KATHARINE H. SHUTE BOOK I. PRIMARY GRADES SILVER, BURDETT &. COMPANY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES UNIVERSITY of CALIKUKMjmi AT A fc.T/"»lTT CO THE LAND OF SONG Book I OR PRIMARY GRADES SELECTED BY KATHARINE H. SHUTE EBi'TED BV LARKIN DUNTON, LL.D. FORMERLY HEAD MASTER OF THE BOSTON NORMAL SCHOOL J - - SILVER, BURDETT & COMPANY New York BOSTON Chicago 150314 Copyright, :8o8, By Silver, Burdett & Company, .« « ,• .. * ' '. - ' ' ' , W15" Compilers' Preface. The inestimable value of literature in supplying healthful recreation, in opening the mind to larger views of life, and in creating ideals that shall mold the spiritual nature, is conceded now by every one who has intelligently considered the problems of education. But the basis upon which literature shall be selected and arranged is still a matter of discussion. Chronology, race-correspondence, correlation, and ethical training should all be recognized incidentally; but the main purpose of the teacher of literature is to send children on into life with a genuine love for good reading. To accomplish this, three things should be true of the reading offered: first, it should be literature; second, it should be literature of some scope, not merely some small phase of literature, such as the fables or the poetry of one of the less eminent poets ; and third, it should appeal to children's natural interests. Children's in- terests, varied as they seem, center in the marvelous and the preternatural; in the natural world ; and in human life, espe- cially child life and the romantic and heroic aspects of mature life. In the selections made for each grade, we have recognized these different interests. To grade poetry perfectly for different ages is an impossibil- ity; much of the greatest verse is for all ages — that is one reason why it is great. A child of five will lisp the numbers of Horatius with delight; and Scott's Lullaby of an Lnfant Chief, with its romantic color and its exquisite human tender- ness, is dear to childhood, to manhood, and to old age. But the Land of Song is a great, undiscovered country to the little child ; by some road or other he must find his way into it : and 3 4 COMPILERS' PREFACE. these volumes simply attempt to point out a path through which he may be led into its happy fields. The child who has not been deprived of his birthright will have delighted in Mother Goose before entering school ; but experience has shown that many children have not met that good woman, and therefore we have given her a generous place in our first year. Our earnest thanks are due to the following publishers for permission to use copyrighted poems: to Houghton, Mifflin & Co., for poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Emerson, Holmes, Lowell, Aldrich, Bayard Taylor, James T. Fields, Phoebe Cary, Lucy Larcom, Celia Thaxter, and Sarah Orne Jewett; to D. Appleton & Co. for a large number of Bryant's poems ; to Charles Scribner's Sons for two poems by Stevenson, from Underwoods, and A Child's Garden of Verse ; to J. B. Lippin- cott & Co. for two poems by Thomas Buchanan Read ; and to Henry T. Coates & Co. for a poem by Charles Fenno Hoff- man. The present volume is intended for the three lowest or primary grades. It is the first of three books prepared for use in the grades below the high school. As no collection of this size can supply for any one grade as much poetry as it is desirable to use, we have noted at the end of each volume lists of poems which might wisely be added to the material given here. Especially in the case of the American poets, much should be added if the children are to appreciate fully the scope and beauty of the poetry of which our own land may justly be proud. ONTENTS Abou Ben Adhem . . . Alec Yeaton's Son . . . All Things Beautiful . Angel's Whisper, The Answer to a Child's Ques tion Ariel's Song Baa, Baa, Black Sheep Baby's Feet, A . , Baby's Hands, A . Baby, The . . . Better Land, The Bluebell, The Boy's Song, A . . Break, Break, Brea Brook, The . . . Brown Thrush, The Bugle Song . . Busy Bee, The By-lo, Baby-bunting Canadian Boat-Song Captain's Daughter, The Casabianca . . Child's Morning Hymn, A Child's Thought of God, A, 153 PAGE 127 I50 65 47 45 156 136 15 166 102 «5 144 1 10 4i 146 30 5i J 54 98 96 157 PAGE Child's World, The . . . 