all my miseries ; but thou hast 
 
 forced me 
 Out of thy honest truth to play the 
 
 woman. 
 Let's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear 
 
 me, Cromwell ; 
 And — when I am forgotten, as I shall 
 
 be. 
 And sleep in dull cold marble, where 
 
 no mention 
 Of me more must be heard of, — say, I 
 
 taught thee ; 
 Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways 
 
 of glory ,- 
 And sounded all the depths and shoals 
 
 of honour, — 
 Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to 
 
 rise in ; 
 A sure and safe one, though thy 
 
 master miss'd it. 
 Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd 
 
 me. 
 Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away 
 
 ambition ; 
 By that sin fell the angels ; how can 
 
 man then, 
 'riiG image of his Maker, hope to win 
 
 by't? 
 Love thyself last : cherish those hearts 
 
 that hate thee ; 
 Corruption wins not more than lionej'ty. 
 
 Still to thy right hand carry gentle 
 
 peace. 
 To silence envious tongues. Be just 
 
 and fear not ; 
 Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy 
 
 country's, 
 Thy God's, and truth's ; then if thou 
 
 fall'st, Cromwell, 
 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr ! 
 
 William SJiakespeare. 
 
 MERCY. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 It droppeth as the gentle rain from 
 
 heaven 
 Upon the place bensath : it is twice 
 
 blessed ; 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him 
 
 that takes : 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it 
 
 becomes 
 The throned monarch better than liis 
 
 crown : 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal 
 
 power. 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear 
 
 of kings ; 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway. 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings, 
 It is an attribute to God himself ; 
 An earthly power doth then show 
 
 hkest God's, 
 When mercy seasons justice. Think 
 
 of this. 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 Should see salvation. We do pray for 
 
 mercy ; 
 And that same prayer doth teach us 
 
 all to render 
 The deeds of mercy. 
 
 Willinm Shakespeare. 
 
 "PACK CLOUDS AWAY." 
 
 Pack, clouds, away ! and welcome, 
 day ! 
 With night we banish sorrow : 
 Sweet air, blow soft ! mount, lark, 
 aloft ! 
 To give my Love good-morrow ; 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 885 
 
 Wings from the wind, to please her 
 mind, 
 Notes from the lark I'll borrow. 
 Bird, prune thy wing ! nightingale, 
 sing ! 
 To give my Love good- morrow. 
 To give my Love good-morrow, 
 Notes from them all I'll borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast ! 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furro\\' ! 
 And from each hill let music shrill 
 
 Give my fair Love good-morrow. 
 Blackbird and thrush, in every bush — 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
 You pretty elves — amongst yoursehes 
 
 Sing my fair Love good-morrow ! 
 
 To give my Love good-morro^^> 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 
 
 Thomas Heyicood. 
 
 HOME THEY BROUGHT HIIR 
 WARRIOR DEAD. 
 
 Home they brought her warrior dead ; 
 
 She nor swoon'd nor utter'd cry ; 
 All her maidens, watching, said, 
 
 " She must weep or she will die." 
 
 Then they praised him, soft and low, 
 Call'd him wortiiy to be loved. 
 
 Truest friend and noblest foe ; 
 Yet she neither spoke nor moved. 
 
 Stole a maiden from her place, 
 Lightly to the warrior stept. 
 
 Took the face-cloth from the face; 
 Yet she neither moved nor wept. 
 
 Rose a nurse of ninety years. 
 Set his child iipon her knee — 
 
 Like summer tempest came her tears — ■ 
 " Sweet, my child, I live for thee." 
 
 Lord Tenmjson. 
 
 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY 
 MOTHER'S PICTURE. 
 
 Oh that those lips had language ! Life 
 
 has passed 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee 
 
 last. 
 
 Tlioso li^js are thine — thy o^vn sweet 
 
 smiles I see. 
 The same, that oft in childhood solaced 
 
 me ; 
 Voice only fails, else, how distinct they 
 
 say, 
 " CJrieve not, my child, chase all thy 
 
 fears away ! " 
 
 My Mother! wlicn I learned that thou 
 
 wast dead. 
 Say, wast thou conscious of the tea is 
 
 i shod ? 
 Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing 
 
 son, 
 Wretch even then, life's journey just 
 
 begun ? 
 Perhaps thou gavest me, though unseen, 
 
 a kiss ; 
 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in 
 
 bliss — 
 Ah. that maternal smile ! It answers — 
 
 Yes. 
 I heard thy bell tolled on thy burial 
 
 (lay, 
 I saw the hearse, that bore thee slow 
 
 away ; 
 And, turning from my nursery winiluw, 
 
 drew 
 A long, long sigh, and wept a last 
 
 adieu ! 
 But was it such ? — It was. Where 
 
 thou art gone, 
 Adieus and farewells are a sound 
 
 unknown. 
 May I but meet thee on that peaceful 
 
 shore. 
 The parting sound shall pass my lips no 
 
 moi'e ! 
 Thy maidens, grieved themselves at 
 
 my concern. 
 Oft gave me promise of a quick return. 
 What ardently I wished, I long be- 
 lieved. 
 And, disappointed still, was still 
 
 deceived. 
 By disappointment every day beguiled. 
 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
 Thus many a sad to-morrow came and 
 
 Avent, 
 Till all ray stock of infant sorrow spent, 
 I learned at last submission to my lot. 
 But though I less deplored thee, ne'er 
 
 forgot. 
 
 Where once we dwelt our name ia 
 heard no more, 
 
 25 
 
386 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Children not thine have trod my 
 
 nursery floor ; 
 And where the gardener Robin, day 
 
 by day, 
 Drew me to school along the public way, 
 Delighted with my bauble coach, and 
 
 wrapt 
 In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet 
 
 capt, 
 'Tis now become a history little known. 
 That once we called the pastoral house 
 
 our own. 
 Short-lived possession ! but the record 
 
 fair. 
 That memory keeps of all thy kindness 
 
 there, 
 Still outlives many a storm, that has 
 
 effaced 
 A thousand other themes less deeply 
 
 traced. 
 Thy nightly visits to my chamber 
 
 made. 
 That thou mightest know me safe and 
 
 warmly laid ; 
 Thy morning bounties ere I left my 
 
 home, 
 The biscuit, or confectionery plum ; 
 The fragrant waters on my cheeks 
 
 bestowed 
 By thy own hand, till fresh they shone 
 
 and glowed ; 
 All this, and more endearing still than 
 
 all. 
 Thy constant flow of love, that knew 
 
 no fall. 
 Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and 
 
 breaks. 
 That humour interposed too often 
 
 makes ; 
 All this still legible in memory's page, 
 And still to be so to my latest age, 
 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
 Such honours to thee as my numbers 
 
 may; 
 Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere. 
 Not scorned in heaven, though little 
 
 noticed here. 
 
 Could time, his flight reversed, restore 
 the hours. 
 When, playing with thy vestiu-e's 
 
 tissued flowers. 
 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
 I pricked them into paper with a pin 
 (And thou wast happier than myself 
 
 the while, 
 Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my 
 
 head, and smile). 
 
 Could those few pleasant hours again 
 
 appear, 
 Might one wish bring them, would I 
 
 wish them here ? 
 I would not trust my heart — the dear 
 
 dehght 
 Seems to be so desired, perhaps I 
 
 might. — 
 But no — what here we call our Ufe is 
 
 such. 
 So httle to be loved, and thou so much. 
 That I should ill requite thee to 
 
 constrain 
 Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 
 
 William Cotiyper. 
 
 THE COMPIiAINTS OF 
 THE POOR. 
 
 " And wherefore do the poor com ■ 
 plain ? " 
 
 The rich man asked of me ; — 
 " Come walk abroad with me," I said, 
 
 " And I will answer thee." 
 
 'Twas evening, and the frozen streets 
 
 Were cheerless to behold. 
 And we were wrapt and coated well. 
 
 And yet we were a- cold. 
 
 We met an old bare-headed man. 
 His locks were few and white, 
 
 I ask'd him what he did abroad 
 In that cold winter's night. 
 
 'Twas bitter keen, indeed, he said, 
 But at home no fire had he. 
 
 And therefore he had come abroad 
 To ask for charity. 
 
 We met a young barefooted child, 
 And she begged loud and bold ; 
 
 I ask'd her what she did abroad 
 When the wind it blew so cold. 
 
 She said her father was at home, 
 
 And he lay sick in bed. 
 And therefore was it she was scut 
 
 Abroad to beg for bread. 
 
 We saw a woman sitting down 
 Upon a stone to rerit, 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 387 
 
 She had a baby at her back 
 And another at her breast. 
 
 I ask'd her why she loiter'd there. 
 When the night- wind was so chill ; — 
 
 She turned her head and bade the child 
 That screani'd behind be still. 
 
 She told U3 that her husband served, 
 
 A soldier, far away, 
 And therefore to her parish she 
 
 Was begging back her way. 
 
 I turn'd me to the rich man then, 
 
 For silently stood he, — 
 " You ask'd me why the poor com- 
 plain. 
 
 And these have answered thee ! " 
 
 Robert Sonthei/. 
 
 THE ORPHAN BOY. 
 
 Stay, lady, stay ! for mercy's sake, 
 And hear a helpless orphan's tale ! 
 
 Ah ! sure my looks must pity wake, — 
 'Tis want that makes my cheek so 
 pale. 
 
 Yet I was once a mother's pride. 
 And my brave father's hope and joy ; 
 
 But in the Nile's proud fight he died. 
 And I am now an orphan boy. 
 
 Poor foolish child — how pleased was I 
 \A'hen news of Nelson's victory came. 
 
 Along the crowded streets to fly. 
 And see the hghted windows flame 1 
 
 To force me home my mother sought. 
 She could not bear to see my joy ; 
 
 For with my father's Ufe 'twas bought. 
 And made me a poor orphan boy I 
 
 The people's shouts were long and loud. 
 
 My mother, shuddering, closed her 
 
 ears ; 
 
 " Rejoice ! rejoice ! " still cried the 
 
 crowd ; 
 
 My mother answered with her tears. 
 
 " Why are you crying so ? " said I, 
 " While others laugh and shout with 
 joy ? " 
 
 She kissed me— and with such a sigh ! 
 She called me her poor orphan boy. 
 
 " What ui an orphan boy ? " I cried, 
 As in her face I looked, and smiled ; 
 
 My mother through her tears, replied, 
 " You'll know too soon, ill-fated 
 child ! " 
 
 And now they've tolled my mother's 
 knell. 
 And I'm no more a parent's joy ; 
 lady, I have learned too well 
 What 'tis to be an orphan boy ! 
 Amelia Opie. 
 
 THE ORPHANS SONO. 
 
 I HAD a little bird, 
 
 I took it from the nest ; 
 I prest it and blest it. 
 
 And nurst it in my breast. 
 
 I set it on the ground, 
 I danced roimd and round. 
 And sang about it so cheerly. 
 
 With " Hey, my little bird, and ho ! 
 my Uttle bird, 
 
 And oh ! but I love thee dearly 1 " 
 
 I make a little feast 
 
 Of food soft and sweet, 
 I hold it in my breast. 
 
 And coax it to eat ; 
 
 I pit, and I pat, 
 
 I call this and that. 
 
 And I sing about so cheerly, 
 
 With " Hey, my httle bird, and ho ! 
 my little bird. 
 
 And ho I but I love thee dearly." 
 
 Sydney Dobell. 
 
 AH I BLEAK AND BARREN 
 WAS THE MOOR 
 
 Ah ! bleak and barren was the moor. 
 Ah ! loud and piercing was the 
 storm ; 
 The cottage roof was sheltered sure. 
 The cottage hearth was bright and 
 warm. 
 
 25* 
 
388 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 An orphan-boy the lattice pass'd, 
 And, as he marked its cheerful glow. 
 
 Felt doubly keen the midnight lilast. 
 And doubly cold the fallen snow. 
 
 They marked him as he onward press'd. 
 
 With fainting heart and weary limb ; 
 Kind voices bade him turn and rest, 
 
 And gentle faces welcomed him. 
 The dawn is up — the guest is gone. 
 
 The cottage hearth is blazing still : 
 Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone ! 
 
 Hark to the wind upon the hill. 
 
 Williatn Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 THE PIIiGRIM. 
 
 Who would true valour see. 
 
 Let him come hither ! 
 One here will constant be. 
 
 Come wind, come weather ; 
 There's no discouragement 
 Shall make him once relent 
 His flint-avow'd intent 
 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 
 Whoso beset him round 
 
 With dismal stories, 
 ])(j but themselves confound; 
 
 His strength the more is. 
 No lion can him fright ; 
 He'll with a giant fight ; 
 But he will have a right 
 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 
 Nor enemy, nor friend. 
 
 Can daunt his spirit ; 
 He knows he at the end 
 
 Shall Life inherit : — ■ 
 Then, fancies, fly away ; 
 He'll not fear what men say ; 
 He'll labour, night and day. 
 
 To be a Pilgrim. 
 
 John Bunyan. 
 
 THE DREAMER. 
 
 Bring not bright candles, for her eyes 
 In twilight have sweet company ; 
 
 Bring not bright candles else they lly, 
 Her pliantoms fly, 
 
 Cia/iii>! agL'rieved on thee. 
 
 Bring not bright caudles ; startle not 
 The phantoms of a vacant room 
 
 Flocking above a child that dreams- 
 Deep, deep, in dreams, 
 
 Hid in the gathering gloom. 
 
 Bring not bright candles to those eyes 
 That between earth and stars descry. 
 
 Lovelier for the shadows there. 
 Children of air, 
 
 Palaces in the sky. 
 
 Walter Ramal. 
 
 IF I HAD BTJT TWO LITTLE 
 WINGS. 
 
 If I had but two little wings 
 And were a little feathery bird. 
 To you I'd fly, my dear ! 
 But thoughts like these are idle things 
 And I stay here. 
 
 But in my sleep to you I fly : 
 
 I'm always with j'ou in my sleep ! 
 The world is all one's own. 
 But then one wakes, and where am I ? 
 All, all alone. 
 
 Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids : 
 So I love to wake ere break of day : 
 For though my sleep be gone, 
 Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids, 
 And still dreams on. 
 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 THE LAND OF DREAMS. 
 
 "Awake, awake, my little boy! 
 Thou wast thy mother's only joy ; 
 Why dost thou weep in thy gentle 
 
 sleep 1 
 O wake ! thy father does thee keep." 
 
 " what land is thy Land of Dreams ? 
 What are its mountains, and wliat a to 
 its streams ? 
 
 father ! I saw my mother there. 
 Among the lilies by waters fair. 
 
 " Among the lambs, clothM in white. 
 She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet 
 delight ; 
 
 1 wept for joy ; like a dove I mourn : 
 when shall I again return ! " 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 389 
 
 •* Dear Child ! I also by pleasant 
 
 streams 
 Have wander'd all night by the Land of 
 
 Dreams : 
 But though calm and warm the waters 
 
 wide, 
 I could not get to the other side." 
 
 " Father, father ! what do we here, 
 In this land of unbelief and fear ? 
 The Land of Dreams is better far. 
 Above the light of the morning star." 
 
 Williavi Blake. 
 
 THE DIVINE IMAGE. 
 To Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love, 
 
 All pray in their distress, 
 And to these virtues of delight 
 
 Return their thankfulness. 
 
 For Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love, 
 
 Is God our Father dear ; 
 And Mercy, Pity, Peace and Love 
 
 Is man, his child and care. 
 
 For Mercy has a human heart. 
 
 Pity, a human face ; 
 And Love, the human form divine ; 
 
 And Peace, the human dress. 
 
 Then every man, of every clime. 
 That prays in his distress, 
 
 Prays to the human form divine, 
 Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. 
 
 form. 
 
 And all must love the human 
 In heathen, Turk, or Jew, 
 
 Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell. 
 There God is dwelling too. 
 
 William Blake. 
 
 A liOST CHOBD. 
 
 Seated one day at the Organ, 
 I was weary and ill at ease. 
 
 And my fingers wandered idly 
 Over the noisy keys. 
 
 I do not know what I was playing, 
 Or what I W£i3 dreaming then ; 
 
 But I struck one chord of music. 
 Like the sound of a great Ameo. 
 
 It flooded the crimson twilight, 
 Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, 
 
 And it lay on my fevered spirit. 
 With a touch of infinite calm. 
 
 It quieted pain and sorrow. 
 Like love overcoming strife ; 
 
 It seemed the harmonious echo. 
 From our discordant life. 
 
 It linked all perplexed meanings, 
 
 Into one perfect peace. 
 And trembled away in silence, 
 
 As if it were loth to cease. 
 
 I have sought but I seek it vainly, 
 
 That one lost chord divine. 
 Which came from the soul of the Organ, 
 
 And entered into mine. 
 
 It may be that Death's bright angel. 
 Will speak in that chord again — 
 
 It may be that only in Heaven, 
 I shall hear that grand Amen. 
 
 Adelaide Anne Procter 
 
 THE BEIiliS. 
 
 L 
 
 Hear the sledges with the bella — 
 
 Silver bells ! 
 
 What a world of merriment their 
 
 melody foretells ! 
 
 How they, tinkle tinkle, tinkle. 
 
 In the icy air of night ! 
 While the stars that oversprinkle 
 All the heavens seem to twinkle 
 With a crystalline delight ; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
 To the tintinabulation that so 
 musically swells 
 From the bells, bells, bells, bella 
 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 From the jingling and the tinkling 
 of the bells. 
 
 IL 
 
 Hear the mellow wedding bells. 
 Golden bells ! 
 What a world of happiness their 
 harmony foretells ! 
 Through the balmy air of night 
 How they ring out their delight { — 
 
390 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 From the molten golden notes. 
 
 And all in tune, 
 What a liquid ditty floats 
 To the turtle-dove that listens, 
 while she gloats 
 
 On the moon ! 
 Oh, from out the sounding cells, 
 What a gush of euphony volu- 
 minously wells ! 
 
 How it swells 
 How it dwells 
 On the Future; how it tells 
 Of the rapture that impels 
 To the swinging and the ringing 
 Of the bells, bells, bells. 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 To the rhyming and the chiming of 
 the bells | 
 
 ni. 
 
 Hear the loud alarum bells^ 
 Brazen bells ! 
 What a tale qf terror now, their 
 turbulency tells ; 
 
 In the startled air of night 
 How they scream out their affright } 
 Too much horrified to speak 
 They can only sliriek, shriek. 
 Out of tune, 
 In the clamorous appealing to the mercy 
 
 of the fire. 
 In the mad expostulation with the 
 deaf and frantic fire. 
 Leaping higher, higher, higher. 
 With a desperate desire. 
 
 And a resolute endeavour 
 Now — now to sit or never. 
 By the side of the pale-faced moon. 
 Oh, the bells, bells, bells! 
 What a tale their tenor tells 
 of Despair ! 
 How they clang and crash and roar ! 
 What a horror they out pour 
 On the bosom of the palpitating air ! 
 Yet the air it fully knows. 
 By the twanging. 
 And the clanging. 
 How the danger ebbs and flo\\'s ; 
 Yet the air distinctly tells. 
 In the jangling, 
 And the wrangling. 
 How the danger sinks and swells. 
 By the sinking or the swelling in the 
 anger of the bells — 
 
 Of the bells— 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, 
 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 In the clamor and the clangor of the 
 bells 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hear the tolling of the bells — 
 Iron bells ! 
 What a world of solemn thought 
 their melody compels ! 
 
 In the silence of the night. 
 
 How we shiver with affright 
 
 At the melancholy menace of their tone ! 
 
 For every sound that floats 
 
 From the rust within their throats 
 
 Is a groan. 
 
 And the people — ah, the people — 
 
 They that dwell up in the steeple, 
 
 All alone. 
 And who tolling, tolling, tolling, 
 In that muffled monotone, 
 Feel a glory in the rolling 
 On the human heart a stone — ■ 
 They are neither man nor woman — 
 They are neithe • brute nor human 
 They are Ghouls : 
 And their king it is who tolls ; 
 And he rolls, rolls, rolls, 
 
 Rolls. 
 A paean from the bells ! 
 And his merry bosom swells 
 With the psean from the bells ! 
 And he dances and he yells ; 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 In a sort of Runic rhyme. 
 To the throbbing of the bells— 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 To the sobbing of the bells ; 
 
 Keeping time, time, time. 
 As he knells, knells, knells, 
 In a happy Runic rhyme. 
 To the rolling of the bells^» 
 Of the bells, bells, bells— 
 To the tolling of the bells. 
 Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- 
 Bells, bells, bells— 
 To the moaning and the groaning 
 of the bells. 
 
 Edgar Allan Poe. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 For do but note a wild and wanton 
 
 herd 
 Or race of youthful and uohandled 
 
 oolts, 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 391 
 
 Fetching mad bounds, bellowing and 
 
 neighing loud, 
 Which is the hot condition of their 
 
 blood ; 
 If they but hear perchance a trumpet 
 
 sound. 
 Or any air of music touch their ears, 
 fou shall perceive them make a 
 
 mutual stand, 
 Their savage eyes turn'd to a modest 
 
 gaze 
 By the sweet power of music ; there- 
 fore the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, 
 
 stones and flood ; 
 Since naught so stockish, hard, and 
 
 full of rage. 
 But music for the time doth change his 
 
 nature. 
 The man that hath no music in himself. 
 Nor is not moved with concord of 
 
 sweet sounds. 
 Is lit for treasons, stratagems, and 
 
 spoils ; 
 The motions of his spirit are dull as 
 
 night. 
 And his affections dark as Erebus : 
 Let no such man be trusted. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 POWER OF MUSIC. 
 
 An Orpheus ! an Orpheus | — yet. Faith 
 
 may grow bold. 
 And take to herself all the wonders of 
 
 old; 
 Near the stately Pantheon you'll meet 
 
 with the same 
 In the street that from Oxford hath 
 
 borrowed its name. 
 
 His station is there : — and he works on 
 
 the crowd. 
 He sways tliem with harmony merry 
 
 and loud ; 
 He fills with his power all their hearts 
 
 to the brim — 
 Was aught ever heard like his Fiddle 
 
 and him ? 
 
 What an eager assembly ! what an 
 
 empire is this ! 
 The weary have life, and the hungry 
 
 have bliss ; 
 The mourner is cheered, and the anxious 
 
 have rest ; 
 
 And the guilt-bnrthened soul is no 
 longer opprest. 
 
 As the moon brightens round her the 
 clouds of the niglit. 
 
 So he, where he stands, is a centre of 
 light ; 
 
 It gleams on the face, there, of dusty- 
 browed Jack, 
 
 And the pale-visaged Baker's, with 
 basket on back. 
 
 That errand-bound 'Prentice was pass- 
 ing in haste — 
 
 What matter ! he'a caught — and his 
 time runs to waste — 
 
 The Newsman is stopped, though he 
 stops on the fret. 
 
 And the half-breathless Lamplighter — 
 he's in the net ! 
 
 The Porter sits down on the weight 
 
 which he bore ; 
 The Lass with her barrow wheels 
 
 hither her store ; 
 If a thief could be here he might pilfer 
 
 at ease ; 
 She sees the Musician, 'tis all that she 
 
 sees I 
 
 He stands, backed by the wall ; — he 
 
 abates not his din ; 
 His hat gives him vigour, with boons 
 
 dropping in. 
 From the old and the young, from the 
 
 poorest ; and there 
 The one-pennied Boy has his penny to 
 
 spare. 
 
 blest are the hearers, and proud be 
 the hand 
 
 Of the pleasure it spreads through 
 so thankful a band ; 
 
 1 am glad for him, blind as he is ! — all 
 the while 
 
 If they speak 'tis to praise, and they 
 praise with a smile. 
 
 That tall Man, a giant in bulk and in 
 
 height 
 Not an inch of his body is free from 
 
 delight ; 
 Can he keep himself still, if he would 7 
 
 oh, not he ! 
 The music stirs in him like wind through 
 
 a tree. 
 Mark that Cripple who leans on his 
 
 crutch ; like a tower 
 
392 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 That long lias leaned forward, leans 
 
 hour after hour I 
 That Mother, whose spirit in fetters is 
 
 bound. 
 While she dandles the Babe in her arms 
 
 to the sound. 
 
 Now, coaches and chariots ! roar on 
 
 like a stream ; 
 Here are twenty souls happy as souls 
 
 in a dream : 
 They are deaf to your murmurs — they 
 
 care not for you, 
 Nor what ye are flying, nor what ye 
 
 pursue ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 KUBIiA KHAN. 
 
 In Xanadu did Kubla Khan 
 A stately pleasure-dome decree : 
 Where Alph, the sacred river, ran 
 Through caverns measureless to man 
 
 Down to a sunless sea. 
 So twice five miles of fertile ground 
 With walls and towers were girdled 
 
 round : 
 And there were gardens bright with 
 
 sinuous rills 
 Where blossomed many an incense - 
 
 bearing tree ; 
 And here were forests ancient as the 
 
 hills. 
 Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. 
 
 But oh ! that deep romantic chasm 
 
 which slanted 
 Down the green hill : thwart a cedarn 
 
 cover ! 
 A savage place ! as holy and enchanted 
 As e'er beneath a waning moon was 
 
 haunted 
 By woman wailing for her demon-lover ! 
 And from this chasm, with ceaseless 
 
 turmoil seething, 
 As if this earth in fast thick pants were 
 
 trcathin ; 
 A mighty fountain momently was 
 
 forced : 
 Amid who e swift half-intermitted 
 
 burst 
 Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding 
 
 hail, 
 Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's 
 
 flail : 
 
 And 'mid these dancing rocks at once 
 
 and ever 
 It flung up momently the sacred river. 
 Five miles meandering with a mazy 
 
 motion 
 Through wood and dale the sacred 
 
 river ran. 
 Then reached the caverns measureless 
 
 to man, 
 And sank in tumult to a hfeless ocean : 
 And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard 
 
 from far 
 Ancestral voices prophesying war ! 
 
 The shadow of the dome of pleasure 
 Floated midway on the waves ; 
 Where was heard the mingled 
 
 measure 
 From the fountain and the caves. 
 It was a miracle of rare device, 
 A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of 
 ice ! 
 A damsel with a dulcimer 
 In a vision once I saw : 
 It was an Abyssinian maid. 
 And on her dulcimer she played. 
 Singing of Mount Abora. 
 Could I revive within me 
 Her symphony and song. 
 To siich a deep delight 'twould 
 win me 
 That with music loud and long, 
 I would build that dome in air. 
 That sunny dome ! those caves of ice ! 
 And all who heard should see them 
 
 there. 
 And all should cry. Beware ! Beware ! 
 His flashing eyes, his floating hair ! 
 Weave a circle round him thrice. 
 And close your eyes with holy dread. 
 For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
 And di'unk the milk of Paradise. 
 