78 Christmas Carol, A . . . 126 Christmas Carol (Old Eng- lish) 134 Cock Robin's Death ... 28 Consider 138 Daffy-Down-Dilly . . .124 Dance to Your Daddy-O . 51 Discontent 123 Duty 162 Eagle, The 157 Echoing Green, The . . . 170 Epitaph on a Robin Red- breast, An 99 Evening Hymn 171 Fairies, The 91 Fairies of the Caldon-Fow, The 66 Fairy Song 184 Farewell, A 190 First Snow-Fall, The , . 167 Fountain, The 104 George Nidiver 174 Good Name 165 6 CONTENTS. PAGE Good Night and Good Morning 76 Hark, Hark ! The Lark at Heaven's Gate sings . .156 Hie Away 116 Home, Sweet Home. . . . 172 Housekeeper, The .... 189 Humanity 162 humpty dumpty 49 Hushaby, Baby 23 Hush, my Dear, lie still and slumber 53 I Love Little Pussy ... 36 Infant Joy 73 I Remember, I Remember . 141 Lady Moon 14 Lamb, The 54 Land of Story Books, The, 93 Like Crusoe, walking by the Lonely Strand . .143 Lily, The ^3 Lines From the Ancient Mariner 64 Little Bell ...:.. 61 Little Birdie 13 Little Bo-Peep 21 Little Boy Blue 21 Little Cock Sparrow, A . 59 Little Dandelion .... 83 Little Jack Horner ... 43 Little May 50 Little White Lily . . . . 31 Lost Doll, The 70 Lullaby, A 17S Lullaby of an Infant Chief Si March 90 PAGE Mary's Lamb 27 Milking Time 119 Minstrel Boy, The . . . .176 Mother's Song 46 Mountain and the Squir- rel, The 118 My Heart's in the High- lands 155 National Hymn 12S Night with a Wolf, A . . 55 New Moon, The 4S North Wind doth blow, The 59 Now I lay Me 53 Nursery Song 25 Old Christmas 185 Old Gaelic Lullaby ... 52 Old Ironsides 186 On Another's Sorrow . .160 Only a Baby Small ... 34 Opening of the Piano, The, 100 Over Hill, over Dale . .116 Over in the Meadow ... 16 OwlandthePussy-Cat,The, 121 Palm Tree, The 147 Parrot, The 108 Pet Lamb, The 129 Pussy-Cat 43 Reverie of Poor Susan, The, 159 Robert of Lincoln . . . .113 Robin Redbreast 60 Rose upon my Balcony, The, i 55 Sandpiper, The 152 See what a Lovely Shell . 188 Seven Times One . ... 86 She dwelt among the Un- trodden Ways . . . . iaj CONTENTS. PAGE Sing On, Blithe Bird . . . 109 Sleep, Baby, Sleep .... 48 Sleeping Child, A .... 22 Snowdrop, The 105 Spring (Thaxter) 70 Suppose 57 Sweet and Low 137 Thank You, Pretty Cow . 35 Three Bells, The .... 94 Tiger, The 177 To a Butterfly 88 To a Butterfly 142 To a Child 84 To-Day 99 To the Fringed Gentian . 117 Tree, The 89 Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star 24 PAGE Under the Greenwood Tree 147 Village Blacksmith, The . 106 Violets 65 Visit from St. Nicholas, A . 73 Visit from the Sea, A . . .173 We are Seven 163 While Shepherds watched their Flocks by Night . 169 Who stole the Bird's Nest? 37 Willie Winkie 44 Wind in a Frolic, The . .119 Wishing 82 Wreck of the Hesperus, The 179 Yellow Violet, The . 183 Index of Authors. PAGE Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. Alec Yeaton's Son 150 Like Crusoe, Walking by the Lonely- Strand 143 Alexander, Cecil Frances. All Things Beautiful 33 Allingham, William. Robin Redbreast 60 The Fairies qi Wishing 82 Anonymous. Christmas Carol (Old English) . . 134 Cock Robin's Death 28 Dance to Your Daddy-0 .... 51 George Nidiver . . . « 174 Mother's Song ,n Now I lay Me 53 Old Gaelic Lullaby 5 2 Sleep, Baby, Sleep 48 The Bluebell 102 Barr, Matthias. Only a Baby Small 34 Bjornson, Bjornsterne The Tree 89 Blake, William. Infant Joy 73 On Another's Sorrow 160 The Echoing Green 170 The Lamb 54 The Lily 33 The Tiger , 77 Bostwick, Helen B. Little Dandelion 83 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett. A Child's Thought of God . . . . 153 Bryant, William Culi.en Robert of Lincoln 1:3 The Yellow Violet 183 To the Fringed Gentian n 7 Burns, Robert. My Heart's in the Highlands . . .155 8 PAGE Campbell, Thomas. The Parrot io 8 Carlyle, Thomas. To -d a y g 9 Carter, Mrs. Nursery Song 25 Cary, Phcebe. Suppose 5 _ Child, Lydia Maria. Who stole the Bird's Nest ? .... 37 Clough. Arthur Hugh. A Sleeping Child 22 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor. Answer to a Child's Question ... 65 Lines from the Ancient Manner . . 64 Cowper, William. Humanity t 6 2 Emerson, Ralph Waldo. Duty j6 2 The Mountain and the Squirrel . . 118 Fields, James T. The Captain's Daughter 08 Follen, Eliza Lee. The New Moon 48 Hale, Mrs Mary's Lamb 27 Heber, Reginald. Evening Hymn 171 Hemans, Felicia. Casabianca 96 The Better Land 166 Hogg, James. A Boy's Song 85 Holmes, Oliver Wendell. Old Ironsides 186 The Opening of the Piano .... 100 Hood, Thomas. I Remember, I Remember .... 141 INDEX OF AUTHORS. U PAGE Howitt, Mary. Old Christmas 185 The Fairies of the Caldon-Low . . 66 Howitt, William. The Wind in a Frolic 119 Hunt, Leigh. Abou Ben Adhem 127 Ingelow, Jean. Seven Times One 86 Jewett, Sarah Orne. Discontent 123 Keats, John. Fairy Song 184 Kingsley, Charles. A Farewell 19° The Lost Doll 7° Lamartine, Alphonse de. A Child's Morning Hymn .... 157 Lamb, Charles. The Housekeeper 189 Larcom, Lucy. The Brown Thrush 4 1 Lear, Edward. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat . . .121 Lilliput Lectures. The Child's World 78 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. The Village Blacksmith 106 The Wreck of the Hesperus . . .179 Lover, Samuel. The Angel's Whisper 72 Lowell, James Russell. The First Snow-Fall 167 The Fountain i°4 MacDonald, George. Little White Lily 3" The Baby '5 Miller, Mrs. Little May . 5° Miller, William. Willie Winkie ........ 44 Milnes, Richard Monckton (Lord Houghton). Good Night and Good Morning . . 76 Lady Moon 14 Moore, Clement C. A Visit from St. Nicholas .... 73 Moore, Thomas. Canadian Boat-Song '54 The Minstrel-Boy 176 PACE Mother Goose. A Little Cock Sparrow 59 Baa, Baa. Black Sheep 45 By-lo Baby-bunting 5' Humpty Dumpty 49 Hushaby Baby 23 Little Bo-Peep 21 Little Boy Blue 2. Little Jack Horner 43 Pussy-Cat 43 The North Wind doth blow ... 59 Motherwell, William. Sing On, Blithe Bird 109 Moultrie, John. Violets 65 Nairne, Lady. A Lullaby '/S Payne, John Howard. Home, Sweet Home . .... 172 Rogers, Samuel. An Epitaph on a Robin Redbreast . 99 Rossetti, Christina *'.. A Christmas Carol 126 Consider 'i° Milking Time "9 Scott, Sir Walter. Hie Away " 6 Lullaby of an Infant Chief .... Si Shakespeare, William. Ariel's Song 47 Good Name • 165 Hark, Hark ! The Lark at Heaven's Gate sings '5° Over Hill, over Dale "6 Under the Greenwood Tree . . .147 Smith, Samuel Francis. National Hymn 12S Stevenson, Robert Louis. A Visit from the Sea '73 The Land of Story Books .... 93 Swinburne, Algernon Charles. A Baby's Feet 136 A Baby's Hands '3 6 Tate, Nahum. While Shepherds watched their Flocks by Night 169 Taylor, Bayard. A Night with a Wolf 55 10 INDEX OF A UTHORS. PACE Taylor, Jane. I Love Little Pussy 36 Thank You, Pretty Cow 35 Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star ... 24 Tennyson, Alfred. Bugle Song 146 Break, Break, Break 144 Little Birdie 13 See what a Lovely Shell 1S8 Sweet and Low 137 The Brook no The Eagle 157 The Snowdrop 105 Thackeray, William Makepeace. The Rose upon my Balcony . . .155 Thaxter, Celia. Spring 70 The Sandpiper 152 Translations. A Child's Morning Hymn .... 157 Sleep, Baby, Sleep 4S The Tree 89 PAGE Wadsworth, Olive A. Over in the Meadow 16 Warner, Miss. Daffy-Down-Dilly 124 Watts, Isaac. Hush, My Dear, lie still and slum- ber 53 The Busy Bee 30 Westwood, Thomas B. Little Bell 61 Whittier, John Greenleaf. The Palm Tree 147 The Three Bells 94 Wordsworth, William. March 90 She dwelt among the Untrodden Ways 144 The Pet Lamb 129 The Reverie of Poor Susan .... 159 To a Butterfly 88 To a Butterfly 142 To a Child S, We are Seven 163 THE LAND OF SONG: Book I, PART "■•"E LITTLE BROTHER. MEYER VON BREMEN. VA / The Land of Song: Book I. PART ONE. LITTLE BIRDIE. \^\ 7" HAT does little birdie say, * * In her nest at peep ol day: " Let me fly," says little birdie, ^fe " Mother, let me fly away." " Birdie, rest a little longer, , . Till the little wines are stronger." - ?$$> " We buzz," said the five : ' So they buzzed and they hummed In the snug- beehive. Over in the meadow, In a nest built of sticks, Lived a black mother crow And her little crows six. " Caw ! " said the mother ; " We caw," said the six: So they cawed and they called In their nest built of sticks. Over in the meadow, Where the grass is so even, Lived a gay mother cricket And her little crickets seven. " Chirp ! " said the mother ; " We chirp," said the seven : So they chirped cheery notes In the o-rass soft and even. t> Over in the meadow, By the old mossy gate, OVER IN THE MEADOW. 