 8. T. Coleridge. 
 
 THE HAUNTED PALACE. 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys, 
 
 By good angels tenanted. 
 Once a fair and stately palace — 
 
 Radiant palace — reared its head. 
 In the monarch Thought's dominion — 
 
 It stood there ! 
 Never seraph spread a pinion 
 
 Over fabric half so fair 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 303 
 
 Banner 3'ellow, glorious, golden, 
 
 On its roof did float and How ; 
 (This — all this — was in the olden 
 
 Time long ago) 
 And every gentle air that dallied. 
 
 In that sweet day. 
 Along the ramjiarts plumed and pallid, 
 
 A wing(id odour went away. 
 
 Wanderers in that happy valley 
 
 Through two luminous windows saw 
 Spirits moving musically 
 
 To the lute's weU-tuned law, 
 Round about a throne were sitting 
 
 (Porphyrogene !) 
 In state his glory well befitting. 
 
 The ruler of the realm was seen. 
 
 And all with pearl and ruby glowing 
 
 AVas the fair palace door. 
 Through which came flowing, flowing, 
 flowing. 
 
 And sparlding c vermore, 
 A troup of Echoes whose sweet duty 
 
 Was but to sing, 
 In voices of surpassing beauty. 
 
 The wit and wisdom of their king. 
 
 But evil things in robes of sorrow. 
 
 Assailed the monarch's high estate ; 
 (Ah ! let us mourn, for never morrow 
 
 Shall dawn upon him desolate !) 
 And round about his home, the glory 
 
 That blushed and bloomed 
 Is but a dim remembered story 
 
 Of the old time entombed. 
 
 And travellers now within that valley, 
 
 Tlu'ough the red-litten windows, see 
 Vast forms that move fantastically 
 
 To a discordant melody ; 
 While like a rapid gh stly river, 
 
 Through the pale dooi-, 
 A hideous throng rush out forever. 
 
 And laugh — but smile no more. 
 
 Edgar Allan Pue. 
 
 White as a sea-fog, landward bound, 
 The spectral camp was seen. 
 
 And with a sorrowful deep sound. 
 The river flow'd between. 
 
 No other voice nor sound was there. 
 No drum, nor sentry's pace ; 
 
 The mist-like banners clasp'd tiic air. 
 As clouds with clouds embrace. 
 
 But when the old cathedral bell 
 Proclaim'd the morning prayer, 
 
 The wild pavilions rose and fell. 
 On the alarmed air. 
 
 Down the broad valley fast and far. 
 
 The troubled army fled ; 
 Up rose the glorious morning star, 
 
 The ghastly host was dead. 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 
 
 TO A RIVER IN WHICH A 
 CHILD WAS DROWNED. 
 
 SJiiLraG river, smiling river. 
 On thy bosom sunbeams play : 
 
 Though they're fleeting and retreating, 
 Thou hast more deceit than they. 
 
 In thy channel, in thy channel. 
 
 Choked with ooze and gravelly stones. 
 
 Help immersed and unhearsed. 
 
 Lies young Edward's corse : his 
 bones. 
 
 Ever whitening, ever whitening. 
 As thy waves against them dash ; 
 
 What thy torrent in the current 
 Swallowed, now it helps to wash. 
 
 As if senseless, as if senseless 
 
 Things had feeling in this case ; 
 
 What so blindly, and unkindly. 
 It destroyed, it now does grace. 
 
 Charles and Mary Lamb. 
 
 THE BEIiEAQUERED CITY. 
 
 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream. 
 With the wan moon overhead 
 
 There stood, as in an awful dream. 
 The army of the dead. 
 
 THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. 
 
 " The rivers rush into the sea. 
 By castle and by town they go ; 
 
 The winds behind them merrily 
 Their noisy trumpets blow. 
 
394 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " The clouds are passing far and high, 
 We little birds in them play ; 
 
 And everything that can sing and fly 
 Goes with us, and far away. 
 
 " I greet thee, bonny boat ! Whither 
 or whence. 
 With thy fluttering golden band ? " — 
 " I greet thee, little bird ! To the wide 
 sea 
 I haste from the narrow land. 
 
 " FuU and swollen is every sail ; 
 
 I see no longer a hill, 
 I have trusted all to the sounding gale, 
 
 And it will not let me stand still. 
 
 " And wilt thou, little bird, go with us ? 
 
 Thou mayest stand on the mainmast 
 tall, 
 For fuU to sinking is my house 
 
 With merry companions aU." 
 
 •" I need not and seek not company. 
 Bonny boat, I can sing aU alone ; 
 
 For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, 
 Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. 
 
 " High over the sails, high over the 
 mast, 
 Who shall gainsay these joys ? 
 When thy merry companions are still 
 at last. 
 Thou shalt hear the sound of my 
 voice. 
 
 " Who neither may rest, nor listen 
 may, 
 
 God bless them, every one ! 
 I dart away, in the bright blue day. 
 
 And the golden fields of the sun. 
 
 " Thus do I sing my weary song, 
 Wherever the four winds blow ; 
 
 And this same song, my whole life 
 long, 
 Neither poet nor printer may know." 
 
 Henry Wadsworth Longfdlow. 
 
 "SWEET IS THE DEW THAT 
 FALLS BETIMES ■' 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes. 
 And drops upon the leafy limes ; 
 Sweet Hermon's fragrant air : 
 
 Sweet is the lily's silver bell. 
 And sweet the wakeful tapers suell 
 That watch for early prayer. 
 
 Sweet the young nurse, with love 
 
 intense. 
 Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence ; 
 
 Sweet when the lost arrive : 
 Sweet the musician's ardour beats. 
 While his vague mind's in quest of 
 sweets. 
 The choicest flowers to hive. 
 
 Strong is the horse upon his speed ; 
 Strong in pursuit the rapid glede. 
 
 Which makes at once his game : 
 Strong the tall ostrich on the ground ; 
 Strong through the turbulent profound 
 
 Shoots xiphias to his aim. 
 
 Strong is the lion — like a coal 
 His eyeball— like a bastion's mole 
 
 His chest against the foes : 
 Strong the gier-eagle on his sail ; 
 Strong against tide the enormous whale 
 
 Emerges as he goes. 
 
 ]3ut stronger stiU, in earth and air. 
 And in the sea, the man of prayer. 
 
 And far beneath the tide : 
 And in the seat of Faith assiga'd, 
 Where ask is, have ; where seek is, 
 find; 
 
 Where knock is, open wide. 
 
 Christopher Smart. 
 
 WISHES. 
 
 Laid in my quiet bed, in study a^ 
 
 I were, 
 I saw within my troubled head a 
 
 heap of thoughts appear. 
 And every thought did show so lively 
 
 in mine eyes. 
 That now I sighed, and then I smiled, 
 
 as cause of thoughts did rise. 
 I saw the little boy, in thought how 
 
 oft that he 
 Did wish of God, to 'scape the rod, a 
 
 tall young man to be ; 
 Tile young man eke that feels his bone=! 
 
 with pain opprest, 
 How he would be a rich old man, to 
 
 live and lie at rest ! 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 39.0 
 
 The rich old man, that sees his end 
 
 draw on so sore. 
 How would he be a boy again to live 
 
 so much the more. 
 Whereat full oft I smiled to see how 
 
 all those three. 
 From boy to man, from man to boy, 
 
 would chop and change degree. 
 
 Earl of Surrey. 
 
 BliOW, BLOW, THOtr WINTER 
 WIND. 
 Blow, blow, thou wint«r wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen. 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho 1 unto the 
 
 green holly ; 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving 
 mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 As friends remember'd not. 
 Heigh, ho 1 sing, heigh, ho ! etc. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 ODE ON SOLITUDE.* 
 
 Happy the man, whose wish and caro 
 
 A few paternal acres bound. 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields 
 with bread. 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire, 
 Whose trees in summer yield him shade 
 In winter fire. 
 
 Blest who can unconcern'dly find 
 Hours, days and years slide soft 
 awaj-. 
 
 * Written wheQ the Author was about twelve 
 jeai* old. 
 
 In health of body, peace of mind. 
 Quiet by day, 
 
 Sound sleep by night ; study and ease. 
 
 Together mix'd ; sweet recreation, 
 And innocence, which most does please, 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown ; 
 
 Thus unlamented let me die, 
 Steal from the world, and not a stone 
 Tell where I lie. 
 
 Alexander Pope. 
 
 O FOR A MOON TO LIGHT 
 ME HOME. 
 
 O FOR a moon to light me home ! 
 
 for a lanthorn green ! 
 For those sweet stars the Pleiades, 
 That glitter in the twilight trees ; 
 
 O for a lovelorn taper ! O 
 
 For a lanthorn green I 
 
 O for a frock of tartan ! 
 
 O for clear, wild, grey eyes ! 
 For fingers light as violets, 
 'Neath branches that the blackbird 
 frets ; 
 
 O for a thistly meadow ! O 
 
 For clear, wild grey eyes. 
 
 O for a heart like almond boughs ! 
 
 O for sweet thoughts like rain ! 
 O for first-love like fields of grey, 
 Shut April — buds at break of day ! 
 
 O for sleep like music ! 
 
 For still dieams like rain ! 
 
 Walter Ramal. 
 
 "A WEARY LOT IS THINE." 
 " A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, 
 
 A weary lot is thine ! 
 To pull the thorn thy brow to braid. 
 
 And press the rue for wine. 
 A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien, 
 
 A feather of the blue, 
 A doublet of the Lincoln green — 
 
 Xo more of me you knew 
 
 My Love ! 
 
 No more of me you knew. 
 
396 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " The morn is merry June, I trow, 
 
 The rose is budding fain ; 
 But she shall bloom in winter snow 
 
 Ere we two meet again." 
 He turn'd his charger as he spake 
 
 Upon the river shore. 
 He gave the bridal-reins a shako. 
 
 Said " Adieu for evermore 
 
 My Love ! 
 
 And adieu for evermore." 
 
 iSir Waller tScolt. 
 
 THE LAST ROSE OP 
 SUMMER. 
 
 'Tis the last rose of summer 
 
 Left blooming alone ; 
 All her lovely companions 
 
 Are faded and gone ; 
 No flower of her kindred. 
 
 No rose-bud is nigh. 
 To reflect back her blushes. 
 
 Or give sigh for sigh. 
 
 I'll not leave thee, thou lone one I 
 
 To pine on the stem ; 
 Since the lovely are sleeping. 
 
 Go, sleep thou with them. 
 Thus kindly I scatter 
 
 Thy leaves o'er the bed 
 Where thy mates of the garden 
 
 Lie scentless and dead. 
 
 So soon may I follow, 
 
 When fi'iendships decay. 
 And from Love's shining circle 
 
 The gems drop away. 
 When true hearts he withered. 
 
 And fond ones are flown, 
 O ! who woiild inhabit 
 
 This bleak world alone ? 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 PEACE BE AROTJND THEE. 
 
 Peace be around thee, wherever thou 
 
 rov'st ; 
 
 May life be for thee one summer's day. 
 
 And all that thou wishest, and all that 
 
 thou lov'st. 
 
 Come smiling around thy sunny way ! 
 
 If sorrow e'er this calm should break. 
 
 May even thy tears pass off so lightly. 
 
 Like spring-flowers, they'll only make 
 The smiles that follow shine more 
 brightly. 
 
 May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all. 
 And daily dooms some joy to death. 
 O'er thee let years so gently fall, 
 They shall not crush one flower be- 
 neath. 
 As half in shade and half in sun 
 
 This world along its path advances. 
 May that side the sun's upon. 
 
 Be all that e'er shaU meet thy 
 glances 1 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 THOSE EVENING BELLS. 
 
 Those evening bells ! those evening 
 
 belis ! 
 How many a tale their music tells 
 Of youth, and home, and that sweet 
 
 time 
 When last I heard their soothing chime. 
 
 Those joyous hours are passed away ; 
 And many a heart, that then was gay. 
 Within the tomb now darkly dwells, 
 And hears no more those evening bells. 
 
 And so 'twill be when I am gone ; 
 That tuneful peal will still ring on. 
 While other bards shall walk these dells. 
 And sing your praise, sweet evening 
 bells 1 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 OFT IN THE STILLY NIGHT. 
 
 Oft in the stilly night. 
 
 Ere Slumber's chain has bound me, 
 Fond Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me ; 
 The smiles, the tears. 
 Of boyhood's years. 
 The words of love then spoken ; 
 The eyes that shone. 
 Now dimmed and gone. 
 The cheerful hearts now broken ! 
 Thus, in the stilly night, 
 
 Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the light 
 Of other days around me. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 397 
 
 When I remember all 
 
 The friends, so linked together, 
 I've seen around me fall, 
 
 Like leaves in wintry weather, 
 I feel like one 
 Who treads alone 
 Some banquet-hall deserted, 
 Whose lights are fled. 
 Whose garlands dead, 
 And all but he departed ! 
 Thus, in the stilly night, 
 
 Ere Slumber's chain has bound me. 
 Sad Memory brings the Ught 
 Of other days around me. 
 
 Thomas Moure. 
 
 FULIi FATHOM FIVE THY 
 FATHER lilES. 
 
 Full fathom live thy father lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls, that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea-change. 
 8ea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Hark ! now I hear them — ding, dong, 
 dell. 
 
 Burden, Ding-dong. 
 
 William Shahespeare. 
 
 FBIENDS DEPARTED. 
 
 They are all gone into the world of 
 hght! 
 And I alone sit lingering here ! 
 Their very memory is fair and bright, 
 And my sad thoughts doth clear. 
 
 It glows and glittera in my cloudy 
 breast 
 Like stars upon some gloomy grove. 
 Or those faint beams in which this hill 
 is drest 
 
 After the Sun's remove. 
 
 I see them walking in an air of glory, 
 Whose light doth trample on my 
 days ; 
 My days, which are at best but dull and 
 hoary, 
 
 Mere glimmerings and decays. 
 
 O holy hope ! and high humility I 
 
 High as the Heavens above ! 
 These are your walks, and you have 
 show'd them me. 
 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death ; the jewel of 
 the just ! 
 Shining nowhere but in the dark ; 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. 
 Could man outlook that mark ! 
 
 He that hath found some fledged bird's 
 
 nest may Icnow 
 
 At first sight if the bird be flown ; 
 
 But what fair dell or grove he sings in 
 
 now. 
 
 That is to him unknowiL 
 
 And yet, as Angels in some brighter 
 dreams 
 Call to the soul when man doth sleep. 
 So some strange thoughts transcend 
 our wonted themes. 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 Henry Vatighan. 
 
 MAN'S LIFE. 
 
 To-MOEROW, and to-morrow, and to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Creeps in this pettyfece from day to day. 
 
 To the last syllable of recorded time ; 
 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, 
 brief candle ! 
 
 Life's but a walking shadow ; a poor 
 player. 
 
 That struts and frets his hour upon the 
 stage. 
 
 And then is heard no more ; it is a tale 
 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury. 
 
 Signifying nothing. 
 
 William Shakespeare 
 
 DEATHS CONatTEST. 
 
 The glories of our birth and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial thing.t ; 
 Tliere is no armour against fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
 Sceptre and Crown 
 Must tuml le down, 
 
398 
 
 Poems for 
 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the 
 field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they 
 kiU: 
 But their strong nerves at last must 
 yield ; 
 They tame but one another «till : 
 Early or late 
 They stoop to fate. 
 And must give up their murmuring 
 
 breath 
 When they, pale captives, creep to 
 death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow ; 
 Then boast no more your mighty 
 deeds ; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See where the victor- victim bleeds 1 
 Your heads must come 
 To the cold tomb : — 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 PEACE. 
 
 My soul, there is a country. 
 
 Afar beyond the stars. 
 Where stands a winged sentry. 
 
 All skilful in the wars. 
 There above noise and danger. 
 
 Sweet Peace sits crowned with smiles. 
 And One born in a manger 
 
 Commands the beauteous files. 
 He is thy gracious friend, 
 
 And (O my soul, awake !) 
 Did in pure love descend 
 
 To die here for thy sake. 
 
 If thou canst get but thither. 
 
 There grows the flower of peace. 
 The rose that cannot wither, 
 
 Thy fortress and thy ease. 
 Leave, then, thy foolish ranges ; 
 
 For none can thee secure. 
 But One who never changes. 
 
 Thy God, thy Life, thy Cure. 
 
 Henry VaugJian, 
 
 Children. 
 
 A WIDOW BIRD. 
 
 A WIDOW bird sate mourning for her love 
 
 Upon a wintry bough. 
 The frozen wind crept on above, 
 
 The freezing stream below. 
 
 There was no leaf upon the forest bare. 
 
 No flower upon the ground. 
 And little motion in the air 
 
 Except the miU-wheel's sound. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 
 COME AWAY, DEATH. 
 
 Come away, come away, death. 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O prepare it ; 
 
 My part of death no one so true 
 
 Did share it. 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
 On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall 
 
 be thrown. 
 A thousand, thousand sighs to save. 
 
 Lay me, O where 
 Sad true lover ne'er find my grave 
 To weep there. 
 
 William SJuikespearc. 
 
 MINSTBEIi'S SONG IW 
 " ELLA." 
 
 O SING unto my rormdelay ; 
 
 drop the briny tear with me ; 
 Dance no more at holiday ; 
 Like a rimning river be. 
 My love is dead, 
 Gone to his death-bed. 
 All under the willow-tree. 
 
 Black his hair as the winter night. 
 
 White his neck as summer snow, 
 Ruddy his face as the morning light. 
 Cold he lies in the grave below. 
 My love is dead. 
 Gone to his death-bed. 
 All under the willow-trea. 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 399 
 
 Sweet his tongue as throstle's note, 
 
 Quick iu dance as thought can be ; 
 Deft his tabor, cudgel stout ; 
 0, he lies by the willow-tree. 
 My love is dead, 
 Gone to his death-bed. 
 All under the willow- tree. 
 
 Hark ! the raven flaps his wing 
 
 In the brier'd dell below ; 
 Hark ! the death-owl loud doth sing 
 To the night-mares aa they go. 
 My love is dead, 
 Gone to his death-bed. 
 All under the willow-tree. 
 
 See, the -white moon shines on high ; 
 Whiter is my true love's shroud ; 
 Whiter than tlie morning sky. 
 Whiter than the evening cloud. 
 My love is dead. 
 Gone to his death-bed. 
 All under the willow-tree. 
 
 Thomas Chalterton. 
 
 TEARS, IDLE TEARS. 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I know not what 
 
 they mean. 
 Tears from the depth of some divine 
 
 despair 
 Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes. 
 In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, 
 And thinking of the days that are no 
 
 more. 
 
 Fresh aa the first beam glittering on 
 
 a sail, 
 That brings our friends up fioni the 
 
 imderworld. 
 Sad as the last which reddens over one 
 That sinks with all we love below the 
 
 verge ; 
 So sad, so fresh, the days that are no 
 
 more. 
 
 Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer 
 dawns 
 
 The earUest pipe of half-awaken'd 
 birds 
 
 To dying ears, when unto dying eyes 
 
 The casement slowly grows a glimmer- 
 ing square ; 
 
 So sad, so strange, the days that are 
 no more. 
 
 Dear as remembered kisses after death. 
 And sweet as those by hopeless fancy 
 
 feign'd 
 On lips that are for others ; deep as 
 
 love, 
 Deep as first love, and wild with all 
 
 regret, 
 O Death in Life, the days that are no 
 
 more. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 DIR&E. 
 
 Fear no more the heat o* the sun. 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done. 
 Home art gone, and ta'en tiiy wages : 
 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 
 As chimney-sweepers come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown o' the great. 
 Thou art past the tjTant's stroke ; 
 
 Care no more to clothe and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak ; 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physick, must 
 
 All follow this and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning-fiash. 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Thou hast finish'd joy and moan : 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee aJid come to dust. 
 
 No exorciser harm thee ! 
 Nor no witchcraft charm thee I 
 Ghost inlaid forbear thee ! 
 Nothing ill come near thee I 
 Quiet consummation have ; 
 And renown be thy grave. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A 
 COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The ciurfew tolls the knell of parting 
 
 day. 
 The lowing herds wind slowly o'er 
 
 the lea. 
 The ploughman homeward plods hia 
 
 weaiy way. 
 
400 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And leaves the world to darkness 
 and to me. 
 
 Now fades the gUmmering landscape 
 on the sight. 
 And all the air a solemn stillness 
 holds. 
 Save where the beetle wheels his 
 droning flight, 
 And drowsy tinkhngs lull the distant 
 folds. 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled 
 tower. 
 The moping owl does to the moon 
 complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her secret 
 bower. 
 Molest her ancient soUtary reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew 
 tree's shade. 
 Where heaves the turf in many a 
 mouldering heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid. 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet 
 sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing 
 morn. 
 The swallow twittering from the 
 straw- built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing 
 horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their 
 lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth 
 shall burn. 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening 
 care : 
 No children run to lisp their sire's 
 return. 
 Or cUmb his knees the envied kiss 
 to share. 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle 
 yield. 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe 
 has broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their team 
 a-field ! 
 How bowed the woods boneath their 
 sturdy stroke ! 
 
 Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 
 Their homely joys, and destiny 
 obscure j 
 
 Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful 
 
 smile 
 The short and simple annals of the 
 poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of 
 power. 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth 
 ere gave. 
 Await ahke the inevitable hour : — 
 The paths of glory lead but to the 
 grave. 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these 
 the fault, 
 If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies 
 raise, 
 Where through the long-drawn aisle 
 and fretted vault 
 The peahng anthem swells the note 
 of praise. 
 
 Can storied urn or animated bust 
 Back to its mansion caU the fleeting 
 breath ? 
 Can Honour's voice provoke the silent 
 dust. 
 Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear 
 of Death ? 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with 
 celestial fire ; 
 Hands that the rod of empire might 
 have swayed. 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living Ij're. 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample 
 page 
 Rich with the spoils of time did 
 ne'er unioll ; 
 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage. 
 And froze the genial current of the 
 soul. 
 
 Full many a gem, of pm-est ray serene, 
 The dark unfathomed caves of ocean 
 bear: 
 Full many a flower is bom to blush 
 unseen. 
 And waste its sweetness on the 
 desert air. 
 
 Some village Hampden, that with 
 dauntless breast 
 The httle tyrant of his fields with- 
 stood j 
 
Miscellaneous. 
 
 401 
 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may 
 rest, 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his 
 country's blood. 
 
 The applause of Ustening senates to 
 command. 
 The threats of pain and ruin to 
 despise. 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their history in a nation's 
 eyes. 
 
 Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed 
 alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their 
 crimes confined ; 
 Forbade to wade through slauulitor to 
 a throne, 
 And shut the gates of uktcv on 
 mankind ; 
 
 The struggling pangs of consci(nis truth 
 to hide, 
 To quench the bluslies of ingenuous 
 shame, 
 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and 
 Pride, 
 With incense kindled at the rinse's 
 riame. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble 
 strife 
 Their sober wishes never learned to 
 stray. 
 Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their 
 way. 
 
 Yet even these bones from insult to 
 protect. 
 Some frail memorial still erected 
 nigh, 
 With uncouth rhymes and sliapeless 
 sculpture decked 
 Implores the passing tribute of a 
 sigh. 
 
 Their name, their years, spelt by the 
 unlettered Muse, 
 The place of fame and elegy supply : 
 And many a holy text around she 
 strews. 
 That teach the rustic moralist to 
 die. 
 
 For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er 
 resigned. 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful 
 day. 
 Nor cast one longing, lingering look 
 behind ? 
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul 
 relies. 
 Some pious drops the closing eye 
 requires ; 
 Even from the tomb the voice of 
 , nature cries, 
 Even in our ashes live their wonted 
 fires. 
 
 For tliee, who, mindfvd of the un- 
 honoured dead. 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale 
 relate ; 
 If chance, by lonely Contemplation led. 
 Some kindred spirit shall inquire 
 thy fate ; 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may 
 say, 
 " Oft have we seen him at the peep 
 of dawn 
 Brushing Avith hasty steps the dews 
 away. 
 To meet the sun upon the upland 
 lawn. 
 
 " There, at the foot of yonder nodding 
 beech. 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots 
 so high. 
 His listless length at noontide would 
 he stretch. 
 And pore upon the brook that 
 babbles by. 
 
 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in 
 scorn. 
 Muttering his wayward fancies he 
 would rove ; 
 Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one 
 forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed in 
 hopeless love 
 
 " One morn I missed him on the 'cus- 
 tomed hill. 
 Along the heath and near his favourite 
 tree; 
 
 26 
 
402 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill. 
 Nor up the la^wn, nor at the wood 
 ■was he ; 
 
 " The next, with dirges due in sad 
 array 
 Slow through the church-way path 
 we saw him borne ; 
 Approach and read (foi thou canst 
 read) the lay 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon 
 aged thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 Here rests his head upon the lap of 
 Earth, 
 A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame 
 unknown ; 
 Fair Science frowned not on his humble 
 birth, 
 And Melancholy marked him for her 
 own. 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul 
 sincere, 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely 
 send : 
 He gave to Misery all he had, a tear. 
 He gained from Heaven ('twas all 
 he wished) a friend. 
 
 No farther seek his merits to disclose. 
 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread 
 
 abode 
 
 (There they ahke in trembling hope 
 
 repose). 
 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 Thomas Oray. 
 
 BREAK, BREAK, BREAK, 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 On thy cold gray stones, O Sea ! 
 And I would that my tongue could 
 utter 
 
 The thoughts that arise in me. 
 
 well for the fisherman's boy, 
 
 That he shouts with his sister at 
 play ! 
 well for the sailor lad. 
 
 That he sings in his boat on the 
 bay; 
 
 And the stately ships go on 
 To their haven under the hill ; 
 
 But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand. 
 And the sound of a voice that is still. 
 
 Break, break, break. 
 
 At the foot of thy crags, O Sea ! 
 But the tender grace of a day that is 
 dead 
 
 Will never come back to me. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 A PAREWEIili. 
 
 Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea. 
 Thy tribute wave deliver ; 
 
 No more by thee my steps shall be. 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Flow, softly flow, by lawn and lea, 
 
 A rivulet then a river ; 
 Nowhere by thee my steps shall be, 
 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 But here wiU sigh thine alder tree. 
 And here thine aspen shiver ; 
 
 And here by thee will hum the bee 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 A thousand suns will stream on thee, 
 A thousand moons will quiver ; 
 
 But not by thee my steps shall be. 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Lord Tennyson. 
 
 RING OUT— RING IN. 
 Ring out wild bells to the wild sky. 
 
 The flying cloud, the frosty light ; 
 
 The year is dying in the night ; 
 Ring out, wild bells, and let him die. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new. 
 Ring, happy bells, across the snow; 
 The year is going, let him go ; 
 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true. 
 
 Ring out the grief that saps the mind 
 For those that here we see no more ; 
 Ring out the feud of rich and poor. 
 
 Ring in redress to all mankind. 
 
Miscellaneous. 403 
 
 Ring out a slowly dying cause. Ring in the love of truth and right, 
 
 And ancient forms of party strife ; Ring in the common love of good. 
 Ring in the nobler modes of life, 
 
 With sweeter manners, purer laws. Ring out old shapes of foul disease. 
 
 Ring out the narrowing lust of gold ; 
 
 Ring out the want, the care, the sin, „ King out the thousand wars of old, 
 
 The faithless coldness of the times ; ^'"8 >" t'^e thousand years of peace. 
 
 Ring out, ring out my mournful , ,. 
 
 rhymes, Ruig in the vahant man and free. 
 
 But ring the fuller minstrel in. The larger heart, the kindlier hand : 
 
 Ring out the darkness of the land, 
 
 Rmg out false pride in place and blood, ^'"8 "» ^^^ Christ that is to be. 
 
 ^The civio slander and the spite; Lord, Tennyson 
 
 26* 
 
HYMNS. 
 
 MOBNING HYMN. 
 
 Awake, my soul, and with the sun 
 Thy daily stage of duty run ; 
 Shake off dull sloth, and early rise 
 To pay thy morning sacrifice. 
 
 Redeem thy misspent moments past. 
 And live this day as if thy last ; 
 Thy talents to improve take care ; 
 For the Great Day thyself prepare. 
 
 Let all thy converse be pincers, 
 Thy conscience as the noonday clear j 
 For God's all-seing eye surveys 
 Thy secret thoughts, thy works and 
 ways. 
 
 Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart. 
 And with the Angels bear thy part. 
 Who all night long unwearied sing 
 High glory to the Eternal King. 
 
 Glory to thee ! who safe hast kept 
 And hast refreshed me while I slept ; 
 Grant, Lord, when I from death shall 
 
 wake 
 I may of endless Ufe partake. 
 
 Lord, I my vows to Thee renew ! 
 Scatter my sins as morning dew : 
 Guard my fist spring of thought and 
 
 wiU, 
 And with Thyself my spirit fill. 
 
 Direct, control, suggest, this day, 
 All I de ign, or do or say ; 
 That all my powers, with all their might, 
 In thy sole glory may unite. 
 
 (Bishop) Thomas Km. 
 
 MOENING HYMN". 
 
 Now the dreary night is done, 
 Comes again the glorious sun. 
 Crimson clouds, and silver white, 
 Wait upon his lireaking light. 
 
 Glistening in the garden beds. 
 Flowers lift up their dewy heads. 
 And the shrill cock claps his wings. 
 And the merry lark upsprings. 
 
 When the eastern sky is red, 
 I, too, lift my Uttle head. 
 When the lark sings loud and gay, 
 I, too, rise to praise and pray. 
 
 Saviour, to Thy cottage home 
 Once the daylight used to come ; 
 Thou hast ofttimes seen it break 
 Brightly o'er that eastern lake. 
 
 With Thee, Lord, I would arise. 
 To Thee look with opening eyes. 
 All the day be at my side. 
 Saviour, Pattern, King, and Guide 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 MOBNING OB EVENING- 
 HYMN. 
 
 Great God ! how endless is Th}^ love 
 Thy gifts are every morning new, 
 
 And morning mercies from above. 
 Gently dis'il, like early dew. 
 
Hymns. 
 
 405 
 
 Thou spread'gt the cuitaina of the night, 
 Great guardian of my sleeping hours ! 
 
 Thy sovereign word restores the light, 
 And quickens all my drowsy powers. 
 
 I yield my powers to Thy command. 
 To Thee I consecrate my days ; 
 
 Perpetual blessings from Thy hand 
 Demand perpetual songs of praise. 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 A CHILD'S MORNIN-O 
 PRAYER. 
 
 I THANK Thee, Lord, for quiet rest. 
 
 And for Thy care of me : 
 Oh ! let me through this day be blest. 
 
 And kept from harm by Thee. 
 
 Oh, let me love Thee ! kind thou art 
 
 To children such as I ; 
 Give me a gentle, holy heart. 
 
 Be Thou my Friend on high. 
 
 Help me to please my parents dear. 
 
 And do whate'er they tell ; 
 Bless all my friends, both far and near. 
 
 And keep them safe and well. 
 
 Mary Lundie Dmican. 
 
 PRAYERS. 
 When I kneel down my prayers to say, 
 I must not think of toys or play ; 
 No ! I must think what I should be. 
 To please God who is good to me. 
 
 He loves to see a little child 
 Obedient — patient, too — and mild ; 
 Nor often angry, but incHned 
 Always to do what's good and kind. 
 
 And I must love my dear mamma. 
 And I must love my dear papa ; 
 And try to please them, and to do 
 Things that are right, and say what's 
 trua 
 
 For God is always pleased to see 
 Even little children such as we. 
 Whose hearts (as angels' are above) 
 Are full of peace and full of love. 
 
 Lady Flora Hastinga. 
 
 A CHILD'S HyMN OF PRAISE 
 1 THANK the goodness and the grace 
 
 \\'hich on my birth have smil'd. 
 And made me, in these Cliri tian days, 
 
 A happy English child. 
 
 I was not born, as thousands are. 
 Where God was never known ; 
 
 And taught to pray a useless prayer, 
 To blocks of wood and stone. 
 
 I was not bom a little slave, 
 
 To labour in the sun, 
 And wish I were but in the grave. 
 
 And all my labour done ! 
 
 I was not bom without a home. 
 
 Or in some broken shed ; 
 A gipsy baby ; taught to roam. 
 
 And steal my daily bread. 
 
 My God, I thank Thee, who hast planned 
 
 A better lot for me. 
 And placed me in f's happy land. 
 
 Where I may heui of Thee. 
 
 Jane Taylor. 
 
 A CHILD'S GRACE. 
 Here a little child I stand 
 Heaving up my either hand. 
 Cold as Paddocks though they be. 
 Here I lift them iip to Thee, 
 For a Benizon to fall 
 On our meat, and on us all. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 THE CREATION". 
 
 All things bright and beautiful. 
 All creatures, great and small. 
 
 All things wise and wonderful. 
 The Lord God made them aU. 
 
 Each little flower that opens. 
 Each little bird hat sings, 
 
 He made th ir glowing colours. 
 He made their tiny wings ; 
 
 The rich man in his castle. 
 The poor man at his gate, 
 
 God made them, high or lowly. 
 And order'd their estate. 
 
406 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Tbe piirple-headed mountain. 
 
 The river running by. 
 The sunset and the morning 
 
 That brightens up the sky ; 
 
 The cold wind in the winter, 
 The pleasant summer sun. 
 
 The ripe fruits in the garden — 
 He made them every one. 
 
 The tall trees in the greenwood, 
 The meadows where we play, 
 
 Tlie rushes by the water 
 We gather every day ; — 
 
 He gave us eyes to see them. 
 And lips that we might tell 
 
 How great is God Almighty 
 Who has made all things well ! 
 
 Mrs, Cecil Frances Alexairder. 
 
 THE VISIBLE CREATION. 
 
 The God of nature and of Grace 
 In aU His works appears ; 
 
 His goodness through the earth we trace, 
 His grandeiu: in the spheres. 
 
 B hold this fair and fertile globe. 
 By Him in wisdom planned ; 
 
 'Twas He, who girded, like a robe. 
 The ocean round the land. 
 
 Lift to the firmament yoiu- eye ; 
 
 Thither His path pursue ; 
 His glory boundless as the sky, 
 
 O'erwhelms the wandering view. 
 
 He bows the heavens — the mountains 
 stand 
 
 A highway for their God, 
 He walks amidst the desert land 
 
 — 'Tis Eden where He trod. 
 
 'J'he forests in His strength rejoice ; 
 
 Hark ! on the evening breeze. 
 As once of old, the Lord God's voice 
 
 Is heard among the trees. 
 
 Here, on the hills, He feeds His herds, 
 His flocks in yonder plains ; 
 
 His praise is warbled by the birds ; 
 — Oh, could we catch their stiains. 
 
 Mount \^'ith the lark, and bear our song 
 
 Up to the gates of light ! 
 Or, with the nightingale, prolong 
 
 Our numbers through the night ! 
 
 His blessings fall in plenteous showers 
 
 Upon the lap of earth. 
 That teems with foliage, fruits, and 
 flowers, 
 
 And rings with youthful mirth. 
 
 If God hath made this world so fair. 
 Where sin and death abound ; 
 
 How beautiful beyond compare 
 Will Paradise be found ! 
 
 James Montgomery. 
 
 THE SPACIOUS FIRMAMENT 
 ON HIGH. 
 
 The spacious firmament on high, 
 
 With all the blue ethereal sky. 
 
 And spangled heavens, a shining frame. 
 
 Their great Original proclaim. 
 
 The unwearied sun from day to day 
 
 Does his Creator's power display, 
 
 And publishes to every land. 
 
 The work of an Almighty Hand. 
 
 Soon as the evening shades prevail. 
 The moon takes up the wondrous tale. 
 And nightly to the listening earth 
 Repeats the story of her birth ; 
 AVhilst all the stars that round her burn. 
 And all the planets in their turn. 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll. 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 What though in solemn silence, all 
 i\Iove roimd this dark terrestrial ball ? 
 What though nor real voice, nor sound 
 Amidst their radiant orbs be found ? 
 In Reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice. 
 For ever singing as they shine ! 
 " The hand that made us is divine ! " 
 
 Joseph Addison, 
 
 " SPEAK, LORD, FOR THY 
 SERVANT HEARETH." 
 
 Hush'd was the evening hymn. 
 The temple courts were dark ; 
 
Hymns. 
 
 407 
 
 The lamp was burning dim 
 
 Before the sacred ark ; 
 When suddenly a Voice Di\ine 
 Rang through the silence of the shrine. 
 
 The old man, meek and mild. 
 
 The priest of Israel slept ; 
 His watch the Temple child, 
 
 The little Levite kept ; 
 And what from EU's sense was seal'd, 
 The Lord to Hannah's son reveal'd. 
 
 Oh ! give me Samuel's ear. 
 
 The open ear, O Lord, 
 Alive and quick to hear 
 
 Each whisper of Thy word ; 
 Like him to answer at Thy call 
 And to obey Thee first of all. 
 
 Oh ! give me Samuel's heart, 
 
 A lovely heart, that waits 
 Where in thy house Thoii art, 
 
 Or watches at Thy gates, 
 Be day and night, a heart that still 
 Moves at the breathing of Thy will. 
 
 Oh ! give me Samuel's mind, 
 A sweet, unmurmuring faith. 
 
 Obedient and resign'd 
 
 To Thee in life and death ; 
 
 That I may read with child-like eyes 
 
 Truths that are hidden from the wise. 
 
 Bev. James Drummond Burns. 
 
 A CHILD S THOUGHT OF GOD. 
 
 They say that God lives very high 1 
 
 But if you look above the pines 
 You cannot see our God. And why ? 
 
 And if you dig down in the mines 
 You never see Him in the gold. 
 Though from Him all that's glory shines. 
 
 God is so good. He wears a fold 
 
 Of heaven and earth across His face — 
 Like secrets kept, for love untold. 
 
 But still I feel that His embrace 
 
 Slides down by thrills, through all 
 things made. 
 Through sight and sound of every place : 
 
 As if my tender mother laid 
 
 On my shut lids, her kisses' pressure. 
 
 Half- waking me at night and said, 
 " Who kissed you through the dark, 
 dear guesser ? " 
 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 A lilTTIiE liAMB WENT 
 STRAYING. 
 
 A LITTLE lamb went straying 
 
 Among the hills one day, 
 Leaving its faithful shepherd 
 
 Because it loved to stray ; 
 And while the sun shone briyiitly. 
 
 It knew no thought of fear, 
 For flowers around were bloi^ming. 
 
 And balmy was the air. 
 
 But night came over quickly, 
 
 The hollow breezes blew — 
 The sun soon ceased its shining, 
 
 All dark and dismal grew ; 
 The little lamb stood bleating. 
 
 As well indeed it might. 
 So far from home and shepherd. 
 
 And on so dark a night. 
 
 But ah ! the faithful shepherd. 
 
 Soon missed the little thing. 
 And onward went to seek it 
 
 It home again to bring ; 
 He sought on hill, in valley. 
 
 And called it by its name — 
 He sought, nor ceased his seeking 
 
 Until he foimd his lamb. 
 
 Then to his gentle bosom 
 
 The little lamb he pressed ; 
 And as he bore it homeward 
 
 He fondly it caressed ; 
 The little lamb was happy 
 
 To find itself secure ; 
 And happy, too, the shepherd. 
 
 Because his lamb he bore. 
 
 And won't you love the Shepherd, 
 
 So gentle and so kind. 
 Who came from brightest glory 
 
 His little lambs to find ? 
 To make them, oh, so happy. 
 
 Rejoicing in His love, 
 Till every lamb be gathered 
 
 Safe in His home above. 
 
 Albert MicUaiie 
 
408 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 " THEBES A FRIEND FOB 
 LITTLE CHILDREN." 
 
 There's a Friend for little children, 
 
 Above the bright blue sky ; 
 A Friend who never changes, 
 
 Whose love can never die. 
 Unlike our friends by natm-e. 
 
 Who change with changing years. 
 This Friend is always worthy 
 
 The precious name He bears. 
 
 There's a rest for little children. 
 
 Above the bright blue sky. 
 Who love the blessed Savioiir, 
 
 And "Abba, Father," cry; 
 A rest from every turmoil. 
 
 From sin and danger free. 
 Where every little pilgrim 
 
 Shall rest eternally. 
 
 There's a home for little children 
 
 Above the bright blue sky. 
 Where Jesus reigns in glory, 
 
 A home of peace and joy. 
 No home on earth is like it. 
 
 Or can with it compare. 
 For every one is happy. 
 
 Nor could be happier there. 
 
 There's a crown for little children. 
 
 Above the bright blue sky ; 
 And all who look for Jesus 
 
 Shall wear it by-and-by. 
 A crown of brightest glory. 
 
 Which He will then bestow 
 On all who've found His favour. 
 
 And loved His name below. 
 
 There's a song for little children. 
 
 Above the bright blue sky, 
 A song that will not weary. 
 
 Though sung continually ; 
 A song which even angels 
 
 Can never, never sing. 
 They know not Christ as Saviour, 
 
 But worship Him as King. 
 
 There's a robe for little children. 
 
 Above the bright blue sky. 
 And a harp of sweetest music. 
 
 And a palm of victory. 
 All, all above is treasured. 
 
 And found in Chjist alone ; 
 Oh, come, dear little children. 
 
 That all may be yom- own. 
 
 Albert Midlane. 
 
 GENTLE JESUS, MEEK AND 
 MILD. 
 
 Gentle Jesus, meek and mild. 
 
 Look upon a little child. 
 
 Pity my simphcity. 
 
 Teach me. Lord, to come to Thee. 
 
 Fain would I to Thee be brought. 
 Lamb of God, forbid it not ; 
 In the Kingdom of Thy grace 
 Give a little child a place. 
 
 Bev. Charles Wesley. 
 
 " »LORIOTJS THE STTN IN MID 
 CAREER." 
 
 Glorious the sun in mid career ; 
 Glorious the assembled fires appear. 
 
 Glorious the comet's train 
 Glorious the trumpet and alarm ; 
 Glorious the Almighty's stretched out 
 arm ; 
 
 Glorious the enraptured main. 
 
 Glorious the northern lights a-stream ; 
 Glorious the song when God's the 
 theme ; 
 
 Glorious the thunder's roar ; 
 Glorious Hosannah from the den ; 
 Glorious the cathohc Amen ; 
 
 Glorious the martyr's gore. 
 
 Christopher Smart, 
 
 THE LORD IS MY PASTURE. 
 
 The Lord my pasture shall prepare, 
 And feed me with a shepherd's care ; 
 His presence shall my wants supply. 
 And guard me with a watchful eye ; 
 My noonday walks he shall attend,' 
 And aU my midnight hours defend. 
 
 When in the sultry glebe I faint, 
 Or on the thirsty mountains pant, 
 In fertile vales and dewy meads. 
 My weary, wand'ring steps He leads. 
 Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow. 
 Amid the verdant landscape flow. 
 
Hymns. 
 
 401) 
 
 Tliough in the paths of death I tread, 
 With gloomy horrors overspread. 
 My steadfast heart shall fear no ill. 
 For thou, O Lord, art with me still ; 
 Thy friendly crook shall give me aid. 
 And guide me through the dreadful 
 shade. 
 
 Joseph Addison. 
 
 "JUST AS I AM." 
 Just as I am — without one pica. 
 But that Thy Blood was shed for me, 
 And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee, 
 Lamb of God, I come I 
 
 Just as I am, — and waiting not 
 To rid my soul of one dark blot. 
 To thee whose blood can cleanse each 
 spot, 
 
 O Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am, — though tossed about 
 With many a conflict, many a doubt, 
 " Fightings and fears within, without," 
 Lamb of God, I come I 
 
 Just as I am, — poor, ■WTetched, blind, 
 Sight, riches, heaUng of the mind, 
 Yea, all I need in Thee I find, 
 
 O Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 LO, THE lilLIES OF THE FIELD. 
 
 Lo, the hlics of the field, 
 
 How their leaves instruction yield ! 
 
 Hark to Nature's lesson, given 
 
 By the blessed birds of heaven ; 
 
 Every bush and tufted tree 
 
 Warbles sweet philosophy : 
 
 " Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow, 
 
 God provideth for the morro^\ ! 
 
 " Say, with richer crimson glows 
 The kingly mantle than the rose ? 
 Say, have kings more wholesome fare 
 Than we poor citizeiLs of air ? 
 Barns, nor hoarded grain have we. 
 Yet we carol merrily. 
 Mortal, fly from doubt and soitow, 
 God pro\ideth for the morrow I 
 
 " One there lives, whose guardian eye 
 Guides our humble destiny : 
 One there lives, who. Lord of all, 
 Keeps our feathers, lest they fall. 
 Pass we bhthely then the time. 
 Fearless of the snare and lime, 
 Free from doubt and faithless sorrow ; 
 God provideth for the morrow." 
 
 (^Bishop) Reginald Heber. 
 
 PLEASANT ABE THY COURTS 
 ABOVE. 
 
 Pleasant are Thy courts above. 
 In the land of light and love ; 
 Pleasant are Thy courts below. 
 In this laud of sin and woe. 
 
 Just aa I am, — Thou wilt receive. 
 Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve : 
 Because Thy promise I believe, 
 
 Lamb of God, I come I 
 
 Just as I am, — Thy Love, unknown. 
 Has broken every barrier down ; 
 Kow, to be Thine, yea. Thine alone, 
 
 Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Just as I am, — of that free love. 
 
 The breadth, length, depth, and height 
 
 to prove, 
 Here for a season, then above, 
 
 Lamb of God, I come ! 
 
 Charlotte Elliott. 
 
 uiy spirit longs and faints 
 For the converse of Thy saints, 
 For the brightness of Thy face. 
 King of Glory, God of grace ! 
 
 Happy birds, that sing and fly. 
 Round Thy altars, Most High I 
 Happier souls, that find a rest 
 In a heavenly Father's breast ! 
 
 Like the wandering dove, that found 
 No repose on earth around. 
 The)' can to their ark repair. 
 And enjoy it ever there. 
 
 Happy soula ! their praises flow 
 Even in this vale of woe ; 
 
410 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Waters in the desert rise, 
 Manna feeds them from the skies. 
 
 On they go from strength to strength, 
 Till they reach Thy throne at length ; 
 At Thy feet adoring fall, 
 Who hast led them safe through alL 
 
 Lord be mine this prize to win ; 
 Gtiide me through a world of sin ; 
 Keep me by Thy saving grace ; 
 Give me at Thy side a placf. 
 
 Sun and shield alike Thou art ; 
 Guide and guard my erring heart ; 
 Grace and glory flow from Thee : 
 Shower, shower them. Lord, on me ! 
 Bev. Henry Francis Lyte. 
 
 I HEABD THE VOICE OP 
 JESTJS SAY. 
 
 I HEARD the voice of Jesus say. 
 
 Come imto Me and rest ; 
 Lay down, thou weary one, lay down 
 
 Thy head upon My breast. 
 I came to Jesus as I was. 
 
 Weary, and worn, and sad ; 
 I found in Him a resting-place. 
 
 And He has made me glad. 
 
 I heard the voice of Jesus say. 
 
 Behold, I freely give 
 The Uving water, — thirsty one. 
 
 Stoop down, and drink, and hve. 
 I came to Jesvis, and I drank 
 
 Of that life-giving stream : 
 My thirst was quenched, my soul 
 revived. 
 
 And now I live in Him. 
 
 I heard the voice of Jesus say, 
 
 I am this dark world's Light ; 
 Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise. 
 
 And all thy day be bright. 
 I looked to Jesus, and I found 
 
 In Him my Star, my Sun ; 
 And in that Light of hfe I'll walk 
 
 Till travelhng days are done. 
 
 Rev. Uoraiius Bonar. 
 
 SOUND THE liOTJD TIMBREIi. 
 
 Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's 
 
 dark sea ! 
 Jehovah has triumphed — his people are 
 
 free. 
 
 Sing — for the pride of the tyrant is 
 
 broken. 
 His chariots and horsemen, all splendifl 
 
 and brave. 
 How vain was their boasting ! The 
 
 Lord hath but spoken. 
 And chariots and horseman are sunk 
 
 in the wave ; 
 Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egyjjt's 
 
 dark sea, 
 Jehovah has triumphed — his people are 
 
 free ! 
 Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the 
 
 Lord, 
 His word Avas our aiTOw, his breath 
 
 was our sword ! — 
 Wlio shall return to tell Egypt the 
 
 story 
 Of those she sent forth in the hour of 
 
 her pride ? 
 For the Lord hath look'd out from his 
 
 pillar of glory. 
 And all her brave thousands are 
 
 dash'd in the tide ; 
 Soxind the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's 
 
 dark sea ! 
 Jeliovah has triumph' d — his people are 
 
 free! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 THOXr ABT, O GOD, THE LIFE 
 AND LIGHT. 
 
 Thou art, O Lord, the life and light 
 Of all this wondrous world we see ; 
 
 Its glow by day, its smile by night 
 Are but reflections caught of Thee ; 
 
 Where'er we turn Thy glories shine. 
 
 And aU tilings fair and bright are Thine. 
 
 When day, with parting beam, delays 
 Among the op'ning clouds of ev'n ; 
 
 And we can almost think we gaze 
 Through golden vistas into heav'n ; 
 
 Those hues that mark the siui's decline. 
 
 So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. 
 
 When night, with wings of starry gloom, 
 O'ershadows all the earth and skies. 
 
 Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose 
 plume 
 Is sparkling with unnumber'd dyes— 
 
 That scacred gloom, those fires divine. 
 
 So grand, so countless, liOrd ! are Thine. 
 
 When youthful Spring around us 
 breatliei, 
 
Hymns. 
 
 411 
 
 Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigli ; 
 And every flowr the Summer wreathes 
 
 Is born benc<;(!) that kindling eye : 
 Where'er we turn Thy glories sliino. 
 And all things fair and bright are Tliine. 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 THE SNOWDROP. 
 
 I LOVK the httle snowdrop flower, 
 
 The first in all the year. 
 Without a stain upon its leaf 
 
 So snowy, white and clear. 
 
 I love a httle modest child. 
 
 That speakcth quietly, 
 That blushes up to its blue ej'es. 
 
 And hardly answers me. 
 
 I sometimes think the Church's Saints, 
 Are flowers so fair and bright, 
 
 And that her httle children are. 
 Her snowdrops sweet and \\hite. 
 
 Pu re of heart, and innocent, 
 
 And teachable and milfi. 
 And modest in its ways and words,- 
 
 Should be a Chiistian child. 
 I do not like a loud rough tone, 
 
 A look too boldly set, 
 A greedy hand outstretched to seize 
 
 Whatever it can get. 
 
 I'd rather meet with downcast eyes. 
 Sweet voices low and faint ; 
 
 For gentleness and modesty 
 Become a little saint. 
 
 Mr$. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 THERE IS A GREEN HILL 
 FAR AWAY. 
 
 There is a green hill far away. 
 
 Without a city wall, 
 Where the dear Lord was crucified 
 
 Who died to save us all. 
 
 We may not know, we cannot tell. 
 What pains He had to bear. 
 
 But we believe it was for us 
 He hung and suffered there ! 
 
 He died that we might be forgi\en. 
 
 He died to make us good. 
 That we might go at last to lieavcii. 
 
 Saved by His precious blood. 
 
 There was no other good enough 
 
 To pay the price of sin. 
 He only could unlock the gate 
 
 Of Heaven, and let us in. 
 
 dearly, dearly has He loved, 
 And we must love Him too, 
 
 And trust in His redeeming blood. 
 And try His work to do. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR 
 
 The King was on his throne, 
 
 The Satraps throng'd the hall ; 
 A thousand bright lamps shone 
 
 O'er that high festival. 
 A thousand cups of gold. 
 
 In Judah deeni'd divine — 
 Jehovah's vessels hold 
 
 The godless Heathen's wine. 
 
 In that same hour and haU 
 
 The fingers of a hand 
 Came forth against the wall. 
 
 And wrote as if on sand : 
 The fingers of a man : — 
 
 A sohtary hand 
 Along the letters ran. 
 
 And traced them like a wand. 
 
 'J'he Jlonarch saw, and shook. 
 
 And bade no more rejoice ; 
 All bloodless waxed lu's look. 
 
 And tremulous his voice : — • 
 " Let the men of lore appear, 
 
 The wisest of the earth. 
 And expound the words of fear. 
 
 Which mar our royal mirth." 
 
 Chaldea's seers are good. 
 
 But here they have no skill, 
 And the unknown letters stood 
 
 Untold and awful still. 
 And Babel's men of age 
 
 Are wise and deep in lore, 
 J'>iit now they were not sage. 
 