19 Lived a brown mother lizard, And her little lizards eight. " Bask ! " said the mother ; " We bask," said the eight : So they basked in the sun On the old mossy gate. Over in the meadow, Where the clear pools shine. Lived a green mother fro^ And her little frog-cries nine. " Croak ! " said the mother ; " We croak," said the nine : So they croaked, and they plashed, Where the clear pools shine. Over in the meadow, In a sly little den, Lived a gray mother spider And her little spiders ten. " Spin ! " said the mother ; " We spin," said the ten : So they spun lace webs In their sly little den. Over in the meadow, In the soft summer even, Lived a mother firefly And her little flies eleven. 20 TflR LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " Shine ! " said the mother ; " We shine," said the eleven : So they shone like stars In the soft summer even. Over in the meadow, Where the men dig- and delve, Lived a wise mother ant And her little anties twelve. " Toil ! " said the mother ; " We toil," said the twelve : So they toiled and were wise, Where the men die and delve. Olive A. Wadsworth {Katharine Floyd Dana - — • uSj^QtJ^! SFr^ffi *£**•" LITTLE BOY BLL K. 21 LITTLE BOY BLUE. TITTLE Boy Blue, come *—< blow your horn, The cow's in the meadow, the sheep in the corn. But where is the little boy tending- the sheep ? He's under the haycock, fast asleep. Mother Goose. LITTLE BO-PEEP. TITTLE Bo-Peep has lost ■^^ her sheep, And can't tell where to find them ; Leave them alone, and they'll come home, Wao-ainor their tails behind them. Little Bo-Peep fell fast asleep, And dreamt she heard them bleating; * When she awoke, 'twas all a joke — Ah ! cruel vision so fleeting- Then up she took her little crook, Determined for to find them ; THE LAXD OF SONG: BOOK I. and them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they'd left their tails behind them. It happened one day, as she did stray Into a meadow hard by ; re she espied their tails side by side. All hunor on a bush dry Mother G< A SLEEPING CHILD. T 1 PS, lips, open ! *^ Up comes a little bird that lives inside, Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies. All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sino-s ; he comes and out he goes at night to spread his wingrs. Little bird, little bird, whither will you eo ? Round about the world while nobody can know. Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee? Far away round the world while nobody can see. Little bird, little bird, how lone will you roam? All round. the world and around a^ain home. R Hind the round world, and back through the air. When the morning comes, the little bird is there. Back ( the little bird, and looks, and in he flies. i wakes the little boy. and opens both his eyes. HUSHABY, BABY. 23 Sleep, sleep, little boy. little bird's away, Little bird will come again by the peep of day ; Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird must go Round about the world, while nobody can know. Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round. Round and round he goes, — sleep, sleep sound ! Arthur Hugh Clough. HUSHABY. BABY. f TUSHABY, baby, thy cradle is * *■ green ; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen ; Sister's a lady, and wears a gold ring; Brother's a drummer, and drums for the kino;. Rockaby. baby, on the tree-top ; When the wind blows the cradle will rock ; When the bough breaks the cradle will fall; Down will come baby and cradle and all. Mother Goose. I'l THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK I. TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR! r ^WINKLE, twinkle, little star ! How I wonder what yon are, Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky. When the glorious sun is set, When the grass with dew is wet, Then you show your little light. Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. 