 They saw — but knew no more. 
 
 \ (^aptive in the land, >» 
 
 A stranger and a youth. 
 He heard the King's command, 
 
 He saw that writing's truth ; 
 '.riie lamps around were bright, 
 
 The prophecy in view ; 
 
412 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 He toad it, on that night, — 
 The morrow proved it true ! 
 
 " Jielshazzar's grave is made. 
 
 His kingdom pass'd away. 
 He, in the balance weigh'd. 
 
 Is hght and worthlesa clay ; 
 The shroixd, his robe of state ; 
 
 His canopy, the stone ; 
 The Made is at his gate ! 
 
 The Persian on his throne ! " 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 Hide me, O my Saviour, hide. 
 Till the storm of hfe be past ; 
 
 Safe into the haven guide, 
 O receive my soul at last ! 
 
 Other refuge have I none, 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 
 Leave, ah ! leave me not alone, 
 
 StiU support and comfort me ! 
 All my trust on Thee is stayed, 
 
 AU my help from Thee I bring ; 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 With the shadows of Thy wing ! 
 
 THE HAPPY I.AND. 
 
 There is a happy land. 
 
 Far, far away. 
 Where saints in glory stand 
 
 Bright, bright as day. 
 
 Oh how they sweetly sing. 
 Worthy is our Saviour King, 
 
 Loud let His praises sing. 
 Praise, praise for aye. 
 
 Come to this happy land. 
 
 Come, come away ; 
 Why wiU ye doubting stand ? 
 
 Why still delay ? 
 
 Oh we shall happy be. 
 
 When from sin and sorrow free, 
 Lord, we shall live with Thee ! 
 
 Blest, blest for aye. 
 
 Bright in that happy land 
 
 Beams every eye — 
 Kept by a Father's hand 
 
 Love cannot die. 
 
 On then to Glory run ; 
 
 Be a crown and Kingdom won ; 
 And bright above the sun 
 
 We reign for aye. 
 
 Andrew Young. 
 
 JESTT, LOVEB OF MY SOTTL. 
 
 Jesf, lover of my soul. 
 
 Let me to thy bosom fly, 
 While the gathering waters roU ; 
 
 While the tempest still is high. 
 
 Plenteous grace with Thee is found, 
 
 Grace to cleanse from every sin ; 
 Let the healing streams abound ; 
 
 Make and keep me pure witliin I 
 Thou of Life the Fountain art. 
 
 Freely let me take of Thee ; 
 Spring Thou up within my heart. 
 
 Rise to all eternity 1 
 
 Bev. Charles Wesley, 
 
 HARK! THE HERALD ANGELS 
 SING-. 
 
 Hark ! the Herald angels sing — 
 " Glory to the new-born King ; 
 Peace on earth, and mercy mild, 
 God and sinners reconciled ! " 
 
 Joyful, aU ye nations, rise. 
 Join the triumph of the skies ; 
 With the Angelic host proclaim, 
 " Christ is born in Bethlehem." 
 
 Clmst, by highest heaven adored, 
 Christ, the everlasting Lord, 
 Late in time behold Him come. 
 Offspring of a Virgin's womb. 
 
 Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see. 
 Hail, the Incarnate Deity ! 
 Pleased as man with men to dwell, 
 Jesus, our Emmanuel. 
 
 Hail, the heavenly Prince of Peace t 
 Hail, the Sun of Righteousness 1 
 Light and life to all He brings. 
 Risen with healing in His wings. 
 
 Mild He lays His glory by, 
 
 Born, that man no more may die. 
 
 Born, to raise the sons of earth, 
 
Hymns. 
 
 413 
 
 Born, to give them second birth. 
 Hark ! the Herald angels sing, 
 " Glory to the new-born King." 
 
 £ev. Cluirlea Wesley. 
 
 "WHILE SHEPHERDS 
 WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS 
 BY NIGHT." 
 While shepherds watched their llocks 
 by night 
 All seated on the ground, 
 The angel of the Lord came down. 
 And glory shone around. 
 
 " Fear not," said he ; for mighty 
 dread 
 
 Had seized their troubled mind : 
 " Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
 
 To you and all mankind. 
 
 " To you in David's town this day 
 
 Is born of David's line 
 A Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, 
 
 And this shall be the sign. 
 
 " The heavenly Babe you there shall 
 find 
 
 To human view displayed, 
 All meanly ■wrapped in swathing bands. 
 
 And in a manger laid." 
 
 Thus spoke the seraph ; and forthwith 
 Apjjeared a shining throng 
 
 Of angels, praising God, who thus 
 Addressed their joyful song : 
 
 " All glory be to God on high. 
 And on the earth be peace ; 
 Good-will henceforth from heaven to 
 men 
 Begin and never cease." 
 
 Nahum Tate. 
 
 Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
 Guide where our infant Redeemer is 
 laid I 
 
 Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are 
 shining, 
 Low lies His head with the beasts 
 of the stall ; 
 Angels adore Him, in slumber reclining. 
 Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour 
 of all ! 
 
 Offer Him gifts then, in costly devotion. 
 
 Odours of Edom and incense divine ; 
 
 Gems of the mountain, and pearls of 
 
 the ocean. 
 
 Myrrh from the forest, and gold from 
 
 the mine. 
 
 Vainly we offer each ample oblation. 
 
 Vainly with gold would His favour 
 
 secure ; 
 
 Kicher by far is the heart's adoration. 
 
 Dearer to God are the prayers of 
 
 the poor. 
 
 {Btahop) Reginald Hcher. 
 
 A HYMN- FOR CHRISTMAS 
 DAY* 
 
 Almighty Framer of the Skies ! 
 Oh let our pure devotion rise 
 
 Like incense in Thy sight ! 
 Wrapt in impenetrable shade 
 The texture of our souls were made, 
 
 Till thy command gave Ught. 
 
 The Sun of Glory gleam'd the ray. 
 Refined the darkness into day. 
 
 And bid the vapours fly : 
 ImpeU'd by His eternal Love 
 He left his Palaces above 
 
 To cheer our gloomy sky. 
 
 BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF 
 THE SONS OF THE MORNING 
 
 Brightest and best of the sons of the 
 morning. 
 Dawn on our darkness, and lend 
 pa thine aid ! 
 
 How shall we celebrate the day 
 When God appear'd in mortal clay, 
 
 T'he mark of worldly scorn ; 
 When the archangel's heavenly lays 
 Attempted the Redeemer's praise. 
 
 And hail'd salvati .n's mom ! 
 
 - Written at the a^e of eleven. 
 
414 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 A humble form of Godhead wore, 
 The pains of poverty He bore. 
 
 To gaudy pomp unknown : 
 Though in a human walii He trode. 
 Still was the Man Almighty God, 
 
 In glory all His own. 
 
 Despised, oppress' d, the Godhead bears 
 The torments of this vale of tears, 
 
 ^or bade His vengeance rise ; 
 He saw the creatures He had made 
 Revile His power. His peace invade, — 
 
 He saw with Mercy s eyes. 
 
 How shall we celebrate His Name, 
 Who groan'd beneath a life of shame. 
 
 In all afflictions tried ! 
 The soul is raptured to conceive, 
 A truth which Being must beheve — 
 
 The God eternal died. 
 
 My soul, exert thy powers — adore ; 
 Upon Devotion's plumage soar 
 
 To celebrate the day ; 
 The God from whom creation sprung 
 Shall animate my grateful tongue ; 
 
 From Him I'll catch the lay ! 
 
 Thomas Chatterton. 
 
 AN" ODE ON THE BIBTH OF 
 OTJB SAVIOUB. 
 
 In numbers, and but these few, 
 I sing thy birth, O Jesu ! 
 Thou pretty baby, born here 
 With aup'rabundant scorn here : 
 Who for thy princely post here, 
 
 Hadst for thy place 
 
 Of birth, abase 
 Out-stable for thy court here. 
 
 Instead of neat enclosures 
 Of interwoven osiers. 
 Instead of fragrant posies 
 Of daffodils and roses. 
 Thy cradle. Kingly Stranger, 
 
 As gospel teUs, 
 
 Was nothing else 
 But here a homely manger. 
 
 But we with silks (not cruell.j, 
 With sundry precious -jewels, 
 And lily-work wiU dress Thee ; 
 And, as we dispossess Thee,. 
 
 Of clouts, we'll make a chamber, 
 
 Sweet babe, for Thee 
 
 Of ivory, 
 And plaster'd round with amber. 
 
 Robert Merrick. 
 
 NEW PBINCE, NEW POMP. 
 
 Behold a simple, tender Babe, 
 
 In freezing winter night ; 
 In homely manger trembling lies ; 
 
 Alas ! a piteous sight. 
 
 The inns are full ; no man will yield 
 
 This httle Pilgrim bed ; 
 But forced He is with silly beasts 
 
 In crib to shi'oud His head. 
 
 Despise Him not for l3dng there 
 First what He is inquire : 
 
 An Orient pearl is often found 
 In depth of dirty mire. 
 
 Weigh not His crib. His wooden dish. 
 Nor beasts that by Him feed ; 
 
 Weigh not His mother's poor attire, 
 Nor Joseph's simple weed.* 
 
 This stable is a Prince's court, 
 The crib His chair of state ; 
 
 The beasts are parcel of His pomp, 
 The wooden dish His plate. 
 
 come from 
 
 The person in that poor attire 
 
 His royal liveries wear ; 
 The Prince Himself is 
 heaven ; 
 
 This pomp is praised there. 
 
 With joy approach, O Christian wight I 
 Do homage to thy Kin^ ; 
 
 And highly praise tliis humble pomp. 
 Which He from heaven doth bring. 
 
 Robert SotUhwell. 
 
 ONCE IN BOYAIi DAVID'S 
 CITY. 
 
 Once in royal David's city 
 Stood a lowly cattle slied. 
 
 Where a Jlother laid her baby 
 In a manger for His bed ; 
 
 Mary was that Mother mild, 
 
 Jesus Christ her little child. 
 * Clothes. 
 
Hymns. 
 
 41.1 
 
 He came down to earth from heaven, 
 Who is God and Lord of all. 
 
 And His shelter was a stable, 
 And His cradle was a stall. 
 
 With the poor, and mean, and lowly 
 
 Lived on earth our Saviour Holy. 
 
 And through all His wondrous child- 
 hood. 
 
 He would honour and obey. 
 Love and watch the lowly Maiden, 
 
 In whose gentle arms He lay ; 
 Christian children all must be 
 Mild, obedient, good aa He. 
 
 For He is our childhood's pattern. 
 Day by day hke us He grew. 
 
 He was little, weak, and helpless. 
 Tears and smiles like us He knew ; 
 
 And He feeleth for our sadness. 
 
 And He shareth in our gladness. 
 
 And our eyes at last shall see Him, 
 Through His own redeeming love. 
 
 For that Child so dear and gentle 
 Is our Lord in heaven above ; 
 
 And He leads His children on 
 
 To the place where He has gone. 
 
 Not in that poor lowly stable. 
 With the oxen standing by. 
 
 We shall see Him ; but in heaven, 
 Set at God's right hand on high, 
 
 Wlien hke stars His children crowned 
 
 All in white shall wait around. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander, 
 
 Eight against the forest fence. 
 By Saint Agnes' fountain." 
 
 " Bring me flesh, and bring me wine. 
 
 Bring me pine-logs hither : 
 Thou and I will see him dine, 
 
 When we bear them thither." 
 Page and monarch, forth they went. 
 
 Forth they went together ; 
 Through the rude wind's wild lament 
 
 And the bitter weather. 
 
 " Sire, the night is darker now. 
 
 And the wind blows stronger ; 
 Fails my heart, I know not how, 
 
 T can go no longer." 
 " Mark my footsteps, good my page ; 
 
 Tread thou in them boldly : 
 Thou shalt find the winter rage 
 
 Freeze thy blood less coldly." 
 
 In his master's steps he trod. 
 
 Where the snow lay dinted ; 
 • Heat was in the very sod 
 
 Which the saint had printed. 
 Therefore, Christian men be sure, 
 
 Wealth or rank possessing. 
 Ye who now wiU bless the poor. 
 
 Shall yourselves find blessing. 
 
 Old Carol, 
 
 I SAW THREE SHIPS. 
 
 I SAW three ships come sailing in. 
 On Chiistmas day, on Christmas day, 
 
 I saw three ships come sailing in, 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 GOOD KING WENCESLAS. 
 
 Good King Wenceslas looked out 
 
 On the Feast of Stephen, 
 AA'hen the snow lay round about, 
 
 Deep, and crisp, and ev n. 
 Brightly shone the moon that night. 
 
 Though the frost was cruel, 
 When a poor man came in sight, 
 
 Gath'ring winter fuel. 
 
 *' Hither, page, and stand by me. 
 If thou know'st it, telhug, 
 
 Yonder peasant, who is he ? 
 Where and what his dwelhng ? " 
 
 " Sire, he lives a good league hence, 
 Underneath the mountain ; 
 
 Pray whither sailed those ships all 
 three 
 On Christmas day, on Christmas day 1 
 Pray whither sailed those ships all 
 three 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 Oh, they sailed into Bethlehem 
 
 On Christmas day, on Christmas 
 day ; 
 
 Oil, they sailed into Bethlehem, 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 And all the bells on earth shall ring 
 On Christmas day, on Christmas day 
 
416 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 And all the bells on earth shall ring 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 And all the angels in heaven shall 
 sing. 
 On Christmas day, on Christmas 
 day; 
 And ail the angels in heaven shall 
 sing, 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 And all the souls on earth shall sing 
 On Christmas day, on Christmas daj' ; 
 
 And aU the souls on earth shall sing 
 On Christmas day, in the morning. 
 
 Old Carol. 
 
 ONWARD, CHRISTIAN" 
 SOLDIERS. 
 
 Onward, Christian soldiers, 
 
 Marching as to war. 
 With the Cross of Jesus 
 
 Going on before. 
 Christ the Royal Master 
 Leads against the foe ; 
 Forward into battle. 
 See, His banners go ! 
 
 Onward, Christian soldiers. 
 
 Marching as to war. 
 With the Cross of Jesus 
 Going on before. 
 
 At the sign of triumph 
 
 Satan's host doth flee ; 
 On then. Christian soldiers, 
 
 On to victory. 
 Hell's foundations quiver 
 
 At the shouts of praise ; 
 Brothers, lift your voices, 
 
 l/oud your anthems raise. 
 Onward, etc. 
 
 Like a mighty army 
 
 Moves the Church of God ; 
 Brothers, we are treading 
 
 Where the Saints have trod ; 
 We are not divided 
 
 All one body we. 
 One in hope and doctrine. 
 
 One in charity. 
 Onward, etc. 
 
 Crowns and thrones may perish, 
 
 Ivingdoms rise and wane. 
 But the Church of Jesus 
 Constant will remain ; 
 Gates of hell can never 
 
 'Gainst that Church prevail ; 
 We have Christ's promise. 
 And that cannot fail. 
 Onward, etc. 
 
 Onward, then, ye people, 
 Join our happy throng. 
 Blend with ours your voices 
 
 In the triumph song ; 
 Glory, laud, and honour 
 L^nto Christ the King, 
 This through countless ages 
 Men and angels sing. 
 
 Onward, Christian soldiers. 
 
 Marching as to war. 
 ^Vith the Cross of Jesus 
 Going on before. 
 
 Eev. S. Baring-Gould. 
 
 FROM GREENLAND'S ICY 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 From Greenland's icy mountains. 
 
 From India's coral strand ; 
 Where Afric's suimy fomitains 
 
 Roll down their golden sand : 
 From many an ancient river. 
 
 From many a palmy plain. 
 They call us to dehver 
 
 Theii' land from error's chain. 
 
 What though the spicy breezes 
 
 Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle ; 
 Though every prospect pleases, 
 
 And only man is vile : 
 In vain with lavish kindness 
 
 The gifts of God are strown ; 
 The heathen, in his blindness, 
 
 BoM s down to wood and stone. 
 
 Can we, whose souls are lighted 
 
 With wisdom from on high — 
 Can we, to men benighted. 
 
 The lamp of life deny ? 
 Salvation ! oh, salvation ! 
 
 The joyful sound proclaim ; 
 Till each remotest nation 
 
 Has learnt Messiah's name. 
 
Hymns. 
 
 417 
 
 Waft, waft, ye winds, His story. 
 
 And you, ye waters, roll, 
 Till, like a sea of glorj'. 
 
 It spreads from pole to pole ; 
 Till o'er our ransomed nature. 
 
 The Lamb for sinners slain. 
 Redeemer, King, Creator, 
 
 In bliss returns to reign. 
 
 (Bishop) Reginald Heber. 
 
 A THANKSGIVING TO GOD 
 FOR HIS HOUSE. 
 
 Lord, Thou hast given me a cell. 
 
 Wherein to dwell ; 
 A little house, whose humble roof 
 
 Is weather-proof ; 
 Under the spars of which I lie 
 
 Both soft and dry ; 
 Where thou, my chamber for to ward. 
 
 Hast set a guard 
 Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 
 
 Me, while I sleep. 
 Low is my porch, as is my fate : 
 
 Both void of state ; 
 And yet the threshold of my door 
 
 Is worn by th' poor. 
 Who thither come, and freely get 
 
 Good words, or meat. 
 Like as my parlour, so my hall 
 
 And kitchen's small ; 
 A little buttery, and therein 
 
 A httle bin. 
 Which keeps my little loaf of bread 
 
 Unchipt, unflead ; 
 Some little sticks of thorn or briar 
 
 Make me a fire. 
 Close by whose living coal I sit. 
 
 And glow Uke it. 
 Lord, I confess too, when I dine. 
 
 The pulse is Thine, 
 And all those other bits that be 
 
 There placed by Thee ; 
 The worts, the purslain, and the mess 
 
 Of water-cress, 
 Wliich of Thy kindness Thou hast sent ; 
 
 And my content 
 Makes those, and my beloved beet. 
 
 To be more sweet. 
 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering 
 hearth 
 
 With guiltless mirth. 
 And giv'st me wassail-bowls to drink. 
 
 Spiced to the brink. 
 
 Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soils my land. 
 And giv'st me, for my bushel sown. 
 
 Twice ten for one ; 
 Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 
 
 Her egg each day ; 
 Besides my faithful ewes to bear 
 
 Me twins each year ; 
 The while the conduits of my kine 
 
 Run cream, for wine — 
 All these, and better. Thou dost send 
 
 Me, — to this end. 
 That I should render, for my part, 
 
 A thankful heart. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 SAW YE NEVER IN THE 
 MEADOWS. 
 
 Saw ye never in the meadows. 
 Where your little feet did pass, 
 
 Down, below the sweet white daisie.s. 
 Growing in the long green grass ? 
 
 They are like to little children, 
 Children bred in lowly cot. 
 
 Who are modest, meek, and quiet. 
 And contented with their lot. 
 
 Saw you never lilac blossoms. 
 
 Or acacia wliite and red, 
 Waving brightly in the sunshine. 
 
 On the tall trees overhead ? 
 
 They are like to other children. 
 Children of the high and great. 
 
 Who are gracious, good, and gentle. 
 Serving God in their estate. 
 
 Day by day the Uttle daisy 
 Looks up with its yellow eye. 
 
 Never murmurs, never wishes 
 It were hanging up on high. 
 
 And God loveth all His children, 
 Rich and poor, and high and low. 
 
 And they all shall meet in Heaven, 
 Who have served Him here below . 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 27 
 
418 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 THE RAVEN BUILDS HEB 
 NEST ON HIGH. 
 
 The raven builds lier nest on high. 
 The loud winds rock her craving 
 brood, 
 
 The forest echoes to their cry : 
 Who gives the ravens food t 
 
 The lion goeth forth to roam 
 
 Wild sandy hills and plains among, 
 
 He leaves his httle whelps at home : 
 Who feeds the Uon's young ? 
 
 Cod hears the hungry hons howl. 
 He feeds the raven hoarse and grey : 
 
 '.'ares He alone for beast and fowl ? 
 Are we less dear than they ? 
 
 Xay, Christian Child, kneel down and 
 own 
 
 The Hand that feeds thee day by day, 
 Nor careless with thy hp alone. 
 
 For " all things needful " pray. 
 
 Then not alone for earthly food 
 
 Teaoh us with hsping tongue to 
 pray : — 
 The heavenly meat that makes us good, 
 Lord give us day by day. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO 
 HIS SOUL. 
 
 Vital spark of heavenly flame ! 
 Quit, oh, quit tliis mortal frame : 
 Trembhng, hoping, lingering, flying. 
 Oh, the pain, the bUss of dying ! 
 
 Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife. 
 
 And let us languish into life. 
 
 Hark ! they whisper ; angels say, 
 " Sister spirit, come away." 
 What is this absorbs me quite ? 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 
 Drowns my spirit, draws my breath ? 
 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death ? 
 
 The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! n;y eats 
 With sounds seraphic ring : 
 
 Lend, lend, your wings ! I mount ! I fly ! 
 O Grave ! where is thy victory ? 
 O Death ! where is thy sting ? 
 
 Alexander Pope. 
 
 WITHIN THE CHURCHYARD 
 SIDE BY SIDE. 
 
 WiTHTN the churchyard side by side, 
 
 Are many long low graves. 
 And some have stones set over them, — 
 
 On some the green grass waves. 
 
 Full many a little Chi-istian child. 
 Woman and man, lie there ; 
 
 And we pass by them every time 
 When we go in to prayer. 
 
 They cannot hear our footsteps come, 
 
 They do not see us pass. 
 They cannot feel the bright warm sun. 
 
 That shines upon the grass. 
 
 They do not hear when the great bell 
 
 Is ringing over-head ; 
 They cannot rise and come to Church 
 
 With us, for they are dead. 
 
 But we believe a Day shall come, 
 
 When all the dead will rise, 
 When they who sleep down in the grave 
 
 Will ope again their eyes. 
 
 For Christ our Loed was buried once, 
 
 He died and rose again. 
 He conquered death. He left the grave. 
 
 And so wiU Christian men. 
 
 So when the friends we love the best 
 Lie in their churchyard bed, 
 
 We must not cry too bitterly 
 Over the happy dead ; 
 
 Because for our dear Saviour's sake 
 
 Our sins are all forgiven, 
 And Christians only fall asleep. 
 
 To wake again in heaven. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander. 
 
 ABIDE WITH ME. 
 
 Abide with me ! fast falls the eventide ; 
 The darkness deepens ; Lord, with m« 
 abide ! 
 
Hymns. 
 
 419 
 
 When other helpers fail, and comforts 
 
 flee, 
 Help of the helpless, O abide witli inc. 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little 
 
 day ; 
 Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass 
 
 away ; 
 Change and decay in all around I see : 
 
 Thou who changest not, abide with 
 me ! 
 
 Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word 
 But as Thou dwell'st with Thy disciples, 
 
 Lord, 
 Familiar, condescending, patient, free. 
 Come not to sojourn, but abide with me. 
 
 Come not in terrors, as the King of 
 
 kings. 
 But kind and good, with healing in 
 
 Thy wings ; 
 Tears for all woes, a heart for every 
 
 plea ; 
 Come, Friend of sinnere, thus abide 
 
 with me ! 
 
 Thou on my head in earlj' youth didst 
 
 smile. 
 And, though rebellious and perverse 
 
 meanwhile. 
 Thou hast not left me, oft as I left 
 
 thee : 
 On to the close, Lord ! abide with nie. 
 
 1 need Thy presence every passing hour. 
 What but Thy grace can foil the rcinp- 
 
 ter's power ? 
 Who like Thyself iny guide and stay 
 
 can be ? 
 Through cloud and sunshine, O abide 
 
 with me ! 
 
 I fear no foe, with Thee at liaiid to 
 
 bless ; 
 Ills have no weight, and tears no 
 
 bitterness. 
 Where is death's sting ? where, grave, 
 
 thy victory ? 
 I triumph still, if Thou abide with me ! 
 
 Hold Thou Thy Cross before my 
 
 closing eyes, 
 Shine through the gloom, and point 
 
 me to the skies ; 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's 
 
 vain shadows flee ; 
 In life, in death, O Lord ! abide witli me. 
 Bev. Henry Francis Lyte. 
 
 EVENING SONG. 
 
 LtTTiiE birds sleep sweetly 
 in their soft round nests, 
 
 Croucliing in the cover 
 Of their motliers' breasts. 
 
 Little lambs lie quiet. 
 
 All the summer night 
 With their old ewe niuthers. 
 
 Warm, and soft, and \\'hite. 
 
 But more sweet and quiet 
 
 Lie our little heads, 
 With our own dear mothei'3 
 
 Sitting by our beds ; 
 
 And their soft sweet voices 
 
 Sing our husli-a-bics. 
 While th ■ room grows darker 
 
 As we shut our eyes. 
 
 And we play at evening 
 Round our father's knees ; 
 
 Birds are not so merry, 
 Singing on the trees ; 
 
 Lambs are not so happy, 
 'Mid the meadow flowers ; 
 
 They have play and pleasure 
 But not love like ours. 
 
 But the heart that's loving. 
 Works of love will do ; 
 
 Those we dearly cherish. 
 We must honour too. 
 
 To our father's teaching 
 
 Listen day by day. 
 And our mother's bidding 
 
 Cheerfully obey. 
 
 For when in His childliood 
 Our dear Lord was here. 
 
 He too was obedient 
 To His Mother dear. 
 
 And His little children 
 
 Must be good as He, 
 Gentle and submissive. 
 
 As He used to be. 
 
 Mrs. Cecil Frances Alrxanrhr. 
 
 NOW THE DAY IS OVER 
 
 Now the day is over. 
 Night is drawing nigh. 
 
 Shadows of the evening 
 Steal across the sky. 
 
 27* 
 
420 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Now the darkness gathers, 
 
 Stars begin to peep. 
 Birds, and beasts, and flowera 
 
 Soon will be asleep. 
 
 Jesu, give the weary 
 
 Calm and sweet repose ; 
 
 With thy tend'rest blessing 
 May mine eyelids close. 
 
 Grant to little children 
 Visions bright of Thee ; 
 
 Guard the sailors tossing 
 On the deep blue sea. 
 
 Comfort every sufferer 
 Watching late in pain ; 
 
 Those who plan some evil, 
 From their sin restrain. 
 
 Through the long night watches 
 May Thine Angels spread 
 
 Their white wings above me. 
 Watching round my bed. 
 
 When the monung wakens. 
 
 Then may I arise, 
 Pure and fresh and sinless 
 
 In Thy Holy Eyes. 
 
 Glory to the Father, 
 
 CJio y to the Son, 
 And to Thee, Blest Spirit, 
 
 WhiL- all ages run. 
 
 Rev. S. Baring -Oovld. 
 
 EVENING HYMN. 
 
 Glory to Thee, my God, this night. 
 For all the blessings of the light ; 
 Keep me, O keep me, I^ng of kings, 
 Under Thy own Almighty wings ! 
 
 Forgive me. Lord, for Thy dear Son, 
 Thd iUs that I this day have done ; 
 That with the world, myself, and Thee, 
 I, ere I sleep, at peace may be. 
 
 Teach me to live, that I may dread 
 The grave as little as my bed ; 
 Teach me to die that so I may 
 With joy behold th? judgment day. 
 
 O may my soul on Thee repose, 
 
 And with sweet sleep mine eyelids 
 
 close ! 
 Sleep, that may me more active make 
 To serve my God when I awake. 
 
 When restless in the night I lie. 
 My soul with heavenly thoughts supply ; 
 Let no ill dreams disturb my rest. 
 No powers of darlcness me molest. 
 
 Let my blest Guardian, while I sleep. 
 His watchful station near me keep ; 
 My heart with love celestial fill. 
 And guard me from the approach of ill. 
 
 Lord, let my soul for ever share 
 The bliss of Thy paternal care ; 
 'Tis heaven on earth, 'tis heaven above. 
 To see Thy face, and sing Thy love. 
 
 l^Bishop] Thomas Ken. 
 
 EVENING HYMN. 
 God, that madest earth and heaven. 
 
 Darkness and light ! 
 Who the day for toU hast given. 
 
 For rest, the night ; 
 
 May Thine angel guards defend us. 
 Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us. 
 Holy dreams and hopes attend us, 
 This livelong night ! 
 
 Guard us waking, guard us sleeping 
 
 And, when we die. 
 May we in Tuy mighty keeping 
 
 AH peacefid lie : 
 
 When the last dread call shall wake us. 
 Do not Thou, our God forsake us. 
 But to reign in glory take us 
 With Thee on high. 
 
 {Bishojp) Reginald Heber, 
 
 A CHILD'S EVENING 
 PBAYEE. 
 Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me 
 
 Bless Thy little lamb to-night ; 
 Through the darkness be Thou near nif, 
 Watch my sle.'p till morning liglit. 
 
Hymns. 
 
 421 
 
 All this day Thy hand has led me. 
 And I thank Thee for Thy care ; 
 
 Thou hast cloth'd and warm'd and fed 
 me ; 
 Listen to my evening prayer. 
 
 Let my sins be all forgiven ! 
 
 Bless the friends I love so well ! 
 Take me, when I die, to Heaven ; 
 
 Happy, there with Thee to dwell. 
 
 May Lundie Duncan. 
 
 CHILD'S EVElSriNG PBAYEK. 
 Ere on my bed my hmbs I lay, 
 God grant me grace my prayers to say ! 
 O God, preserve my mother dear 
 In health and strength for many a year. 
 And O preserve my father too, 
 And may I pay him reverence due ; 
 And may I my best thoughts employ 
 To be my parents' hope and joy ! 
 And O preserve my brothers both 
 From evil doings and from sloth, 
 And may we always love each other. 
 Our friends, our father, and our motlier ! 
 And still, O Lord, to me impart 
 An innocent and grateful heart, 
 That after my last sleep I may 
 Awake to Thy eternal day. Amen. 
 S. T. Coleridge. 
 
 EVENTNTO HYMN. 
 On the dark hill's western side 
 The last purple gleam has died. 
 Twilight to one solemn hue 
 Changes all, both green and blue. 
 
 In the fold and in the nest. 
 Birds and lambs are gone to rest, 
 Labour's weary task is o'er. 
 Closely shut the cottage door. 
 
 Saviour, ere in sweet repose 
 
 I my weary eyelids close. 
 
 While my mother through the gloom 
 
 iSingeth from the outer room ; 
 
 While across the curtain white. 
 With a dim uncertain light. 
 On the floor the faint stars shine. 
 Let my latest thought be Thine. 
 
 If my slumbers broken be. 
 Waking let me think of Thee; 
 Darkness caimot make me fear. 
 If I feel that Thou art near. 
 
 Happy now I turn to sleep ; 
 Thou wilt watch around me keep, 
 Him no danger e'er can harm. 
 Who lies cradled in Thine arm. 
 
 Mra.Gecil Frances Alexander. 
 
INDEX OF AUTHORS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ADDisoy, Joseph (1672-1719). 
 
 The Lord is my pasture 408 
 
 The spacious finiiainent above .. 40G 
 
 AiKihT, Lucy (1781-18(34). 
 
 Constantinople 1G2 
 
 India 1()2 
 
 Lapland 1&2 
 
 Old Beggar, The 42 
 
 Swallow, The 228 
 
 Which way does the wind blow ?. . KM) 
 
 Alexaxder, Cecil Frances (1818- 
 1895). 
 
 Creation, The 40.", 
 
 Evening Hymn 42 1 
 
 Little birds sleep sweetly 419 
 
 Little Sister left in charge. The . . 37 
 
 Morning Hymn 404 
 
 Once in Royal David's city 414 
 
 Raven builds her nest on high. The 418 
 
 Saw ye never in the meadows 417 
 
 Snowdrop, The 411 
 
 There is a green hill far away 41 1 
 
 Within the churchyard side by side 418 
 
 Allingham, William (1824^1889). 
 
 Bird, The 221 
 
 Fairies, The 109 
 
 Sailor, The 291 
 
 Spring is come 153 
 
 Windlass Song 293 
 
 Winny 350 
 
 Wishing 172 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 Agincourt 261 
 
 Babes in the Wood, The 298 
 
 BailiS's Daughter of Islington 329 
 
 Barbara Allen's cruelty 343 
 
 Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bethnal 
 
 Green, The 301 
 
 BluebeU of Scotland, The 278 
 
 Butterfly's First Flight, The 205 
 
 Butterfly's Funeral, The 25 
 
 Candle, A 136 
 
 Come here, little Robin 9 
 
 Crust of Bread, The 6 
 
 Deeds of kindness 7 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Fair Helen of Kirconnel 342 
 
 Good King Wenceslas 415 
 
 Hunt is up, The 185 
 
 I love little Pussy 7 
 
 I saw three ships 415 
 
 Jovial Welshmen, The 237 
 
 Lamb, The 11 
 
 Lament of the Border Widow, The . 338 
 
 Letters at School, The 133 
 
 Life of a Fairy, The 110 
 
 Light-hearted Fairy, The 109 
 
 Li tt le Boy and Hoop 66 
 
 Lord Bateman 299 
 
 Lord Lovel 314 
 
 Mary Ambree 317 
 
 My Little Sister 4 
 
 North Wind doth blow. The 7 
 
 Peter Piper 136 
 
 Sailor's Adieu, The 293 
 
 Sailor's Life,.-A 292 
 
 Sir Patrick Spens 306 
 
 Sleepy Harry 21 
 
 Speak gently 9 
 
 Summer Song 10 
 
 Sweet William's Ghost 334 
 
 To a Hedge Sparrow 220 
 
 To the Crow 232 
 
 Visifr to the Lambs, A 7 
 
 Wanderer's Song, The 260 
 
 When a twister a twisting 136 
 
 When Banners are waving 282 
 
 Wild Wreath, The 45 
 
 Arnold, Matthew (1822-1888). 
 
 Forsaken Merman, The 372 
 
 Baillie, Joanna (1762-1851). 
 
 Good-morning 1 39 
 
 Good-night 141 
 
 Kitten, The 210 
 
 Outlaw's Song, The 348 
 
 Shepherd's Song, The 167 
 
 Barbauld,AnneLetitia(1743-1825). 
 
 Dolls' House, The 78 
 
 Insects 201 
 
 Mouse's Petition, The 216 
 
 To a Dog 216 
 
424 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGS 
 
 Babham, Eet. Richaed Harris, 
 
 Thomas Ingoldsby (1788-1845). 
 
 Jackdaw of Rheims, The 248 
 
 Baring-Gottld, Rev. Sabine. 
 
 Now the Day is over 419 
 
 Onward, Christian Soldiers 416 
 
 Barnfield, Richaed (1574^1627). 
 
 Nightingale, The 226 
 
 Barton, Bernard (1784-1849). 
 
 England's Oak 181 
 
 Ocean, The 290 
 
 Squirrel, The 219 
 
 Beaumont, Francis (1584-1616) and 
 Fletcher, John (1579-1625). 
 
 Folding the Hocks 167 
 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell (1803- 
 1849). 
 
 To Sea ! To Sea ! 289 
 
 Bennett, William Cox (1820-1895). 
 
 Baby May 195 
 
 From India 283 
 
 Lullaby, O Lullaby 85 
 
 Summer Invocation 156 
 
 To a Cricket 205 
 
 Blake, William (1757-1827). 
 
 Blossom, The 168 
 
 Chimney Sweeper, The 368 
 
 Divine Image, The 389 
 
 Echoing Green, The 187 
 
 Fly, The 208 
 
 Holy Thursday 378 
 
 How sweet I roamed 377 
 
 Infant Joy 4 
 
 Lamb, The 21 
 
 Land of Dreams, The 388 
 
 Laughing Song 368 
 
 Little black boy 369 
 
 Little boy found 369 
 
 Little boy lost 369 
 
 Night 141 
 
 Nurse's Song 370 
 
 On another's sorrow 377 
 
 Piper, The 366 
 
 Shepherd 167 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 85 
 
 Spring 154 
 
 Sweet dreams form a shade 85 
 
 Tiger, The 220 
 
 Bloomfield, Robert (1766-1823). 
 
 Fakenham Ghost, The 251 
 
 Horkey, The 252 
 
 Lambs at play 218 
 
 BoNAR, Rev. Horatius (1808-1889). 
 
 I heard the voice of Jesus say 410 
 
 PAQB 
 
 Bowles, Rev. William Lisle (1762- 
 1850). 
 
 Butterfly and the Bee, The 206 
 
 Caged Bird, The 222 
 
 Swallow and Redbreast, The 228 
 
 Bourne, Vincent, see Cowpeb, 
 William. 
 
 Brewer, Dr. Ebenezeb Cobhax 
 (1810-1897). 
 
 Little Things 37 
 
 Bronte, Emily Jane (1818-1848). 
 
 Bluebell, The ..: 174 
 
 Linnet in the rocky dells. The .... 343 
 
 Love and Friendship 378 
 
 Browning, Elizabeth Bareett- 
 (1806-1861). 
 
 Child's Thought of God, A 407 
 
 Lessons from the Gorse 174 
 
 My Doves 224 
 
 Pet-name, The 368 
 
 Portrait, A 357 
 
 Romance of the Swan's Nest, The 33u 
 
 Sea-Mew, The 236 
 
 Browning, Robert (1812-1889). 
 
 Boy and the Angel, The 382 
 
 Cavalier Song, A 270 
 
 Home Thoughts from Abroad .... 265 
 
 Home Thoughts from the tiea .... 265 
 How they brought the good news 
 
 from Ghent to Aix 287 
 
 Incident of the French Camp 286 
 
 Pied Piper of HameUn, The 243 
 
 Year's at the Spring, The 139 
 
 Bruce, Michael (1746-1767). 
 
 Ode to the Cuckoo 226 
 
 Bryant, William Cullen (1794- 
 1878). 
 
 Gladness of Nature, The 143 
 
 Death of the Flowers, The 183 
 
 Hymn to the North Star 142 
 
 March 154 
 
 New Moon, The 156 
 
 To the Fringed Gentian 177 
 
 To a Water Fowl 235 
 
 Bunyan, John (1628-1688), 
 
 Pilgrim, The 388 
 
 Shepherd-boy's Song 167 
 
 Burns, Rev. James Deualmond 
 (1823-1864). 
 Speak, Lord, for Thy servant 
 
 heareth 406 
 
 BuENS, Robert (1759-1796). 
 
 Bruce to his Army .... 287 
 
 Chloe 362 
 
 For a' that, and a' that 262 
 
 I love my Jean 363 
 
 ' John Anderson 378 
 
Index of Authors. 
 
 42J 
 
 PAGE 
 
 John Barleycorn 250 
 
 My heart's in the Highlands 279 
 
 My Nannie's awa' 362 
 
 Rosebud, A 171 
 
 To a Mountain Daisy 176 
 
 Up in the morninij early 151 
 
 Wounded Hare, The 217 
 
 Byron, George Gordon, Lord 
 (1788-1824). 
 
 Destruction of Sennacherib, The. . 262 
 
 Evening 140 
 
 Eve of the Battle of Waterloo, The 274 
 
 Isles of Greece, The 263 
 
 Napoleon's Farewell 279 
 
 Pleasant Things 188 
 
 She walks in Beauty 304 
 
 Vision of Belshazzar, The 411 
 
 Cajipbell, Thomas (1777-1844). 
 
 Adelijitha 286 
 
 Battle of Hohenlinden, The 285 
 
 Battle of the Baltic, Tlie 273 
 
 Beech- tree's Petition, The 124 
 
 Exile of Erin 276 
 
 Field Flowers 173 
 
 Irish Harper, The 276 
 
 Lord Ullin's Daughter 346 
 
 Men of England 265 
 
 Maid of Neidpath, The 335 
 
 Napoleon and the Eng.ish Sailor 
 
 Boy 285 
 
 Parrot, The 2o2 
 
 Rainbow, The 150 
 
 Soldier's Dream, The 284 
 
 Trafalgar 273 
 
 Ye Mariners of England 267 
 
 Caeew, Lady Elizabeth (fl. 1590). 
 
 True Greatness 262 
 
 Carew, Thomas (1598 ? 1639 ?). 
 
 Now that Winter's gone 154 
 
 Carey, Henry (d. 1743). 
 
 God Save the Kuig 267 
 
 Caklyle, Thomas (1795-1881). 
 
 Dawning Day, The 380 
 
 CaETWKIGHT, WiLLIAil (1011-1643). 
 
 Dead Sparrow, The 225 
 
 Chatterton, Thomas (1752-1770). 
 
 Hymn for Christmas Day, A 413 
 
 Minstrel's Song in " Ella " 398 
 
 Cherry, Andrew (1762-1812). 
 
 Bay of Biscay, The 294 
 
 CiBBEE, Colley (1671-1757). 
 
 Blind Boy, The 43 
 
 Clare, John (1793-1864). 
 
 Thrush's Nest, The 234 
 
 To a Primrose 172 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849). 
 
 Lark and the Nightingale, The 222 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772- 
 1834). 
 
 Answer to a Child's Question .... 379 
 
 Boy in the Wilderness, The SOti 
 
 Ch Id's Evening Prayer 42 1 
 
 If I had but two little wings 38H 
 
 Kubla Khan '6'.r2 
 
 Raven, The 12:! 
 
 Rime of the Ancient Mariner, The 307 
 
 Up, up ye Dames and Lasses gay . . 185 
 
 Coleridge, Sara (1802-1852). 
 
 Months, The 152 
 
 Collins, William (1721-1759). 
 
 How sleep the brave ! 262 
 
 Cook, Eliza (1818-1889). 
 
 A. B. C 132 
 
 Blind Boy at play. The 44 
 
 Death of Master Tommy Rook, The 29 
 
 Home for the HoHdays 30 
 
 King Bruce and the Sjiider 36 
 
 Mouse and the Cake, The 28 
 
 Old Arm-chair, The 191 
 
 Old Dobbm 26 
 
 Summer 150 
 
 "Cornwall, Barry," Bryan Waller 
 Procter (1787-1874). 
 
 Blood-Horse, The 218 
 
 Fate of the Oak, The 180 
 
 Fisherman, The 295 
 
 Hunter's Song, The 184 
 
 Horned Owl, The 229 
 
 Sea, The 289 
 
 Stars, The 143 
 
 Stormy Petrel, The 236 
 
 Cowley, Abraham (1618-1667). 
 
 Grasshopper, The 204 
 
 CowPEH, William (1731-1800). 
 
 Alexander Selkirk 288 
 
 Beau's reply 214 
 
 Boadicea 268 
 
 Chaffinch's Nest at Sea, The 235 
 
 Columbriad, The 122 
 
 Cottager and his Landlord, The . . 122 
 
 Cricket, The 204 
 
 Dispute between Nose and P^yes . . 135 
 
 Dog and the Water Lily, The 213 
 
 Epitaph, An 215 
 
 Epitaph on a Hare 217 
 
 Glowworm, The 202 
 
 Goldfinch starved in h:8 cage, The 234 
 
 Innocent 'J'hief, The 206 
 
 John Gilpin 255 
 
 Maze, The 173 
 
 Miser, The 131 
 
 Narcissus 176 
 
 Nightingale and the Glowwonn,Tbe 126 
 
426 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 On a spaniel called *' Beau " 214 
 
 On the loss of the Royal George .... 272 
 On the Receipt of my Mother's 
 
 Picture 385 
 
 Pine-apple and the Bee, The 125 
 
 Poplar-field The 180 
 
 Precept and Practice 121 
 
 Retired Cat, The 211 
 
 Rose, The 173 
 
 Snail, The 203 
 
 Sparrows Self-domesticated, The. . 225 
 
 Squirrel, The 219 
 
 Woodman's Dog, The 214 
 
 Yardley Oak 182 
 
 Cunningham, Allan (1791-1839). 
 
 Wet sheet and a flowing Sea, A 293 
 
 Devonshire, Geoegiana, Ditohess 
 OF (1757-1806). 
 
 Traveller in Africa, The 163 
 
 DiBDiN, Charles (1745-1814). 
 
 Before Battle 270 
 
 Tar for all Weathers, A 294 
 
 Tom Bowling 293 
 
 DiBDiN, Thomas (1771-1841). 
 
 Love and Glory 3G5 
 
 DOBELL, Sydney (1824-1874). 
 
 How's my boy ? 295 
 
 Orphan's Song, The 387 
 
 Douglas, William, of Fingland 
 
 Annie Laurie 346 
 
 Drake, Joseph Rodman (1795-1820). 
 
 American Flag, The 282 
 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1631). 
 
 Arming of Pigwiggen, The 115 
 
 Palace of Fairies, The 115 
 
 Queen Mab's Chariot 113 
 
 Dryden, John — from Virgil (1031- 
 1700). 
 
 War Horse, The 283 
 
 Duncan, Mary Lundie (" Aunt 
 Mary ") (1814-1840). 
 
 Child's Evening Prayer, A 420 
 
 Child's Morning Prayer, A 405 
 
 Merry Fly, The 20 
 
 My Little Brother 4 
 
 Shadows, The 34 
 
 Dyer, Sir Edward (1545 P-1607). 
 
 Contentment 382 
 
 Elliott, Charlotte (1789-1871). 
 
 Just as I am 409 
 
 Elliott, Ebenezer (1781-1849). 
 
 Rub or Rust 382 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Elliott, Mart. 
 
 Busy Child, The ' 52 
 
 Crocus, The 40 
 
 Dangerous Trial, The 50 
 
 I will 65 
 
 Last new doll, The 67 
 
 Negro, The 39 
 
 Nest, The 15 
 
 New Looking-glass, The .35 
 
 New shoes 52 
 
 Oak, The 40 
 
 See-Saw 4R 
 
 Silk ^^'o^ms 46 
 
 Think before you act 53 
 
 WhatisVeal? 15 
 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo (1803-1882). 
 
 Mountain and the Squirrel, The.. 123 
 
 Rhodora, The 183 
 
 Snow-storm, The 151 
 
 Fanshawe Catherine M. (1765-1834). 
 
 Riddle, A (the letter " H ") 132 
 
 Fielding, Henry (1707-1754). 
 
 A Hunting we will go 184 
 
 FitzGerald, Edward (1809-1883). 
 
 Song of the Fire 191 
 
 Fleming, Marjoeie (1803-1811). 
 
 I love in Isa's bed to lie 351 
 
 To a Monkey 14 
 
 Follen, Eliza Lee Cabot (1787- 
 1860). 
 
 Birdie 15 
 
 Oh ! look at the Moon 17 
 
 Little Boy's, good-night 82 
 
 Fhere, John Hookham (1769-1841). 
 
 Fables for five years old : 
 
 Boy and the Parrot, The 110 
 
 Boy and his Top, The 11!) 
 
 Boy and the Wolf, The 12i ) 
 
 Cavern and the Hut, The 120 
 
 Nine-pins, The 121 
 
 Piece of Glass and the piece of Ice, 
 
 The 120 
 
 Rod and the Whip, The 121 
 
 Showing how the Cavern followed 
 
 the Hut's advice 121 
 
 Gay, John (1685-1732). 
 
 Butterfly and the Snail, The 125 
 
 Council of Horses, The 127 
 
 Eagle and the Assembly of Animals, 
 
 The 127 
 
 Fox at the point of death, The 1: 8 
 
 Lion and the Cub, The 128 
 
 Turkey and the Ant, The 129 
 
 Gilbert, William Schwenck. 
 
 Captain Reece 237 
 
 Yarn of the Nancy Bell 240 
 
Index of Authors. 
 
 427 
 
 PACE 
 
 GisBOENE, Thomas (1758-1846). 
 
 Worm, The 203 
 
 Goldsmith, Oliver (1728-1774). 
 
 Country Parson, The 199 
 
 Deserted Village, The (extract) 194 
 
 Edwin and Angehna 327 
 
 Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog, 
 
 An 238 
 
 Elegy on Mrs. Mary Rlaize, An 239 
 
 Gould, Hannah FL.\(i(i (17S9-1865). 
 
 Frost, The 161 
 
 Name in the Sand, A '.M) 
 
 Ship is ready, The 291 
 
 Snow-flake, The IGO 
 
 Song of the Bees 207 
 
 Gray, Thomas (1716-1771). 
 
 Elegy written in a Country Church- 
 yard 399 
 
 Ode on the death of a favourite cat . 239 
 
 Grove, Eliza. 
 
 Cat to her Kittens, A 19 
 
 Dancing Lesson, The 45 
 
 Greedy Piggy that ate too fast. The 22 
 
 Little Hobby-Horse, A 22 
 
 Hastings, Lady Flora (1806-1839). 
 
 Early Kising 3 
 
 Prayers 405 
 
 To a Butterfly 20 
 
 IIawkshaw Ann (" Aunt Etlie.") 
 
 (1812-1885). 
 
 Chinese Pig, The 18 
 
 Chorus of Frogs, The 19 
 
 Clocking Hen, The 20 
 
 Common Things 16 
 
 Dame Duck's first lecture on 
 
 Education 17 
 
 Freddie and the Cherry tree 72 
 
 Glowworms, The 16 
 
 Great Brown Owl, The 17 
 
 Little Raindrops 35 
 
 Muffin-Man's Bell, The 44 
 
 Old Kitchen Clock, The 45 
 
 Pussy Cat 10 
 
 Kobin Redbreasts, The 11 
 
 Turtle-Dove's Nest, Tiie 14 
 
 Waves on the Sea Shore, The 14 
 
 Young Linnets, The 15 
 
 Heber, Bishop Reginald (1783- 
 
 1826). 
 . Brightest and Best of the Sons of 
 
 the Morning 413 
 
 Evening Hymn 420 
 
 From Greenland's lev Mountains. . 416 
 
 Lo ! the lilies of the li.-ld 409 
 
 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea (1793- 
 1835). 
 
 Better Land, The 198 
 
 Birds of Passage, The 227 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Casablanca 272 
 
 English Boy, The 264 
 
 Fairies' Recall, The 118 
 
 First Grief, The 197 
 
 Graves of a Household, The" 198 
 
 He never smiled again 268 
 
 Homes of England, The 26() 
 
 Landing of tlie Pilgrim Fathers, The 280 
 
 Name of England, The 264 
 
 Water-Lilies IKi 
 
 Hkrrick, Robert (1591-1674). 
 
 Beggar, to Queen Mab, The 113 
 
 Cherry Ripe 350 
 
 Ceremonies for Christmas 194 
 
 Ceremony for Candlemas Day 192 
 
 Charm, A 112 
 
 Another Charm 112 
 
 Child's Grace, A 405 
 
 Country Life, The 188 
 
 Going a-Maying 170 
 
 Hag, The 116 
 
 His Grange or Private Wealth .... 189 
 
 Hock-cart, or Harvest Home, The . 165 
 
 Julia 365 
 
 Night- Piece 364 
 
 Oberon's Feast 114 
 
 Ode on the Birth of Our Saviour, An 414 
 
 Ternarie of Littles, A 188 
 
 Thanksgiving to God for His 
 
 House, A 417 
 
 To Blossoms 169 
 
 To DafTodils 177 
 
 To Meadows 169 
 
 Upon a Child that died 196 
 
 Violets 171 
 
 Heywood, Thomas (fl. 1630). 
 
 Pack Clouds away 3b4 
 
 HicKSON, William Edward (1803- 
 1870). 
 
 Try Again 36 
 
 Hoffmann, Dr. Heinrich, (" Strewel 
 
 Peter ") (1809-1894). 
 Dreadful Story about Harriet and 
 
 the Matches, The 51 
 
 Story of Augustus, who would not 
 
 have any soup. The 60 
 
 Story of Cruel Frederick, The 63 
 
 Story of the Inky Boys 65 
 
 Story of Little Suck-a-Thumb, The 66 
 
 Hogg, James (" The Ettrick Shep- 
 herd ") (1770-1835). 
 
 Boy's Song, A 166 
 
 Skylark, The 222 
 
 Hood, Thomas (1799-1845). 
 
 Dream of Eugene Aram, The 332 
 
 I Remember 366 
 
 ButU 361 
 
423 
 
 Poems for Children 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Houghton, Richaed Monckton 
 MiLNEs, LoED (1809-1885). 
 
 Good-night and Good-morning .... 3 
 
 I wandered by the Brook-side .... 379 
 
 HowiTT, Mart (1799-1888). 
 
 Barley-Mower's Song, The 164 
 
 Broom-flower, The 178 
 
 ' Buttercups and Daisies 172 
 
 Camel, The 219 • 
 
 Cornfields 164 
 
 Fairies of the Caldon-Low, The 116 
 
 Father is coming ; 194 
 
 Fishmg-Boat, The 295 
 
 Hawking Party in the Olden Time, 
 
 A 185 
 
 Humming-Bird, The 234 
 
 Lion, The 220 
 
 Locust, The 209 
 
 Monkey, The 218 
 
 Marien Lee 363 
 
 Old Christmas 192 
 
 Rose of May, The 171 
 
 September 157 
 
 Spider and the Fly, The 26 
 
 Swinging Song, A 45 
 
 True Story of Web-Spinner, The ... 208 
 
 Unregarded Toils of the Poor, The . 261 
 
 Voice of Spring, The 152 
 
 Winter Fire, The 158 
 
 HowiTT, William (1792-1879). 
 