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 Guides the traveler in the dark, Though 1 know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little; star! Jane Taylor, NURSERY SONG. 25 NURSERY SONG. AS I walked over the hill one day, •^*- I listened, and heard a mother sheep say, " In all the green world there is nothing so sweet As my little lammie, with his nimble feet ; With his eye so bright, And his wool so white, Oh ! he is my darling, my heart's delight." And the mother-sheep and her little one Side by side lay down in the sun ; And they went to sleep on the hillside warm, While my little lammie lies here on my arm. I went to the kitchen, and what did I see But the old gray cat with her kittens three ! I heard her whispering soft : said she, " My kittens, with tails so cunningly curled, Are the prettiest things that can be in the world. The bird on the tree, And the old ewe — she, May love their babies exceedingly ; But I love my kittens there, Under the rocking-chair. I love my kittens with all my might, I love them at morning, noon, and night. Now I'll take up my kitties, the kitties I love, And we'll lie down together beneath the warm stove," 26 THE LAND OF SO Mi: BOOK I. Let the kittens sleep under the stove so warm, While my little darling lies here on my arm. 1 went to the yard, and I saw the old hen Go clucking about with her chickens ten ; She clucked, and she scratched, and she bustled away. And what do you think 1 heard the hen say? I heard her say, "The sun never did shine On anything like to these chickens of mine ! You may hunt the full moon and the stars, if you please, But you never will find ten such chickens as these; My dear downy darlings, my sweet little things, Come, nestle now cosily under my wings." So the hen said, And the chickens all sped \^ fast as they could to their nice feather bed. Ami there let them sleep in their feathers so warm, While my little chick lies here on my arm. Mrs. ( \\ if.k. '-:' £* MARY'S LAMB. 27 MARY'S LAMB. A /TARY bad a little lamb, *■* *- Its fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to o-o. ^ He followed her to school one clay, — That was against the rule ; It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school. And so the teacher turned him out, But still he lingered near, And waited patiently about, Till Mary did appear. Then he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm, As if he said, " I'm not afraid, — You'll keep me from all harm." "What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The eager children cry. " Oh! Mary loves the lamb, you know." The teacher did reply. Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, 28 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. COCK ROBIN'S DEATH. W Ho k n -1 i tiled Cock Robin ? said the Sparrow, " With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin ! " Who saw him die ? " I," said the Fly, " With my little eye, 1 saw him die ! ' Who caugfht his blood ? " I," said the Fish, " In my little dish, I caught his blood! " Who'll make his shroud ? " I," said the Beetle, " With my thread and needle, I'll make his shroud ! " Who'll dig; his grave ? " I," said the Owl, ' Willi my spade and shovel, I'll dig his grave ! " Who'll be the parson ? " I," said the Rook, " With my little book, I'll be the parson ! " COCK ROBIN'S DEATH. 29 Who'll be the clerk ? 44 I," said the Lark, 44 If it's not in the dark, I'll be the clerk ! " Who'll carry him to the grave ? " I," said the Kite, " If it's not in the niofht, I'll carry him to the grave ! " Who'll carry the link? 44 I," said the Linnet, 44 I'll fetch it in a minute, I'll carry the link ! ' Who'll be chief mourner ? 4 I," said the Dove, " For I mourn for my love, I'll be chief mourner ! ' Who'll sing a psalm ? 44 I," said the Thrush, 44 If it's not in the bush, I'll sing a psalm ! ' Who'll toll the bell ? 44 I," said the Bull, 44 Because I can pull, I'll toll the bell ! " 30 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And all the birds fell To sighing and sobbing, When they heard tell Of the death of Cock Robin ! Anonymous. THE BUSY BEE. HOW doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower! How skillfully she builds her cell ! How neat she spreads her wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labor or of skill I would be busy too, LITTLE WHITE LILY. 31 For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past ; That I may give for every day Some eood account at last. Isaac Watts. LITTLE WHITE LILY. T ITTLE white Lily *—* Sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little white Lily Sunshine has fed ; Little white Lily Is liftine her head. Little white Lily Said, "It is good ; Little white Lily's Clothinof and food." Little white Lily Drest like a bride ! Shining with whiteness, And crowned beside ! 32 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Little white Lily Droopeth with pain, Waiting and waiting- For the wet rain. Little white Lily Holdeth her cup ; Rain is fast falling, And filling- it up. Little white Lily Said, " Good again. When I am thirsty To have fresh rain. Now I am stronger, Now I am cool ; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full." Little white Lily Smells very sweet ; ( )n her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine, Thanks to the rain ! Little white Lily Is happy again. ( rBORGE M V( DONALD. ALL THLNGS BEAUTLFUL. 33 THE LILY. HTHE modest Rose puts forth a thorn, ■*■ The humble sheep a threat'ning horn : While the Lily white shall in love delight, Nor a thorn nor a threat stain her beauty bright. William Blake. ALL THINGS BEAUTIFUL ALL things bright and beautiful, ^*- All creatures great and small, All thinsfs wise and wonderful — The Lord God made them all. Each little flower that opens, Each little bird that sings — He made their o-lowinor colors, He made their tiny wings. The purple-headed mountain, The river running by, The morning and the sunset That lighteth up the sky ; 34 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. The tall trees in the 0-reenwood, The pleasant summer sun, The ripe fruits in the garden — He made them every one. He gave us eyes to see them, And lips, that we might tell How great is God Almighty, Who hath made all thines well. Cecil Frances Alexander ONLY A BABY SMALL. /"ANLY a baby small, Dropt from the skies ; Onlv a lauohino- face, Two sunny eyes ; Only two cherry lips, One chubby nose ; Only two little hands, I en little toes. ( >nly a golden head, Curly and soft ; Only a tongue that wags I .oudly and oft ; ' )nly a little brain, Empty of thought ; THANK YOU, PRETTY COW. 35 Only a little heart, Troubled with naught. Only a tender Mower Sent us to rear ; Only a life to love While we are here ; Only a baby small, Never at rest ; Small, but how dear to us, God knoweth best. Matthias Barr. WfJJ m If! r.»W§00t^00^ THANK YOU, PRETTY COW. ""HANK you, pretty cow, that made -*- Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day and every night, W T arm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. 36 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing- on the weedy bank ; But the yellow cowslip eat, That will make it very sweet. Where the purple violet grows. Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine. Jane Taylor. I LOVE LITTLE PUSSY. T 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, Nor drive her away, But pussy and I Very gently will play: She shall sit by my side, And I'll Pfive her some food ; And she'll love me, because I am crentle and p"ood. I'll pat little pussy, And then she will purr, WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST 37 And thus show her thanks For my kindness to her. I'll not pinch her ears, Nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her To use her sharp claw. I never will vex her, Nor make her displeased, For Puss doesn't like To be worried nor teased. :< Jane Taylor. WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST? "T v O-WHIT! to-whit! to-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid ? And the nice nest I made ? " " Not I," said the cow. " Moo-oo! Such a thing I'd never do. I gave you a wisp of hay, But didn't take your nest away, 38 THE LAND OF SONG.- BOOK I. Not I," said the cow. " Moo-oo ! Such a thing I'd never do." " To-whit ! to-whit ! to-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eg-as I laid ? And the nice nest I made?" " Bobolink ! bobolink ! Now, what do you think ? Who stole a nest away From the plum tree to-day ?" "Not I," said the dog. "Bow- wow ! I wouldn't be so mean, anyhow ! 