 Northern Seas, The 290 
 
 Wind in a FroUc, The 159 
 
 Httnt, Leigh (1784-1859). 
 
 Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel . . . 383 
 
 Glove and the Lions, The 348 
 
 Jaffar 347 
 
 To the Grasshopper and the 
 
 Cricket 204 
 
 Jenneb, Edward (1749-1823). 
 
 Signs of Kain 148 
 
 JONSON, Ben (1574—1637). 
 
 Have you seen a bright lily grow ? . 351 
 
 Queen Mab 112 
 
 To Diana 352 
 
 Keats, John (1795-1821). 
 
 December 157 
 
 Fairy Song Ill 
 
 Grasshopper and the Cricket, The . . 204 
 
 I had a Dove 225 
 
 La Belle Dame Sans Merci 346 
 
 Meg MerriUes 371 
 
 Keblb, John (1792-1866). 
 
 Bathing 166 
 
 Bird's Nest, The 222 
 
 Gardening 170 
 
 Noontide 140 
 
 Rainbow 149 
 
 PAOB 
 Ken (Bishop) Thomas (1637-1711). 
 
 Evening Hymn 420 
 
 Morning Hymn 404 
 
 Key. Francis Scott (1780-1843). 
 
 Star-Spangled Barmer, The 281 
 
 KiNGSLET, Charles (1819-1875). 
 
 Farewdl, A 365 
 
 North-East Wind, The 159 
 
 Sands of Dee, The 358 
 
 Three Fishers, The 376 
 
 Ugly Princess, The 361 
 
 Lamb, Charles (1775-1834). 
 
 Hester 357 
 
 Names, The 350 
 
 Lamb, Charles and Mart (1764:- 
 
 1847). 
 
 Anger 35 
 
 Beasts in the Tower,The 47 
 
 Beggar-Man, The 42 
 
 Blindness 43 
 
 Boy and the Skylark, The 56 
 
 Boy and Snake, The 71 
 
 Breakfast 68 
 
 Broken DoU, The 76 
 
 Choosing a Name 4 
 
 Choosing a Profession 72 
 
 Cleanliness 55 
 
 Cofiee Slips, The 178 
 
 Crumbs to the Birds 12 
 
 Dessert, The 69 
 
 Envy 34 
 
 Feigned Courage 67 
 
 First Tooth, The 6 
 
 Going into Breeches 52 
 
 Great-Grandfather, The 6 
 
 Memory 58 
 
 Mimic Harlequin, The 59 
 
 Neatness in Apparel 54 
 
 Nursing 4 
 
 Ofier,fhe 71 
 
 Orange, The 74 
 
 Peach, The 74 
 
 Reproof, The 57 
 
 Thoughtless Cruelty 56 
 
 To a River in which a Child was 
 
 Drowned 393 
 
 Two Bees, The 73 
 
 Two Boys, The 68 
 
 Wasps in a Garden 56 
 
 Weeding 70 
 
 What is Fancy ? 81 
 
 Which is the Favourite ? 73 
 
 Why not do it, sir, to-day ? 73 
 
 Written in a child's memorandum 
 
 book 73 
 
 Landon, Letitia Elizabeth 
 (" L. E. L.") (1802-1838). 
 
 Wind, The 159 
 
Index of Authors. 
 
 429 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Landor, WAtTBB Savage (1775- 
 1864). 
 
 Rose Aylmer 351 
 
 Lear, Edward (1812-1888). 
 
 There was an old man in a tree. . . . 258 
 
 There was an old man with a beard . 258 
 
 There was an old man in a boat 258 
 
 There was an old man with a poker . 258 
 There was an old man who said 
 
 "Hush" 258 
 
 Lewis. Matthew Gregory (1775- 
 
 1818). 
 
 f Allan Water 330 
 
 Lindsay, Lady Anne (1750-1825). 
 
 Auld Robin Gray 344 
 
 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth 
 (1807-1882). 
 
 Beleaguered City, The 303 
 
 Bird and the Ship, The 393 
 
 Excelsior 381 
 
 Happiest Land, The 25!) 
 
 Hymn to the Night 142 
 
 Light of the Stars, The 143 
 
 My Lost Youth, 367 
 
 Norman Baron, The 31 ■') 
 
 Old Clock on the Stairs, The 189 
 
 Psalm of Life, A 380 
 
 Rain in Summer 148 
 
 Rainy Day, The 149 
 
 Sir Humphrey Gilbert 324 
 
 Slave's Dream, The 324 
 
 Village Blacksmith, The 200 
 
 Wreck of the Hesperus, The 323 
 
 Lover, Samuel (1797-18G8). 
 
 Fairy Boy, The 115 
 
 Fairy Tempter, The 115 
 
 Lowell, James Russell (1819-1891). 
 
 Fatherland, The 260 
 
 Fountain, The 146 
 
 Heritage, Thei 259 
 
 Lyly, John (1558-1606). 
 
 By the Moon we sport and play .. Ill 
 
 Lyte, Rev. Henry Francis (1793- 
 1847). 
 
 Abide with me 418 
 
 Officer's Grave, The 271 
 
 Pleasant are Thy Courts above . . . 409 
 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 
 Lord (1800-1859). 
 
 Armada, The 269 
 
 Marvel, Andrew (1621-1678). 
 
 Girl and her Fawn, The 220 
 
 Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda 296 
 
 MicKLE, William Julius (1735-1788). 
 
 There's nae luck about the house . 337 
 
 PAOB 
 Midland, Albert. 
 
 Little Lamb went Strajnng, A , . . . 407 
 
 There's a Friend for Little Children 408 
 
 Miles, Alfred H. 
 
 Big and Little Things 33 
 
 Little Piper, The 50 
 
 Miller, Thomas (1807-1874). 
 
 Day is Past, The 140 
 
 Industry of Animals 212 
 
 Mister Fly 207 
 
 Mother to her Infant, The 85 
 
 Mustard Seed 182 
 
 My dearest Baby, go to sleep 86 
 
 Sea-deeps, The 290 
 
 Spring Walk, The 155 
 
 Sun, The 150 
 
 Miller, William (1810-1872). 
 
 Gree, Bairnies, Gree 370 
 
 Sleepy Laddie, The 371 
 
 Willie Winkie 370 
 
 Milton, John (1608-1674). 
 
 Fairy Stories Ill 
 
 Morning 139 
 
 Song on May Morning 156 
 
 See also The Cottager and his 
 Land'ord, p. 122, under Cowper, 
 William. 
 
 Mitford, Mary Russell (1787-1855). 
 
 Joy of Life 144 
 
 Montgomery, James (1771-1854). 
 
 Dai.sy, The 176 
 
 Soliloquy of a Water- Wagtail 231 
 
 Visible Creation, The 406 
 
 Moore, Thomas (1779-1852). 
 
 Canadian Boat Song 279 
 
 It is not the Tear 376 
 
 Last Rose of Summer, The 396 
 
 Minstrel Boy, The 277 
 
 Mountain Sprite, The 112 
 
 Oft in the Stilly Night 396 
 
 Peace be around thee 396 
 
 Sound the loud Timbrel 410 
 
 Those Evening Bells 396 
 
 Thou art, O Lord, the Life and 
 
 Light 410 
 
 More, Hannah (1745-1833). 
 
 Book, A 132 
 
 Moss, Thomas (d. 1808). 
 
 Beggar's Petition, The 42 
 
 Motherwell, William (1797-1835). 
 
 Cavalier's Song, The 297 
 
 Sing on. Blithe Bird 221 
 
 Water, the Water, The 145 
 
 Nash, Thomas (1567-1601). 
 
 Spring 153 
 
430 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Nursery Rhymes. 
 
 A carrion crow sat on an oak .... 92 
 
 A cat came fiddling out of a barn . 91 
 
 A frog he would a wooing go 91 
 
 A little cock-sparrow sat on a green 
 
 tree 92 
 
 As I walked by myself 97 
 
 A was an apple-pie 88 
 
 A was an archer 88 
 
 Ba, ba, black sheep 92 
 
 Barber, barber, shave a pig 104 
 
 Bat, bat, come under my liat 92 
 
 Bessy Bell and Mary Gray 103 
 
 Betty Pringle had a httle pig 103 
 
 Bye, baby bunting 84 
 
 Cock a doodle doo ! 92 
 
 Come, let's to bed 108 
 
 Cross patch 102 
 
 Curly locks, curly locks 107 
 
 Dance, my baby, diddy 84 
 
 Diddledy, diddledy, dumpty 93 
 
 Ding, dong, bell 93 
 
 Doctor Faustus was a good man . . 90 
 
 Elsie Marley is grown so fine 101 
 
 Fiddle-de-dee 96 
 
 Four and twenty tailors went to kill 
 
 a snail 9G 
 
 Gay go up and gay go do wn 1 07 
 
 Girls and boys come out to play . . KJtJ 
 
 Goosey, goosey gander 93 
 
 Handy Spandy, Jack-a-dandy .... 106 
 
 Hark, hark, the dogs do bark 93 
 
 Here's a poor widow from Babylon 99 
 
 Here we go round a jinger ring ... 90 
 
 Hey, my kitten, my kitten 96 
 
 Hi ! diddle, diddle 93 
 
 Higgledy piggledy 93 
 
 Hot-cross buns 97 
 
 Himipty Dumpty sat on a wall . . . 106 
 
 Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree-top 84 
 
 If all the world was apple pie .... 97 
 If I had as much money as I could 
 
 spend 98 
 
 I had a little husband 107 
 
 I had a little nut-tree 97 
 
 I had a little pony 93 
 
 I'll tell you a story 97 
 
 I love sixpence 98 
 
 I saw a ship a-sailing 97 
 
 Is John Smith within ? 97 
 
 Jack and Jill went up the hill 107 
 
 Jack Sprat could eat no fat 107 
 
 Johnny shall have a new bonnet . . 84 
 
 Jenny Wren fell sick 91 
 
 Lady-bird, Lady-bird, fly away home 93 
 
 Little Bo-peep 1U2 
 
 Little Boy Blue 103 
 
 Little Jack Horner 106 
 
 Little Polly Fhnders 103 
 
 Little Miss Mutlit 102 
 
 Little Tom Tucker 103 
 
 PAOE 
 
 London Bridge is broken down . . . 108 
 
 Matthew, Mark, Luke and John . . 108 
 
 Mr. East gave a feast 97 
 
 Mary, Mary, quite contrary 103 
 
 Monday's child is fair of face .... 89 
 
 Mother, may I go and bathe 103 
 
 Multiplication is vexation 89 
 
 Oh ! dear, what can the matter be 102 
 Oh, where and oh, where is my little 
 
 wee dog 105 
 
 Old King Cole 90 
 
 Old Mother Goose 10 i 
 
 Old Mother Hubbard 99 
 
 Old woman, old woman 100 
 
 One misty moisty morning 98 
 
 One old Oxford ox 88 
 
 One, two, buckle my shoe 88 
 
 On Saturday night 107 
 
 Over the water, and over the sea . 107 
 
 Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man 97 
 
 Pease pudding, hot 97 
 
 Pemmy was a pretty girl 102 
 
 Please to remember, the fifth of No- 
 vember 96 
 
 Polly, put the kettle on 101 
 
 Poor old Robinson Crusoe 90 
 
 Pretty maid, pretty maid 102 
 
 Pussy-cat, mole 96 
 
 Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where luive 
 
 you been ? 94 
 
 Ride a cock-horse lUl 
 
 Robin and Richard were two pretty 
 
 men lOti 
 
 Robin Hood, Robin Hood 106 
 
 Rowley Powley, pudding and pie . . 105 
 
 See saw, Margery Daw 101 
 
 Simple Simon 105 
 
 Sing a song of sixpence 8!t 
 
 Sing, sing, what shall 1 sing ? .... 91 
 
 Sneel, snaul 95 
 
 Solomon Grundy 105 
 
 Tafiy was a Welshman 105 
 
 The Cuckoo is a fine bird 93 
 
 The Barber shaved the Mason 104 
 
 The Fox jumped up on a moonlight 
 
 night 95 
 
 The Hart he loves the high wood. . 95 
 
 The Lion and the Unicorn 95 
 
 There was a crooked man 105 
 
 There was a frog lived in a well .... 95 
 
 There was a man and he went mad 105 
 
 There was a man in our toone .... 104 
 
 There was a man of Newington . . . 104 
 
 There was monkey 89 
 
 There was a little boy and a little 
 
 girl 107 
 
 There was a little maid 102 
 
 There was a little man, and he had 
 
 a little gun 99 
 
 There was a little man and he 
 
 wooed a little maid , . JOO 
 
Index of Authors. 
 
 431 
 
 PAGE 
 
 There was a little Rabbit spvis; .... 91 
 There was an old woman, and what 
 
 do you think 98 
 
 There was an old woman, as I've 
 
 heard tell 100 
 
 There was an old woman, lived 
 
 under a hill 98 
 
 There was an old woman toss'd up 
 
 in a basket 98 
 
 There was an old woman who lived 
 
 in a shoe 98 
 
 There were two blackbirds 91 
 
 Thirty days hath Septenil)er 8!) 
 
 This is the house that Jack buill lOG 
 
 This little pig went to market .... 91 
 
 Three wise men of Gotham 104 
 
 To market, to market, to buy a fat 
 
 pig 9u 
 
 Tom he was the piper's .son 104 
 
 Tom, Tom, the piper's son 104 
 
 Tweedle-dum and tweedle-dee 103 
 
 'Twas once upon a time 90 
 
 What are little boys made of ? .... 101 
 AVhere are you going, my pictiy 
 
 maid? ". 101 
 
 When good King Arthur ruled this 
 
 land W) 
 
 Mho comes here ? lO'.i 
 
 Who killed Cock Robin ? 94 
 
 Why is Pussy in bed ? 94 
 
 Young lambs to sell 9b 
 
 O'Keeffe, Adelaide (1775-1855). 
 
 Beasts, Birds and Fishes 39 
 
 Foolish Emily and her Kitten .... 59 
 
 Frances keeps her promise 78 
 
 Georgeand tlie Chinmey Sweeper . 53 
 
 Going to bed at Night f>3 
 
 James and the Shoulder of Mutton 61 
 
 Little Rose and her bootlace 58 
 
 Lucy's Canary 79 
 
 Mary and her dog Beau 57 
 
 My pretty china ornaments 190 
 
 New Year's Gift, A 77 
 
 Nimble Dick (iO 
 
 Use of Sight, The 75 
 
 Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll, The 7ti 
 
 Oldys, William (1696-1 7tU). 
 
 To a Fly 207 
 
 Opie, Amelia (1769-1853). 
 
 Orphan Boy, The 387 
 
 Parker, xMaktyn (fl. 1630). 
 
 Ye Gentlemen of England 266 
 
 Peacock, Thomas Love (1785-1866). 
 
 Oak and the Beech, The It^O 
 
 Priest and the Mulberry Tree 251 
 
 Plavfohd, John (1623-1686 ?). 
 
 Jovial Beggars, The 240 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PoE, Edoab ALt,AN (1809-1849). 
 
 Annabelle Lee 360 
 
 Bells, The 389 
 
 Fairyland 110 
 
 Haunted Palace, The 392 
 
 Raven, The 374 
 
 To Helen 351 
 
 Pope, Alexaxder (1688-1744). 
 
 Dying Christian to his Soul 41^ 
 
 Ode on Solitude 395 
 
 Prior, Matthew (1664-1721). 
 
 To a child of noble birth 350 
 
 Phocteh.Adelaide Anne (1825-1864). 
 
 A Lost Chord 387 
 
 "Ramal, Walter." 
 
 Bunches of Grapes 48 
 
 Child in the Story goes to bed, The 82 
 
 Dreamer, The 388 
 
 Hidden Mermaids, The 377 
 
 Lost Playmate, The 378 
 
 O ! for a moon to light me home 395 
 
 Ramsay, Allan (1686-1785). 
 
 My Peggy 360 
 
 Ra.vds,William Brighty (1823-1882). 
 
 Blue Boy in London, The 48 
 
 World, The 21 
 
 RorjERS, Samuel (1763-1855). 
 
 Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast, An 229 
 
 Dear is my little native vale 187 
 
 Sailor, The 292 
 
 Wish, A 187 
 
 Roscoe, William (1753-1831). ,. 
 
 Butterfly's Ball, The 24 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832). 
 
 Christmas in the Olden Time 193 
 
 Coarach 278 
 
 Hie Away 184 
 
 Hunting Song 184 
 
 Jock of Hazeldean 337 
 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel 318 
 
 Lochinvar 319 
 
 Lullaby of an Infant Chief 87 
 
 Melrose Abbey 278 
 
 Nelson 274 
 
 Outlaw, The 349 
 
 Puimer, The 321 
 
 Proud Masie 359 
 
 Rosabelle 344 
 
 Scotland 277 
 
 Shepherd in Winter, The 168 
 
 True and the False, The 331 
 
 War 283 
 
 Weary lot is thine, A 395 
 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616). 
 
 Blow, blow, thou Winter wind 395 
 
 Come away death 398 
 
432 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands .... 372 
 
 Dirge 399 
 
 England I. " This royal throne of 
 
 Kings " 263 
 
 England II. " This England never 
 
 did, nor never shall " 263 
 
 Full fathom five thy Father Ues . . 397 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark 139 
 
 Man's life 397 
 
 Mercy 384 
 
 Music 390 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars 118 
 
 Orpheus 179 
 
 Over hill, over dale 110 
 
 Queen Mab 113 
 
 Rain, it raineth every day, The . . 372 
 Songs of Autolycus, The : 
 
 I. When daSodils begin to peer 371 
 
 II. Jog on, jog on, the footpath 
 
 way 372 
 
 III. Will you buy any tape ? . . 372 
 
 IV. Lawn as white as driven snow 372 
 Through the House give glimmer- 
 ing light 110 
 
 Under the Greenwood tree 166 
 
 When Icicles hang by the wall . . 158 
 
 Where the bee sucks 20(5 
 
 Who is Silvia ? 352 
 
 Wolsey 384 
 
 You spotted snakes 114 
 
 Shenstonb, William (1714-1763). 
 
 Kid, The 221 
 
 Shepherd's Cot, The 168 
 
 Shelley, Pebct Bysshe {1792-1822) 
 
 Autumn 157 
 
 Cloud, The 144 
 
 Garden, A 169 
 
 To a Skylark 223 
 
 Widow Bird, A 398 
 
 SHIRLEY, James (1596-1666). 
 
 Death's Conquest 397 
 
 SiGouRNEY, Lydia Huntley (1791- 
 1865). 
 
 I must not tease my mother 5 
 
 Indian names 281 
 
 Smart, Cheistophee (1722-1771). 
 
 Glorious the sun in mid career . . . 408 
 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes 394 
 
 Smith, Chaelotte (1749-1806). 
 
 First Swallow, The 228 
 
 Lady-Bird in the House 203 
 
 Nautilus, The 210 
 
 Sodthey, Robert (1774-1843). 
 
 Battle of Blenheim, The 320 
 
 Cataract of Lodore 146 
 
 Complaints of the Poor, The 386 
 
 Father William 322 
 
 Fountain of the Fairies, The Ill 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Inchcape Roct, The 321 
 
 Morning Mist, The 140 
 
 Night in the Desert 141 
 
 To a Bee 207 
 
 Travellers' Return, The 261 
 
 Well of St. Keyne, The 326 
 
 Southwell, Robert (1562-1595). 
 
 New Prince, new Pomp 414 
 
 Procrastination 381 
 
 Spencer, Hon. William Robert 
 (1770-1834). 
 
 Beth Gelert 325 
 
 How-d'-y'-do and Good-Bye 135 
 
 To my Grammatical Niece 133 
 
 Stodabt, M. a. 
 
 Walk in Sprmg, A 153 
 
 Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of 
 (1517-1547). 
 
 Wishes 394 
 
 Swift, Jonathan (1667-1745). 
 
 Riddle, A (The Vowels) 132 
 
 Tate, Nahum (1652-1715). 
 
 While Shepherds watched their 
 
 Flocks by Night 413 
 
 Taylor, Ann (Mrs. Gilbert) (1782- 
 1866). 
 
 Jane and Eliza 68 
 
 Little Bird's complaint to his mis- 
 tress, The 69 
 
 Meddlesome Matty 51 
 
 My Mother 5 
 
 Pin, The 53 
 
 Sheep, The 12 
 
 True Story, A 80 
 
 Taylor, Jane (1783-1824). 
 
 Ambitious Weed, The 46 
 
 Chatterbox, The 64 
 
 Child's Hymn of Praise, A 405 
 
 Cow, The 9 
 
 Cow and the Ass, The 38 
 
 Dirty Jim 5') 
 
 English Girl, The 4S 
 
 Farm, The 41 
 
 Flowers, The 11 
 
 Gleaner, The 70 
 
 Good-natured Girls, The 71 
 
 Good-night 87 
 
 Greedy Richard 61 
 
 Horse, The 126 
 
 Irish Boy, The 49 
 
 Little Fisherman, The 63 
 
 Little Star, The 7 
 
 Mischief 62 
 
 Now and Then 134 
 
 Pond, The 22 
 
 Poppy, The 15 
 
 Reading 81 
 
Index of Authors. 
 
 433 
 
 FAOB 
 
 Scotch Laddie, The 49 
 
 Sluttisbness 54 
 
 Spider and his wife, The 23 
 
 Toad's Journal, The 201 
 
 Village Green, The 41 
 
 Violet, The 11 
 
 Welsh Lad, 49 
 
 Taylor, Jeffreys (1792-1853). 
 
 D.>jr of Keflection, The 129 
 
 Milkmaid, The 129 
 
 Lion and the Mouse, The 130 
 
 Young Mouse, The 131 
 
 Tennyson,Alfred,Lord (1809-1892). 
 
 Aiuphion 179 
 
 As through the land at eve we went 37.t 
 
 Heggar Maid, The 352 
 
 Ulack-bird, The 224 
 
 Break, break, break 402 
 
 Brook, The 147 
 
 Charge of the Light Brigade, The . 274 
 
 Circumstance 379 
 
 Death of the old year ] 58 
 
 Dying Swan, The 233 
 
 Edward Gray 345 
 
 Farewell, A 402 
 
 Home they brought her warrior 
 
 dead 385 
 
 Lady Clare 358 
 
 Lady of Shalott 339 
 
 i>ord of Burleigh 338 
 
 Mariana 363 
 
 Maud 353 
 
 May Queen, The 354 
 
 New Year's Eve 354 
 
 „ & May Queen. Con- 
 clusion 356 
 
 Owl, The 230 
 
 Sir Galahad 341 
 
 .Splendour falls on Castle walls, The 287 
 
 Sweet and Low 84 
 
 Ring out, ring in 402 
 
 Tears, idle Tears 399 
 
 Thackeray, William Makepeace 
 (1811-1863). 
 Ah ! Bleak and Barren was the 
 
 Moor 387 
 
 Little Billee 243 
 
 Lucy's Birthday 351 
 
 Pocahontas 280 
 
 Tragic Story, A 250 
 
 Thomson, James (1700-1748). 
 
 Rule, Britannia 267 
 
 TiCKELL, Thomas (1686-1740). 
 
 Lucy and Colin 327 
 
 TiOHE, Mary (1772-1810). 
 
 To a little girl gathering flowers ... 79 
 
 PAQI 
 
 Turner, Elizabkth. 
 
 Bird catcher, The 40 
 
 Bird's nest, The 12 
 
 Canary, The 20 
 
 Cruel Boy, The 66 
 
 Dainty Frances 58 
 
 Dangerous sport 65 
 
 Drawmg Teeth 67 
 
 Going to bed 67 
 
 Good gii-l, The 78 
 
 Greedy boy, The 62 
 
 How to write a letter 82 
 
 Letter, The 44 
 
 Miss Sophia 59 
 
 New Book, The 82 
 
 Poisonous Fruit 62 
 
 Purloiner, The 61 
 
 Sash, The 53 
 
 Throwing stones 64 
 
 Truant, The 65 
 
 Worm, The (J4 
 
 Vaughan, Henry (1622-1695). 
 
 Friends departed 397 
 
 Peace 398 
 
 Warton, Thomas (1728-1790). 
 
 Sunshine after a shower 149 
 
 Watts, Isaac (1674-1748). 
 
 Ant or Emmet, The 10 
 
 Cradle song, A btJ 
 
 How doth the little busy bee f* 
 
 Innocent play 31 
 
 Let dogs delight to bark and bite ... 9 
 
 Love between brothers and sisters. 32 
 
 Morning of Evening Hymns 404 
 
 Praise for mercies. Spiritual and 
 
 Temporal 31 
 
 Rose, The 40 
 
 Sluggard, The 35 
 
 WEilTHERLY, FrED. E. 
 
 Bell's Dream 241 
 
 Lobster and the Maid, The 247 
 
 No, thank you, Tom 361 
 
 Wesley, Rev. Charles (1707-1788). 
 
 Gentle Jesus, meek and mild 408 
 
 Hark the Herald Angels sing 412 
 
 Jesus lover of my soul 412 
 
 Westwood, Thomas (1814-1888). 
 
 Lost Lamb, The - 1 
 
 Mine Host of the Golden Apple .... 176 
 
 White, Henry Kirkb (1785-1806). 
 
 To an early Primrose 175 
 
 Whitehead, William (1715-1785). 
 
 On the Birthday of a Young Lady 365 
 
 Wither, George (1588-1667). 
 
 Sleep, baby, sleep 87 
 
 Whitman, Walt (1819-1892). 
 
 0, captain, my captain 282 
 
 28 
 
434 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 FAOK 
 
 Whittxer, John Geebnleaf (1807- 
 1892). 
 
 Corn song, The 165 
 
 Wolf, Rev. Charles (1791-1823). 
 
 Burial of Sir John Moore 271 
 
 Wordsworth, Dorothy (1771-1855). 
 
 Address to a child 32 
 
 Cottager to her infant, The 32 
 
 Loving and Liking 32 
 
 Mother's Eeturn, The 8 
 
 Wordsworth, William (1770-1850). 
 