1 gave hairs the nest to make ; But the nest I did not take. Not I, " said the dog. " Bow-wow I'm not so mean anyhow ! " WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S NEST. 39 " To-whit ! to-whit ! to-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" " Bobolink ! bobolink ! Now, what do you think ? Who stole a nest away, From the plum tree to-day?" " Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word too ! Who stole that pretty nest From little Yellow-breast ? " " Not I, " said the sheep. " Oh no ! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so, I gave the wool the nest to line : But the nest was none of mine. Baa ! baa ! " said the sheep. " Oh no ! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so " To-whit ! to-whit ! to-whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made?" " Bobolink ! bobolink ! Now, what do you think ? Who stole a nest away From the plum tree to-day?" j> 40 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " Coo-coo ! coo-coo ! coo-coo ! Let me speak a word too ! Who stole that pretty nest From little Yellow-breast ? " " Caw ! caw ! "' cried the crow. " I should like to know What thief took away A bird's nest to-day ? " " Cluck ! cluck! " said the hen. " Don't ask me a^ain ! Why, I haven't a chick Would do such a trick. We all gave her a feather, And she wove them together. I'd scorn to intrude On her and her brood. Cluck ! cluck ! " said the hen. " Don't ask me again ! " " Chirr-a-whirr ! chirr-a-whirr ! All the birds make a stir ! Let us find out his name, And all cry ' For shame ! ' " " I would not rob a bird," Said little Mary Green. " 1 think I never heard ( )f anything so mean." THE BROWN THRUSH. " It is very cruel, too," Said little Alice Neal. " I wonder if he knew How sad the bird would feel." 41 A little boy hung down his head, And went and hid behind the bed ; For he stole that pretty nest From poor little Yellow-breast. And he felt so full of shame, He didn't like to tell his name. Lydia Maria Child. THE BROWN THRUSH. r I ^HERE'S a merry brown thrush sitting up in the -*- tree, " He's sinofino- to me ! He's sinQqna- to me ! ' And what does he say, little girl, little boy? " Oh, the world's running over with joy ! VI THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK /. Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush ! Look ! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be ! ' : And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest da you see, And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree ? Don't meddle ! don't touch ! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy ! Now I'm glad ! now I'm free ! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me." So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me, And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, " Oh, the world's running over with joy ; Rut lon^f it won't be, Don't you know ? don't you see ? Unless we are as good as can be? " Lucy Larcom. -Cw/- LITTLE JACK HORNER 43 PUSSY-CAT. "pUSSY-CAT, *~ pussy-cat, Where have you been ? ' " I've been to London To visit the Queen." Pussy-cat, pussy- cat, What did you there ? " " I frio-htened a little mouse Under her chair." Mother Goose. LITTLE JACK HORNER. TITTLE Jack Horner ■*— ** Sat in a corner, Eating" a Christmas pie ; He put in his thumb, And pull'd out a plum, And said, " What a good boy am I ! ' Mother Goose. 44 THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK /. WILLIE WINKIE. WEE Willie Winkie * * Runs through the town, Upstairs and downstairs, In his nightgown, Tapping at the window, Crying at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed ; For it's now ten o'clock?" ' Hey ! Willie Winkie, Are you coming, then ? The cat's singing gray thrums To the sleeping hen ; The dog is lying on the floor, And does not even peep ; But here's a wakeful laddie That will not fall asleep." Anything but sloop, you rogue; Glowering like the moon ; Rattling in an iron jug With an iron spoon ; Rumbling, tumbling: all about, Crowing like a cock, Screaming like I don't know what Waking sleeping folk. BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 45 < Hey ! Willie Winkie, Can't you keep him still ? Wriggling off a body's knee Like a very eel ; Pullinof at the cat's ear As she drowsy hums ; Hey, Willie Winkie ! See ! there he comes ! " W T earied is the mother That has a restless wean, A wee, stumpy bairnie, Heard whene'er he's seen. That has a battle aye with sleep Before he'll close an e'e ; But a kiss from off his rosy lips Gives strength anew to me. William Miller. BAA, BAA, BLACK SHEEP. 