 Alice FeU 335 
 
 Blind Highland Boy, The 196 
 
 Childless Father, The 196 
 
 FideUty 215 
 
 Foresight 195 
 
 Founding of Bolton Priorv, The . . . 316 
 
 Green Linnet, The ' 230 
 
 Incident, characteristic of a favour- 
 ite dog 313 
 
 I travelled among unknown men . . 265 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud 177 
 
 Kitten at Play, The 211 
 
 Lucy 361 
 
 Lucy Gray 336 
 
 My heart leaps up when Itehold . . ^ jl51 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Parrot and the Wren, The 232 
 
 Pet Lamb, The 12 
 
 Power of Music, The 391 
 
 Redbreast chasing a butterfly. The . 229 
 
 Reverie of Poor Susan, The 360 
 
 Sailor's Mother, The 29« 
 
 She was phantom of delight 352 
 
 She dwelt among the imtrodden 
 
 ways 353 
 
 Seven Sisters, The 336 
 
 SoUtary Reaper, The 353 
 
 To a butterlly. " I watched you 
 
 now a full half-hour " 205 
 
 To a butterfly. "Stay near me — do 
 
 not take thy flight " 206 
 
 To a cuckoo 227 
 
 To the small celandine 175 
 
 Waterfall and the Eglantine, The . . 124 
 
 . We are seven 196 
 
 Whirl- Blast, The 151 
 
 Wren's nest, A 230 
 
 Written in March 155 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry (1568-1639). 
 
 Character of a happy life 379 
 
 Young, Andrew (1807-1889). 
 
 There is a happy land 412 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A barking sound the shepherd hears 215 
 Abide with me ! fast falls the 
 
 eventide 418 
 
 A bird appeai-s a thoughtless thing. 12 
 Abject, stooping, old and wan .... 42 
 Abou Ben Adliem (may his tribe in- 
 crease 383 
 
 Abroad in the meadows to see the 
 
 young lambs 31 
 
 A carrion crow sat on an oak 92 
 
 A cat came fiddling out of a barn . . 91 
 A charming present comes from 
 
 town 77 
 
 A chieftain to the Highlands bound 340 
 A Creole boy from the West Indies 
 
 brought 72 
 
 A dinner party, cofifee, tea fiS 
 
 A dog growing thinner, for want of 
 
 a dinner 129 
 
 A fair girl was sitting in the green- 
 wood shade 115 
 
 A fair little girl sat under a tree . . 3 
 A fire's a good companionable 
 
 friend 158 
 
 A fox in life's extreme decay .... 128 
 A fragment of a rainbow bright . . 149 
 
 A frog he would a- wooing go 91 
 
 Agincourt, A.incourt ! 261 
 
 A goodly host one day waa mine . 176 
 Ah I bleak and barren was the moor 387 
 Ah I Mary, my Mary, why, where 
 
 is your Dolly ? 54 
 
 A horse, long used to bit and bridle 126 
 Ah ! there's the lily, marble pale . . 171 
 Ah ! what avails the sceptred race 351 
 Alas ! what secret tears are shed . 261 
 
 A lion cub of sordid mind 128 
 
 A lion with the heat oppressed ... 130 
 A little boy had bought a top .... 119 
 
 A little boy was set to keep 120 
 
 A little cock-sparrow sat on a green 
 
 tree 92 
 
 A Uttle Iamb went straying 407 
 
 A little mushroom- table spread ... 114 
 
 PACE 
 
 A little saint best fits a little 
 
 shrine 188 
 
 All in the morning early 48 
 
 All tilings bright and beautiful . . . 40"> 
 Almighty Framer of the skies .... 413 
 Alone I walked the ocean strand . 380 
 A milk- maid, who poised a full pail 
 
 on her head 12i) 
 
 A miser, traversing his house .... 131 
 Among the dwellings framed by 
 
 birds 230 
 
 A month, sweet little ones, is past 8 
 A mother came when stars were 
 
 paling 115 
 
 A mouse found a beautiful piece of 
 
 plum-cake 28 
 
 An ancient cavern, huge and wide 120 
 And wherefore do the poor com- 
 plain 386 
 
 And where have you been, my 
 
 Mary? 110 
 
 And so you do not like to spell .... 81 
 A neat little book, full of pictures, 
 
 was bought 82 
 
 Anger in its time and place 35 
 
 An idle weed that used to crawl . . 4(» 
 
 An infant is a selfish sprite 76 
 
 A nightingale, that all day long , . . 126 
 A niuepin that was left alone .... 121 
 Announced by all the trumpets of 
 
 the sky 151 
 
 An Orpheus ! an Orpheus ! jet 
 
 Faith may grow bold 391 
 
 A pair of steady rooks 29 
 
 A peasant to his lord paid yearly 
 
 court 122 
 
 A perilous life, and sad as life can 
 
 be 295 
 
 A poet's cat, sedate and grave. ... 211 
 Are ye no gaun to wauken the day, 
 
 ye rogue ? 371 
 
 A rosebud by my early walk 171 
 
 Around the tire, one wintry night . . 42 
 Arthur to Robert made a sign ..... 15 
 
 28* 
 
436 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAOB 
 
 As busy Aurelia, 'twixt work and 
 
 'twixt play 79 
 
 A sensitive plant in a garden grew 160 
 
 As he had often done before 65 
 
 A simple child, that lightly draws 
 
 its breath 196 
 
 As in the simshine of the morn .... 125 
 
 As it fell upon a day 226 
 
 As I walked by myself . . ... .„«... 97 
 
 As Joe was at play 61 
 
 As Jupiter's all-seeing eye 127 
 
 A spaniel, Beau, that fares like you 214 
 
 As Sally sat upon the ground 64 
 
 A steed ! a steed, of matchless speed 297 
 As Tommy and his sister Jane .... 62 
 As thro' the land at eve we went . . 379 
 A tear bedews my Delia's eye .... 221 
 A thousand miles from land are we 236 
 Attend, aU ye who list to hear 
 
 our noble England's praise 269 
 
 At the corner of Wood Street, when 
 
 daylight appears 360 
 
 Augustus was a chubby lad 60 
 
 Awake, awake, my Uttle boy .... 388 
 Awake, my soul, and with the sun 404 
 
 A was an apple-pie 88 
 
 A was an archer, who shot at a frog 88 
 A weary lot is thine, fair maid .... 395 
 A well there is in the west country 326 
 A wet sheet and a flowing sea .... 293 
 A whirl blast from behind the hill . . 151 
 
 A wicked action fear to do 56 
 
 A widow bird sate mourning for her 
 
 love 398 
 
 A youngster at school, more sedate 
 
 than the rest 121 
 
 Ba, ba, black sheep 92 
 
 Baby, baby, lay your head 87 
 
 Barber, barber, shave a pig 104 
 
 Barley-mowers, here we stand. ... 164 
 Bat, bat, come under my hat . . 92 
 Beautiful, sublime and glorious . . 290 
 Before the bright sun rises over the 
 
 hill 70 
 
 Begone, thou fond presumptuous 
 
 Elf 124 
 
 Behold a simple, tender Babe. . . . 414 
 Behold her, single in the field .... 353 
 Behold, the Treasure of the nest. . 222 
 Behold this ground ! There's no- 
 thing here 182 
 
 Beneath the hedge or near the 
 
 stream 202 
 
 Beneath these fruit-tree boughs, 
 
 that shed 230 
 
 Beside a green meadow a stream 
 
 used to flow 38 
 
 tAGE 
 Beside the Moldau's rushing stream 393 
 Beside the ungathered rice he lay . . 324 
 
 Bessy BeU and Mary Gray 103 
 
 Betty Pringle had a Uttle pig .... 103 
 Between Nose and Eyes a strange 
 
 contest arose 135 
 
 Birdie, birdie, quickly come 15 
 
 Birdie, birdie, will you pet? .... 221 
 
 Bird of the wilderness 222 
 
 Birds in the high Hall-garden. . . . 353 
 Birds, joyous birds of the wander- 
 ing wing 227 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind .... 395 
 Boot, saddle, to horse and away . . 270 
 
 Break, break, break 402 
 
 Brightest and best of the sons of 
 
 the morning 413 
 
 Bright glows the east with blushing 
 
 red 41 
 
 Bring not bright candles, for her 
 
 eyes 388 
 
 Briskly blows the evening gale .... 295 
 Brothers and sisters I have many 73 
 " Bunches of grapes," says Timo- 
 thy 48 
 
 Busy, curious, thirsty fly 207 
 
 But a few words could WiUiam say 73 
 But are ye sure the news is true ? . . 337 
 
 Buttercups and daisies 172 
 
 Butterfly, butterfly, brilhant and 
 
 bright 20 
 
 Bye, baby bunting 84 
 
 By the moon we sport and play . . Ill 
 Camel, thou art good and mild . . 219 
 
 Can I see another's woe ? 377 
 
 Can this be the bird to man so 
 
 good 229 
 
 Cheeks as soft as July peaches .... 195 
 
 Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry 350 
 
 Children who dehght to ramble . . 65 
 Close by the threshold of a door 
 
 nailed fast 122 
 
 Cock-a-doodle-do 92 
 
 Cold blows the north wind o'er the 
 
 mountains so bare 49 
 
 Come away, come away, death . . 398 
 Come away, elves, while the dew is 
 
 sweet 116 
 
 Come bring with a noise 194 
 
 Come, dear children, let us away . . 372 
 
 Come, follow, follow me 110 
 
 Come here, little Robin, and don't 
 
 be afraid 9 
 
 Come let's to bed 108 
 
 Come, my Uttle Robert, near 55 
 
 Come, pretty lamb, do stay with 
 
 me 11 
 
Index of First Lines. 
 
 43^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Come, sons of summer, by whose 
 
 toil ' 165 
 
 Come take up your hats, and away 
 
 let us haste 24 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands .... 372 
 Cromwell, I did not think to shed 
 
 a tear 384 
 
 Cross patch, draw the latch 102 
 
 Curly locks, curly locks! 107 
 
 Dance my baby diddy 84 
 
 Dear Agatha, I give you joy .... 78 
 Dear faithful object of my tender 
 
 care 216 
 
 Dear is my little native vale .... 187 
 " Dear me ! what signifies a pin " 53 
 Deeper than the narwhal sinketh . . 290 
 Deep graved in every British heart 274 
 Diddledy, diddledy, dumpty .... 93 
 
 Did j'ou ever see the nest 15 
 
 Did you hear of the curate who 
 
 mounted his mare ? 251 
 
 Dim vales, and shadowy floods.. 110 
 Ding, dong bell, pussy's in the well 93 
 Doctor Faustus was a good man 90 
 Donald Macdonald's a braw httle 
 
 lad 60 
 
 Down in a green and shady bed . . 11 
 Do\vn with the rosemary and sow 192 
 Do you ask what the birds say ? . . 379 
 Drawn from his refuge in some 
 
 lonely elm 219 
 
 Earl March looked on his dying 
 
 child 335 
 
 Eliza and Anne were extremely 
 
 distressed 12 
 
 Elizabeth her frock has torn ...,, 53 
 
 Elsie Marley is grown so fine 101 
 
 Encinctured with a twine of leaves 336 
 Ere on my bed my limbs I lay. . . . 421 
 
 Ever after summer shower 149 
 
 Faintly as tolls the evening chime . 279 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see .... 177 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree .... 169 
 
 Farmy, now that we're alone 50 
 
 Fare-thee-well ! the ship is ready. 291 
 Farewell to the laud where the 
 
 gloom of my glory 279 
 
 Father ! father, where are you 
 
 going ? 369 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun . . 399 
 
 Fiddle-de-dee, fiddle-de-dee 96 
 
 Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea 402 
 For do but note a wild and wanton 
 
 herd ^ 390 
 
 For gold could Memory be bought 58 
 For the tender beech and the sap- 
 ling oak ... ^. ... ^ ... .^ ^ ^. ^ ^. 180 
 
 PAQE 
 
 Forth goes the woodman, leaving 
 
 unconcerned 214 
 
 Four and twenty tailors went to 
 
 kill a snail 96 
 
 Freddie saw some fine ripe cherries 72 
 From Greenland's icy mountains. . 416 
 From morning till night it was 
 
 Lucy's delight 64 
 
 From right to left, and to and fro. . 173 
 Full fathom five thy father lies . . 397 
 Full knee-deep lie the winter snow 158 
 
 Gamarra is a dainty steed 218 
 
 Gay go up, and gay go down 107 
 
 Gentle Jesus, meek and mild 408 
 
 Get up, get up, for shame ! the 
 
 blooming morn 170 
 
 " Get up, little boy, you are sleep- 
 ing too long " 21 
 
 Get up, little sister ; the morning 
 
 is bright 3 
 
 Girls and Boys come out to play. . 106 
 Glorious the sun in mid career. . . . 408 
 Glory to Thee, my God, this night 420 
 
 God save our gracious King 267 
 
 God, that madest earth and heaven 421 
 Good King Wenceslas looked out . 415 
 Good people all, of every sort .... 238 
 Good people all, with one accord . 239 
 
 Goosey, goosey gander 93 
 
 Great God, how endless is Thy 
 
 love 404 
 
 Great wide, beautiful, wonderful 
 
 world 21 
 
 Green little vaulter, in the sunny 
 
 grass 204 
 
 Hail, beauteous stranger of the 
 
 grove 226 
 
 Hail to thee, bUthe spirit 223 
 
 Half a league, half a league 274 
 
 Hamelin town's in Brunswick . . . . 243 
 Handy Spandy, Jack a Dandy . . . 106 
 Hannah, a busy, meddhng thing . . 52 
 Happy insect ! what can be ? .... 204 
 Happy the man, whose wish and 
 
 care 395 
 
 Hark, hark, the dogs do bark 93 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at Heaven's 
 
 gate sings 139 
 
 Hark ! hark | the merry warder's 
 
 horn 185 
 
 Hark ! the Herald Angels sing. . . . 412 
 Haste thee, nymph, and bring with 
 
 thee 139 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily 
 
 grow 351 
 
 Heap high the farmer's wintry 
 
 board 165 
 
438 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 Heap on more wood, the wind is 
 
 chill 193 
 
 Hear the sledges with the hells . . . 389 
 Hear your sovereign's proclamation 231 
 Heave at the windlass ! — Heave 0, 
 
 cheerly, men 293 
 
 He is gone on the mountain 278 
 
 Helen, thy beauty is to me 351 
 
 He ne'er had seen one earthly sight 1 90 
 Henry was every morning fed .... 71 
 He quickly arms him for the field 115 
 Her arms across her breast she laid 352 
 Her blue eyes, they beam and they 
 
 twinkle 3.50 
 
 Her chariot ready straight is made 1 13 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee . 304 
 
 Here a little child I stand 405 
 
 Here a sheer hulk lies poor Tom 
 
 Bowling 293 
 
 Here in this wiry prison where I 
 
 sing 69 
 
 Here is cruel Frederick, see 63 
 
 Here lies one who never drew .... 215 
 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er 
 
 pursue 217 
 
 Here's a poor widow from Babylon 99 
 Here's a song for old Dobbin, whose 
 
 temper and worth 26 
 
 Here she lies, a pretty bud 196 
 
 Here we go round a jinger ring. ... 90 
 He that is down need fear no fall . . 107 
 
 He was a gentle lobster 247 
 
 Hey, my kitten, my kitten 90 
 
 Hi ! diddle, diddle, the cat and the 
 
 fiddle 93 
 
 Hie away, hie away 184 
 
 Higgleby, piggleby, my black hen 93 
 High on a bright and sumiy bed .. 15 
 His petticoats now George cast off 53 
 Home for the Holidays, here we go 30 
 Home they brought their warrior 
 
 dead 385 
 
 Horatio, of ideal courage vain .... 67 
 
 Ho, sailor of the sea 295 
 
 Hot cross buns 97 
 
 How beautiful is night 141 
 
 How beautiful is the rain 148 
 
 How does the water come down 
 
 at Lodore ? 140 
 
 How doth the little busy bee 8 
 
 How fair is the Rose ! what a beau- 
 tiful flower 40 
 
 How gaily a sailor's life passes . . . 292 
 How happy is he born and taught . 379 
 How joyously the young sea-mew 230 
 How sleep the Brave who sink to 
 
 rest 262 
 
 PAGE 
 How sweet I roamed from field to 
 
 field 377 
 
 How sweet is the shepherd's sweet 
 
 lot 167 
 
 Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall . . . 106 
 Hurrah ! for meny England, no 
 
 longer will I roam 260 
 
 Hush-a-bye baby, on tlie tree top . . 84 
 Hush'd was the evening hymn . . 406 
 Hush ! my dear, lie still and slum- 
 ber 86 
 
 I am monarch of all I survey .... 288 
 
 I am to write three lines, and you 81 
 " I bring fresh showers for the 
 
 thirsting flowers " 144 
 
 I cannot do the big things 33 
 
 I come from haunts of coot and hern 1 47 
 
 Idler, why lie down to die 3S2 
 
 If all the world were apple-pie .... 97 
 If I had as much money as I coiikl 
 
 spend 98 
 
 If I had but two little A\'ings 388 
 
 If thou wouldst view fair Meh-ose 
 
 aright 278 
 
 If ye fear to be benighted 112 
 
 If you're waking call me early, call 
 
 me early, mother dear 354 
 
 I had a dove, and the sweet dove 
 
 died 225 
 
 I had a little bird 387 
 
 I had a little husband 107 
 
 I had a little nut-tree 97 
 
 I had a little pony 93 
 
 I have a dog who never barks 190 
 
 I have a little sister 4 
 
 I have a name, a little name 368 
 
 I have got a new-born sister 4 
 
 I have no name 4 
 
 I heard the trailing garments of tlie 
 
 niglit 142 
 
 I heard the voice of Jesus say 410 
 
 I hear thee speak of a better land . . 198 
 I'll make hdiere, and fancy some- 
 thing strange 59 
 
 I'll tell you a story 97 
 
 I love cont«mptating — apart 2;>r) 
 
 I love it — I love it, and who shall 
 
 dare 191 
 
 I love in Isa's bed to lie 351 
 
 I love little pussy 7 
 
 I love sixpence, pretty little si.x- 
 
 pence 98 
 
 I love the little snowdrop flower. ..411 
 
 I'm a new contradiction 132 
 
 I'm very glad the spring is come . . 1 53 
 
 I must not tease my mother 5 
 
 I must not throw upon the floor. . . 
 
 i 
 
Index of First Lines. 
 
 439 
 
 In a crack near a cupboard, with 
 
 dainties provided 131 
 
 In a dark little crack, half a yard 
 
 from the ground 23 
 
 In a drear-nighted December 157 
 
 In a land for antiquities greatly 
 
 reno\\Tied 201 
 
 In a stage-coach where late I 
 
 chanced to be 43 
 
 In Christian world Mary the gar- 
 land ^^•ears 350 
 
 In distant days of wild romance. . . 134 
 
 In her ear he whi.spors gaily 338 
 
 In his chamber, weak and dying. . 315 
 Inhuman man ! curse on thy 
 
 l)arliarous art 217 
 
 In May when sea-winds pierced 
 
 our solitudes 183 
 
 In numbers, and but these few. . . . 414 
 In otlier men we faults can spy. . . . 121) 
 In Scarlet-town where I was born. 343 
 In Scotland's realm, forlorn and 
 
 bare 235 
 
 In the greenest of our valleys 392 
 
 In the hollow tree in the old grey 
 
 tower 229 
 
 In the morning when you rise 112 
 
 In the water-tub VVilliam had 
 
 found 55 
 
 In the young merry time of spring . 104 
 
 Into the sunshine 14() 
 
 In yonder valley there dwelt alone . 112 
 In your garb and outward clothing . 54 
 
 In Xanader did Kubla Kkan 392 
 
 I prythee, nurse, come smooth 
 
 my hair 82 
 
 I remember, I remember 366 
 
 I saw a boy W'ith eager eye 68 
 
 I saw a ship a-sailiug 97 
 
 I saw the pride of all the meadows. 176 
 I saw three ships come sailing in. . 415 
 I sail'd from the downs in the 
 
 Nancy 294 
 
 Is John Smith within 97 
 
 I sprang to the stiirup, and Joris 
 
 and he 287 
 
 Is there for honest poverty 262 
 
 I3 this a time to be cloudy and 
 
 sad 143 
 
 It almost makes me cry to tell .... 51 
 I thank Thee, Lord, for quiet rest. . 405 
 I thank the goodness and the 
 
 grace 405 
 
 I think I want some pies this 
 
 morning 61 
 
 I liiought to pass away before, and 
 yet alive I am 356 
 
 PAGE 
 
 It is an ancient mariner. ..-..,.... 307 
 
 It is not the tear at this moment 
 
 shed 376 
 
 I travelled among unknown men . . 265 
 It was a blind beggar had long 
 
 lost his sight 301 
 
 It was a summer evening 320 
 
 It was the charming month of May 362 
 
 It was the little Isabel 241 
 
 It was many and many a year 
 
 ago 360 
 
 It was the schooner Hesperus .... 323 
 It was the time when lilies blow . . 358 
 I've plucked the berry from the 
 
 bush 221 
 
 I've watched you now a full half- 
 hour 205 
 
 I wandered by the brooksido 379 
 
 I wandered lonely as a cloud. . . . .™ 177 
 " I will go out,^' Louisa cried . . .^ 65 
 
 I will paint her as I see her .,. 357 
 
 I wish I A\ ore where Helen lies ...... 342 
 
 Jack and Jill went up the hill . . ... . . 107 
 
 Jatk Parker was a cruel boy .. . . 66 
 
 Jack Sprat could eat no fat 107 
 
 JafTar, the Barmecide, the good 
 
 Vizier 347 
 
 Jane, do you see these little dots . . 46 
 January lirings the snow. . ... . . . ... 152 
 
 Jenny Wren fell sick . . .,. ., .„ ., .„ 91 
 
 Jesu, lover of my soul 412 
 
 Jesus, tender Shepherd, hear me. . 420 
 Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way. 372 
 
 John Anderson, my jo, John 378 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 255 
 
 Johnny shall have a new bonnet. . . 84 
 
 Joy to Philip ! he this day 52 
 
 Just as I am — without one plea. . . 409 
 King Bruce of Scotland flung him- 
 self down 36 
 
 King Francis was a hearty king, 
 
 and loved a royal sport 348 
 
 Lady-bird, lady-bird, fly away 
 
 home 93 
 
 Laid in my quiet bed in study as 
 
 I were 394 
 
 Lawn as white as driven snow. . .. 372 
 
 Lazy sheep, pray tell me why 12 
 
 Let dogs delight to bark and bite. . 9 
 IvCt India boast its spicy trees .... 181 
 Let those who're fond of idle 
 
 tricks 62 
 
 Lion, thou art girt with might. . . . 220 
 
 Listen to the kitchen clock „ 45 
 
 Little Ann and her mother were 
 
 walking one day .« . 80 
 
 Little birds sleep sweetly....^.... 419 
 
440 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep. . 102 
 Little Boy Blue, come blow up 
 
 your horn 103 
 
 Little brother, darling boy 4 
 
 Little drops of water 37 
 
 Little Ellie sits alone 330 
 
 Little flutt'rer, swifter flying 220 
 
 Little fly, thy summer's play 208 
 
 Little inmate, full of mirth 204 
 
 Little Jack Horner, sat in a corner. 106 
 " Little kittens, be quiet — be quiet, 
 
 I say " 19 
 
 Little lamb, who made thee ? .,. .^ 21 
 
 Little Miss Muffit ,. 102 
 
 Little Nanny Etticoat 136 
 
 Little Polly Flinders 103 
 
 Little Tom Jones 64 
 
 Little Tom Tucker 103 
 
 London bridge is broken down . . 108 
 Look from the ancient mountains 
 
 down 2()4 
 
 Look now at his odd grimaces .... 218 
 Look, William, how the morning 
 
 mists 140 
 
 Lord Bateman, he was a noble lord 299 
 Lord Lovel he stood at his castle 
 
 gate 314 
 
 Lord, Thou hast given me a cell. . 417 
 
 Lo, the lilies of the field 409 
 
 Loud roareil the dreadful thunder 294 
 Love is hke the wild rose- briar. . . . 378 
 
 Lullaby ! lullaby 85 
 
 Mamma gave us a single peach .... 74 
 Mamma, had ordered Ann, the maid 53 
 Mamma heard me with scorn and 
 
 pride 57 
 
 Mamma, let's go and see the lambs 7 
 Maria intended a letter to write . , 82 
 
 Mary had a Uttle bird 20 
 
 Mary, Mary, quite contrary 103 
 
 Matilda, come hither, I pray .... 40 
 Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. . 108 
 
 Maxwelton braes are bonnie 346 
 
 Men of England ! who inherit .... 265 
 
 Merry, merry sparrow 168 
 
 Merry it is on a summer's day. ... 45 
 Methought I heard a butterfly. ... 206 
 Mild oflsiwing of a dark and sullen 
 
 sire 175 
 
 Mine be a cot beside a hill 187 
 
 Miss Lucy Wright, though not so 
 
 tall 67 
 
 Miss Lydia Banks, though very 
 
 young 78 
 
 Miss Rose, do let me lace your boot 58 
 Miss Sophy, one fine sunny day . . 59 
 Mr. East gave a feast 97 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Monday's child is fair of face .... 89 
 Morning, evening, noon and night 382 
 Mother, may I go and bathe ? . . . . 103 
 Mountain gorses, ever golden .... 174 
 
 Multiplication is vexation 89 
 
 My banks they are furnished with 
 
 bees 168 
 
 My boy, be cool, do things by rule 60 
 My dearest baby, go to sleep .... 86 
 My fairest child, I have no song to 
 
 give you 365 
 
 My Fanny, I have news to tell .... 78 
 
 My father left a part to me 179 
 
 My father's grandfather lives still 6 
 My good blade carves the casques 
 
 of men 341 
 
 My heart leaps up when I behold . . 151 
 j\Iy heart's in the Highlands, my 
 
 heart is not here 279 
 
 My little doves have left a nest . . 224 
 I\ly love he built me a bonnie bower 338 
 jNly merry little fly, play here .... 20 
 
 My mind to me a kingdom is 382 
 
 My mother bore me in the southern 
 
 wild 369 
 
 My neat and pretty book 73 
 
 My noble, lovely, little Peggy .... 350 
 V My parents bow, and lead me forth 361 
 
 My Peggy is a young tiling 360 
 
 My soul, there is a country 398 
 
 Kear yonder copse, where once the 
 
 garden smiled 199 
 
 Nobly, nobly Cape Saint Vincent 
 
 to the north-west died away . . . 265 
 None ever shared the social feast . . 225 
 No stir in the air, uo stir in the sea 321 
 
 Not a care hath Marien Lee 363 
 
 Not a drum was heard, not a funeral 
 
 note 271 
 
 Not a flower can be found in the 
 
 fields 206 
 
 Now he who knows old Christmas 192 
 Now, if I fall, will it be my lot ? . . 160 
 Now in her green mantle blythe 
 
 Nature arrays 362 
 
 Now, Miss Clara, point your toe . . 45 
 Now, ponder well, you parents dear 298 
 Now that winter's gone, the earth 
 
 has lost 154 
 
 Now the bright morning star, Day's 
 
 harbinger 156 
 
 Now the day is over 419 
 
 Now the dreary night is done .... 404 
 
 Now the hungry Uon roars 118 
 
 O Blackbird, sing me something 
 
 well 224 
 
 bUthe new comer I have heard . . 227 
 
Index of First Lines. 
 
 441 
 
 PAOB 
 
 Brignall banks are wild and fair 349 
 Observe, d^ar George, this nut so 
 
 shall 40 
 
 Observe the insect race, ordained 
 
 to keep 201 
 
 Caledonia, stern and wild 277 
 
 O, call my brother back to nie .... 197 
 Captain ! my captain ! our fearful 
 
 trip is done 282 
 
 O, come you from the Indies, and 
 
 soldier, can you tell ? 283 
 
 O dear ! what can the matter be ? 102 
 O gentle, gentle summer rain. , . . 156 
 O ! hear a pensive prisoner's prayer 216 
 O, Hesperus ! thou bringest all good 
 
 things 140 
 
 O ! how one ugly trick has spoil'd 51 
 O hush, my little baby brother. .. . 4 
 O, hush thee, my baby ! thy sire 
 
 was a knight 87 
 
 Of all the airts the wind can blaw . . 363 
 Of all the ships upon the bhie. . . . 237 
 Of Leinster fam'd for maidens fair 327 
 
 Of Nelson and the North 273 
 
 O for a moon to light me home .... 395 
 Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray .... 336 
 
 Oft in the stilly night 396 
 
 Often I think of the beautiful town 367 
 ! lady-bird, lady-bird, why do 
 
 you roam ? 203 
 
 Old creeping time with silent tread 365 
 Old King Cole was a merry old soul 90 
 Old Madam Grumph the pig has got 18 
 
 Old Meg she was a gipsy 371 
 
 Old Mother Duck has hatched a 
 
 brood 17 
 
 Old Mother Goose 100 
 
 Old Mother Hubbard 99 
 
 " Old woman, old woman, shall we 
 
 go a shearing ? " 100 
 
 leave this barren spot to me. ... 124 
 
 hsten, listen, ladies gay ! 344 
 
 O lively, most charming pug.. 14 
 
 ! look at the moon 17 
 
 " O, Mary ! fie to teaze your dog " 57 
 O ftlary go and call the cattle home 358 
 
 Once in royal David's city 414 
 
 Once on a time it came to pass .... 120 
 Once upon a midnight dreary .... 374 
 One day. Good-bye met How-d'- 
 
 y'-do 135 
 
 One day. Mamma said, " Conrad, 
 
 dear " 66 
 
 One day the letters went to school 133 
 
 On either side the river lie 339 
 
 One morning — raw it was and wet 296 
 One old Oxford ox opening oysters 88 
 
 PACK 
 
 One misty, moisty morning. ...... 98 
 
 One time I knew a little boy 66 
 
 One, two, buckle my shoe 88 
 
 On his morning rounds, the master 213 
 On Linden, when the sun was low 285 
 Only look at this nosegay of pretty 
 
 wild fiowers 45 
 
 On Saturday night 107 
 
 On the banks of Allan water 330 
 
 On the cheerful village green .... 41 
 On the dark hill's western side .... 421 
 On the green banks of Shannon 
 
 when Sheelah was nigh 276 
 
 Onward, Christian soldiers 416 
 
 Open the door, some pity to 
 
 show 321 
 
 " 0, piggy, what was in your 
 
 trough ? " 22 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees . . 179 
 O say can you see by the dawn's 
 
 early Ught 281 
 
 say what is that thing called 
 
 Light? 43 
 
 sing imto my roundelay 398 
 
 that those lips had language 385 
 
 O the Broom, the yellow Broom ... 178 
 O then, I see. Queen Mab hath been 
 
 with you 113 
 
 O, thou Alphabetic row 132 
 
 O ! to be in England 265 
 
 Our bugles sang truce — for the 
 
 night cloud had lowered 284 
 
 Over hill, over dale 110 
 
 Over the mountain and over the 
 
 rock 49 
 
 Over the water and over the sea . . . 107 
 O what can ail thee, Knight-at- 
 
 arms ? 346 
 
 where and O where is my little 
 
 wee dog 105 
 
 O where ! and oh where ! is your 
 
 Highland laddie gone ? 278 
 
 ! where do you come from ? . . . . 35 
 0, who is so merry, so merry, heigh 
 
 ho 109 
 
 ! who would keep a little bird 
 
 confined 222 
 
 O ye ! who so lately were bhthe- 
 
 some and gay 25 
 
 O, young Lochinvar is come out of 
 
 the west 319 
 
 Pack clouds away, and welcome 
 
 day 384 
 
 Pansies, lilies, kingcups, daisies . . 175 
 " Parrot, if I had your wings " . . . . 119 
 Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's 
 
 man 79 
 
442 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Peace be around tbee wherever 
 
 thou rovest 396 
 
 Pease -pudding, hot 97 
 
 Peinmy was a pretty girl 102 
 
 Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled 
 
 pepper 136 
 
 Piping down the valleys wild 366 
 
 Pitj' the sorrows of a poor old man . 42 
 Pleasant are Thy courts above . . 409 
 Please to remember, the fifth of 
 
 November . . .' 96 
 
 Please your grace, from out your 
 
 store 113 
 
 Polly, put the kettle on 101 
 
 Poor old Robinson Crusoe 90 
 
 Poor Peter was burnt by a poker 
 
 one day 65 
 
 Pretty bee, pray tell me why 10 
 
 Pretty flowers, tell me why 11 
 
 Pretty maid, pretty maid 102 
 
 Proud Masie is in the wood 359 
 
 Pussy-cat lives in the servants' hall 10 
 Pussy-cat Mole, jumped over a coal 96 
 Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have 
 
 you been . . , 94 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair 352 
 
 Receive my body, pretty bed 83 
 
 Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross 101 
 Ring out wild bells to the wild sky . 402 
 Ring-ting ! I wish I were a prim- 
 rose 172 
 
 Rise ! Sleep no more ! 'Tis a noble 
 
 morn 184 
 
 Robin and Richard were two pretty 
 
 men 106 
 
 Robin Hood, Robin Hood 106 
 
 Roll on, roll on, you restless waves . 14 
 
 Rosy Martha laughs with joy 52 
 
 Rowley Powley, pudding and pie . . 105 
 Sammy Smith would drink and eat 62 
 
 Sand, sand, hills of sand 377 
 
 Saw ye never in the meadows .... 417 
 Say not you love a roasted fowl .... 32 
 Say, weary bird, whose level flight. 232 
 Say, ye that know, ye who have 
 
 felt and seen 218 
 
 Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled . . 278 
 
 Seated one day at the organ 389 
 
 See, saw, Margery Daw 101 
 
 Seest thou yon woodland child .... 170 
 
 See the kitten on the wall 211 
 
 Seven daughters had Lord Archi- 
 bald 33() 
 
 Seventeen rose-buds in a ring 351 
 
 Shed no tear, 0, shed no tear Ill 
 
 She dwelt among the untrodden 
 ways » 353 
 
 PACB 
 
 She stood breast-high amid the 
 
 corn 361 
 
 Shepherds all and maidens fair. . . . 167 
 She walks in beauty, Uke the night . 364 
 
 She was a phantom of delight 352 
 
 Shun delays, they breed remorse. . 381 
 
 Simple Simon, met a pieman 105 
 
 Sing a song of sixpence 89 
 
 Sing, sing, what shall I sing 91 
 
 Sing sweet, my bird ; oh, sing 
 
 I pray 79 
 
 Sir, when I flew to seize the bird ... 214 
 Sleep, baby, sleep ! what ails my 
 
 dear ? 87 
 
 Sleep, little brother, you must not 
 
 awaken 37 
 
 Sleep, sleep, beauty bright 85 
 
 Slumber my darling, no danger 
 
 is near 85 
 
 Smiling river, smiUng river 393 
 
 Sneel, snaul, robbers are coming to 
 
 pull down your wall 95 
 
 So here hath been dawning 380 
 
 Solomon Grundy 105 
 
 Some asked me where the rubies 
 
 grew 365 
 
 Sometimes with secure deUght .. Ill 
 Somewhat back from the village 
 
 street 189 
 
 Somewhere it is always hght 150 
 
 Sophia begged her sister, Grace. . . 67 
 
 Sound the flute 154 
 
 Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's 
 
 dark sea 410 
 
 Southward with fleet of ice 324 
 
 Speak gently ! — It is better far . . 9 
 
 Sporting on the village green 48 
 
 Spring, the sweet spring, is the 
 
 year's pleasant king 153 
 
 Spring, where are you tarrying now ? 152 
 Stay, lady, stay ! for mercy's sake 387 
 Stay near me, do not take thy 
 
 flight 206 
 
 Storm upon the mountain 21 
 
 Suppose the httle cowslip 7 
 
 Swallow 1 that on rapid wing .... 228 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low .... 84 
 Sweet Auburn ! loveUest village of 
 
 the plain 194 
 
 Sweet dreams, form a shade 85 
 
 Sweet country life, to such un- 
 known 188 
 
 Sweet Emma Moreland in yonder 
 
 town 34r> 
 
 Sweetest ! if thy fairy hand 79 
 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes 394 
 Sweet to the morning traveller. . . . 261 
 
Index of First Lines. 
 
 443 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Taflfy was a Welshman, Taffy was 
 
 a thief 105 
 
 Tears, idle tears, I kn w not what 
 
 they mean 399 
 
 Tell me not in mournful numbers . . 380 
 Tell me not of joy ! there's none . . . 225 
 " Tell nic, would you rather be " . . 71 
 Thank you, pretty cow, that made. 9 
 That is work of waste and ruin .... 195 
 That I did not see Frances j ust now 
 
 I am glad 58 
 
 The Assyrian came down like the 
 
 wolf on the fold 262 
 
 The babe was in the cradle laid .... 67 
 The barber shaved the mason .... 104 
 The bark that held a prince -went 
 
 down 268 
 
 The bhnd boy's been at play, 
 
 mother 44 
 
 The bluebell is the sweetest flower. 174 
 The boy stood on the burning deck 272 
 The breaking waves dashed high. . 280 
 The brown owl sits in the ivy bush. 17 
 The candles are lighted, the fire 
 
 blazes bright 34 
 
 The cat's in the window, and 
 
 Shock's at the door 40 
 
 The chough and crow to rest are 
 
 gone 348 
 
 The clock is on the stroke of six . . . 194 
 
 The cock is crowing 155 
 
 The cuckoo is a fine bird 93 
 
 The curfew tolls the knell of 
 
 parting day 399 
 
 The day is cold and dark aaid 
 
 dreary 149 
 
 The day is past, the sun is set 140 
 
 The days are cold, the niglits are 
 
 long 32 
 
 The deep aflections of the breast. . 232 
 The dew was falling fast, the stars 
 
 began to bhnk 12 
 
 The dog will come when he is called 39 
 The dusky night rides down the sk\' 184 
 The fairest action of our human life 262 
 The fiery courser, when he hears 
 
 from far 283 
 
 The Fox jumped up on a moonlight 
 
 night 95 
 
 The Frost looked fortli, one still 
 
 clear night 161 
 
 The glories of our birtli and state. . 397 
 The glow-worm with his horny 
 
 wings 16 
 
 The God of nature and of Graee . . . 406 
 The gorse is yellow on the heath . . 228 
 The gowan glitters on the sward . . 167 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The hag is astride 116 
 
 The Hart he loves the high wood. . 95 
 The hollow winds began to blow. . 148 
 The Humming-bird ! the Humming- 
 bird ! 234 
 
 The hunting tribes of air and eartli 283 
 The hunt is up, the hunt is up. . . . 185 
 The isles of Greece, the isles of 
 
 Greece 263 
 
 The Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's 
 
 chair 248 
 
 The King sits in Dumfermline Town 306 
 
 The king was on his throne 411 
 
 The lawns were dry in Euston park 251 
 
 The linnet in the rocky dells 343 
 
 The Lion and the Unicom 95 
 
 The little boy lost in the lonely fen . 369 
 The locust ia fierce and strong and 
 
 grim 209 
 
 The loud wind roared, the rain 
 
 fell fast 162 
 
 Ttie Lord my pasture shall prepare 408 
 The lute-voice birds rise with the 
 
 light 212 
 
 The May winds gently Uft the 
 
 willow leaves 166 
 
 The melancholy days are come, the 
 
 saddest of the year 183 
 
 The minstrel- boy to the war is gone 277 
 The month was June, the day was 
 
 hot 74 
 
 The moon has rowed her in a cloud . 370 
 The mountain and the squirrel .... 123 
 Then fare thee well ! my dear 
 
 loved isle .' 293 
 
 The night is come but not too soon. 143 
 The Nominative case which I study's 
 
 "A Niece" 133 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft ail's . 213 
 
 The north wind doth blow 7 
 
 The ordeal's fatal trumpet soimded 286 
 
 The owl to her mate is calling 180 
 
 The pine-apples in triple row 125 
 
 The plain was grassy, wild and bare 233 
 The poetry of earth is never dead . . 204 
 The poplars are felled, farewell to 
 
 the shade 180 
 
 The post-boy drove with fierce 
 
 career 335 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained 384 
 The raven builds hernestonhigh. . 418 
 There are twelve months through- 
 out the year 157 
 
 There came a ghost to Margaret's 
 
 door 334 
 
 There came to the beach a poor 
 
 exile of Erin ^.^.^.. 276 
 
444 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 There is a flower, a little flower .... 176 
 There is a fountain in the forest 
 
 called Ill 
 
 There is a green hill far away 411 
 
 There is a happy land 412 
 
 There is in the wide lone sea 271 
 
 There is ^dnd where the rose was . . 378 
 There lived a sage in days of yore . . 250 
 There, Robert, you have kUled that 
 
 fly 56 
 
 There's a Friend for little children. 408 
 
 There sat one day in quiet 259 
 
 There was a crooked man, and he 
 
 went a crooked mile 105 
 
 There was a jovial beggar 240 
 
 There was a frog lived in a well ... 95 
 There w£is a little boy and a little 
 
 girl 107 
 
 There was a little fellow once 63 
 
 There was a little hobby-horse. ... 22 
 There was a Mttle maid, and she 
 
 was afraid 102 
 
 There was a little man and he had 
 
 a httle gun 99 
 
 There was a little man, and he 
 
 woo'd a little maid 100 
 
 There was a little Rabbit sprig .... 91 
 There was a man and he went mad lO") 
 There was a man in our Toone .... 104 
 
 There was a man of Newington 104 
 
 There was a monkey climbed up a 
 
 tree 89 
 
 There was an old man in a boat .... 258 
 There was an old man in a tree .... 258 
 There was an old man with a beard 258 
 There was an old man with a poker 258 
 There was an old man who said 
 
 "Hush!" '. .. 258 
 
 There was an old woman, and what 
 
 do you think 98 
 
 There was an old woman as I've 
 
 heard teU 100 
 
 There was an old woman lived 
 
 under a hill 98 
 
 There was an old woman tossed up 
 
 in a basket 98 
 
 There was an old woman who lived 
 
 in a shoe 98 
 
 There was a round pond, and a 
 
 pretty pond too 22 
 
 There was a soimd of revelry by 
 
 night 274 
 
 There was a youth, a well- beloved 
 
 youth 329 
 
 There was one little Jim 55 
 
 There were three jovial Welshmen . 237 
 There wet© three kings into the East 250 
 
 FA6B 
 
 There were three sailors of Bristol 
 
 city 243 
 
 There were two friends, a charming 
 
 pair 76 
 
 There were two blackbirds 91 
 
 There were two little girls neither 
 
 handsome nor plain 68 
 
 The rich man's son inherits lands . , 259 
 
 The rivers rush into the sea 393 
 
 The Rod and Wliip had some 
 
 disputes 121 
 
 The rose had been washed, just 
 
 washed in a shower 173 
 
 The sad and solemn Night 142 
 
 The sailor sighs as sinks his native 
 
 shore 292 
 
 T.ie sea ! the sea ! the open sea. . . 289 
 These emmets, how little they are 
 
 in our eyes 10 
 
 The shades of night were falling 
 
 fast 3S1 
 
 The shepherd-boy lies on the hill . . 140 
 
 The signal to engage shall be 270 
 
 The spacious firmament on high . . . 406 
 The spearman heard the bugle 
 
 sound 325 
 
 The splendoitt falls on castle walls . 287 
 The squirrel is happy, the squirrel 
 
 is gay 219 
 
 The stately homes of England 266 
 
 The stormy March is come at last . . 154 
 The sun descending in the west. . . . 141 
 
 The sun doth arise 187 
 
 The sun is a glorious thing 16 
 
 The sun is careering in glory and 
 
 might 144 
 
 The sun is down, and time gone by 141 
 The sun is liidden from our sight. . . 82 
 The swallows at the close of day. . . 22^ 
 
 The trumpet of the battle 264 
 
 The wall- trees are laden with fruit. 56 
 The warm sun is failing, the bleak 
 
 wind is wailing 157 
 
 The water ! the water ! 145 
 
 The way was long, the wind was 
 
 cold 318 
 
 The wind has a language, I would 
 
 I could learn 159 
 
 The wind one morning sprang up 
 
 from sleep 159 
 
 They are all gone into the world 
 
 of light 397 
 
 The year's at the spring 139 
 
 They glide upon their endless way. 143 
 They grew in beauty side by side . . 198 
 They met, when they were girl and 
 boy ... . . ... ... ^ ^. -. 361 
 
Index of First Lines. 
 
 44.'i 
 
 PAGB 
 
 They say that God lives very high . 407 
 
 Thirty days hath September 89 
 
 This England never did, nor never 
 
 shall 263 
 
 This fable is a very short one .... 121 
 This is the house that Jack built. . 106 
 
 This little pig went to market 91 
 
 This is Mab, the mistress Fairy .... 112 
 This palace standeth in the air. . . . 115 
 This rose-tree is not made to bear . . 34 
 This royal throne of kings, this 
 
 sceptred isle 263 
 
 Those evening bells, those evening 
 
 bells 396 
 
 Thou art, Lord, the life and 
 
 light 410 
 
 Thou blossom bright with autumn 
 
 dew 177 
 
 Thou liast burst from thy prison . . 205 
 
 Thou that hast a daughter 2!>1 
 
 Thou wast a bauble once ; a cup 
 
 and ball 182 
 
 Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, 
 
 busy bee 207 
 
 Though clock to tell how night 
 
 draws hence 189 
 
 Three fishers went sailing away to 
 
 the %\'est 3 6 
 
 Three wise men of Gotham 104 
 
 Three years she grew in sun and 
 
 shower 361 
 
 Through the house give gUmmering 
 
 light 110 
 
 Through the house what busy joy . . (i 
 
 Tiger, tiger, burning bright 220 
 
 Time was when I was free as air . . . 234 
 Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle : 'tis the 
 
 mufiin-maJi you see 44 
 
 'Tis a lesson you should heed 3(5 
 
 'Tis a sad sight 191 
 
 'Tis June — the merry smiling June 15(5 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear 188 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear the merry lark . . 222 
 
 'Tis the last rose of summer 396 
 
 'Tis the voice of a sluggard ; I 
 
 heard him complain 35 
 
 Toll for the brave 272 
 
 To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall. . 203 
 To market, to market to buy a 
 
 fat pig 96 
 
 To mercy, pity, peace and love .... 389 
 
 Tom he was the Piper's son 104 
 
 To-morrow, and to-morrow, and 
 
 to-morrow 397 
 
 To sea ! to sea ! the calm is o'er . . . 289 
 
 Tom, Tom the Piper's son 104 
 
 Tread lightly here, tor here, " tis said 229 
 
 PAOS 
 
 Triumphal arch, that fill'st the sky 150 
 Turn, gentle Hermit of the dale. . . 327 
 Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside .... 203 
 'Twas in the prime of summer time 332 
 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their 
 
 innocent faces clean 378 
 
 'Twas on a lofty vase's side , 239 
 
 'T\\ as once upon a time 90 
 
 'Twas on the shores that round 
 
 our coast 240 
 
 'Twas whispered in Heaven, 'twas 
 
 muttered in Hell 132 
 
 Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee. . . 103 
 
 Twinkle, twinkle, Uttle star 7 
 
 Two children in two neighbour 
 
 villages 379 
 
 Two good Httle ladies, named Mary 
 
 and Ann 71 
 
 Two Robin Redbreasts built their 
 
 nest 11 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut tree . . 200 
 
 Underneath a huge oak tree 123 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 166 
 
 Up in the morning's no for me .... 151 
 
 Upon a time a neighing steed 127 
 
 Up ! quit thy bower, late wears 
 
 the hour 139 
 
 Up the airy mountain 109 
 
 Up, Timothy, up with your staff 
 
 and away 196 
 
 Up ! up ! let us a voyage take .... 290 
 Up, up ! ye dames and lasses gay . . 185 
 
 Very high in the pine-tree 14 
 
 Vital spark of heavenly flame 418 
 
 Voice of summer, keen and shrill . . 205 
 
 Waken, lords and ladies g y 184 
 
 Wanton droll, whose harmless play 210 
 
 We are little airy creatures 1 32 
 
 Wearied arm and broken sword . . . 280 
 
 Web-spinner was a miser old 208 
 
 Wee ; modest, crimson-tipped 
 
 flower , 176 
 
 j^ Wee Willie Winkle 370 
 
 We had a pleasant walk to-day. ... 155 
 
 Welcome, maids of honour 171 
 
 Welcome, pale primrose ! starting 
 
 up between 172 
 
 Welcome, wild north-easter 159 
 
 We watch for the light of the 
 
 morn to break 207 
 
 What are little boys made of ? . . . . 101 
 What a sharp little fellow is Mister 
 
 Fly 207 
 
 What can James and George be 
 
 doing ■' 46 
 
 " What, Charles returned ! " Papa 
 
 c.\(:iainied 76 
 
446 
 
 Poems for Children. 
 
 PAr;F, 
 Whaever brawls disturb the street 32 
 What gossips prattled in the sun . . 252 
 What way does the wind come ? 
 
 What way does he go ? 32 
 
 When, as the garish day is done .. . 156 
 When a twister a twisting wiU 
 
 twist him a twist 136 
 
 When banners are waving 282 
 
 \Vhen Britain first at Heaven's 
 
 command 267 
 
 When captains courageous whom 
 
 death could not daunt 317 
 
 When cats run home and light 
 
 is come 230 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer 371 
 
 Whene'er I fragrant coffee drink. . 178 
 Whene'er I take my walks abroad . 31 
 When fr edom from her mountain 
 
 height 282 
 
 When Frenchmen saw, with coward 
 
 art 273 
 
 When good King Arthur ruled this 
 
 land 89 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall .... 158 
 When I kneel down my prayers 
 
 to say 405 
 
 When maidens such as Hester die. . 357 
 When my mother died I was very 
 
 young 368 
 
 When red hath set the beamless sun 1 68 
 When Sarah's papa was from home 
 
 a great way 44 
 
 When that I was and a little tiny 
 
 boy 372 
 
 When the British warrior queen . . . 268 
 When the green woods laugh with 
 
 the voice of joy 368 
 
 When the sheep are in the fauld . . . 344 
 When the voices of children are 
 
 heard on the green 370 
 
 When William asked, how veal 
 
 was made 15 
 
 Where are you going, my pretty 
 
 maid 101 
 
 Where is the true man's fatherland 260 
 Where sacred Ganges pours along 
 
 the plain 162 
 
 Where shall the lover rest 331 
 
 Where southern suns and winds 
 
 prevail 210 
 
 W ere the bee sucks, there suck I . . 206 
 Where the pools are bright and deep 166 
 Where the remote Bermudes ride . . 296 
 Where the Thracian channel roars 162 
 
 PAGE 
 Which way does the wind blow ? . . 160 
 While shepherds watched their 
 
 flocks by night 413 
 
 While the blue is richest 118 
 
 Whither, 'midst falling dew 235 
 
 Who comes here ? 103 
 
 Who fed me from her gentle breast 5 
 
 Who is Sylvia ? what is she ? 352 
 
 Who killed Cock Robin ? 94 
 
 Who would true valour see 388 
 
 Why is Pussy in bed ? 94 
 
 W^hy not open your eyes 59 
 
 Why should my darhng quake 
 
 with fear 39 
 
 " Why so I will, you noisy bird " . . 73 
 Why weep ye by the tide, ladie .... 337 
 
 W^ill ye buy any tape ? 372 
 
 Will you take a walk with me .... 20 
 Will you walk into my parlour, said 
 
 the Spider to the Fly . , 26 
 
 With blackest moss the flower- plots 363 
 With blue-cold nose and wrinkled 
 
 brow 162 
 
 Within a thick and spreading haw- 
 thorn bush 234 
 
 W^ithin her gilded cage confined. . . 232 
 Within the churchyard side by side 418 
 Within the preci.icta of this yard . . 47 
 With sweetest milk and sugar first. 220 
 With the apples and the plums . . . . 69 
 
 Yaup, yaup, yaup ! „ ... 19 
 
 Ye coax the timid verdure ... ... «. 153 
 
 Ye gentlemen of England 266 
 
 Ye have been fresh and green .... 169 
 Ye field flowers, the gardens eclipse 
 
 you, 'tis true 173 
 
 Ye mariners of England 267 
 
 Ye say they all have passed away . . 281 
 You are old. Father William, the 
 
 young man cried 322 
 
 You know, we French stormed 
 
 Ritisbon 286 
 
 Y u must wake and call me early, 
 
 call me early, mother dear 354 
 
 Young Henry was as brave a youth 365 
 Young Jem at noon return'd from 
 
 school M .<. ... 61 
 
 Young lambs to sell 96 
 
 Young Paddy la merry and happy, 
 
 but poor 49 
 
 Young Romilly through Barden 
 
 Woods 316 
 
 You spotted snakes with double 
 
 tongues 114 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
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