13 AA, baa, Black Sheep, •*^ Have you any wool? Yes, sir, yes, sir, Three bags full : One for my master, One for my dame, But none for the little boy, Who cries in the lane. Mother Goose. 46 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. MOTHER'S SONG. A /TY heart is like a fountain true IV X That flows and flows with love to you. As chirps the lark unto the tree, So chirps my pretty babe to me. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. There's not a rose where'er I seek, As comely as my baby's cheek. There's not a comb of honeybee, So full of sweets as babe to me. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. There's not a star that shines on hicfh, Is brighter than my baby's eye. There's not a boat upon the sea, Can dance as baby does to me. And it's O ! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. No silk was ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine. My baby smells more sweet to me Than smells in spring the elder tree. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. A little fish swims in the well, So in my heart does babv dwell. ARIEL'S SONG. 47 A little flower blows on the tree, My baby is the flower to me. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. The Queen has scepter, crown, and ball, You are my scepter, crown, and all. For all her robes of royal silk, More fair your skin, as white as milk. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. Ten thousand parks where deer run, Ten thousand roses in the sun, Ten thousand pearls beneath the sea, My babe more precious is to me. And it's O ! sweet, sweet ! and a lullaby. Anonymous. ARIEL'S SONG. From The Tempest. \ \ /'HERE the bee sucks there suck I ; * * In a cowslip's bell I lie ; There I couch when owls do cry ; On the bat's back I do fly, After summer, merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hanors on the bou^h. William Shakespeare. 48 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP! OLEEP, baby, sleep! Thy father watches his sheep ; Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree, And down comes a little dream on thee. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! The large stars are the sheep ; The little stars are the lambs, I guess ; And the gentle moon is the shepherdess. Sleep, baby, sleep ! From the German THE NEW MOON. T^VEAR mother, *^ how pretty The moon looks to- night ! She was never so cun- n't' nino- be lore ; The two little horns Are so sharp and so bright I hope she'll not grow any more. THE NEW MOON. 49 If I were up there, With you and my friends, I'd rock in it nicely, you'd see ; I'd sit in the middle And hold by both ends ; Oh, what a bright cradle 'twould be ! I would call to the stars To keep out of the way, Lest we should rock over their toes ; And then I would rock Till the dawn of the day, And see where the pretty moon goes. And there we would stay In the beautiful skies, And throuo-h the bright clouds we would roam ; We would see the sun set, And see the sun rise, And in the next rainbow come home. Eliza Lee Follen. HUMPTY DUMPTY. TJUMPTY DUMPTY sat on a wall, ^ * Humpty Dumpty had a great fall : All the king's horses, and all the king's men, Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again. Mother Goose. 50 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. <3^^^- < LITTLE MAY. HAVE you heard the waters singing, Little May, Where the willows oreen are bending O'er their way ? Do you know how low and sweet, O'er the pebbles at their feet, Are the words the waves repeat, Night and day ? Have you heard the robins singing, Little one, When the rosy dawn is breaking, — When 'tis done ? Have you heard the wooing breeze. In the blossomed orchard trees, And the drowsy hum of bees In the sun ? All the earth is full of music, Little May,— DANCE TO YOUR DADDY-O. Bird, and bee. and water sino-ino- On its way. Let their silver voices fall On thy heart with happy call : " Praise the Lord, who loveth all," Night and day, Little May. Mrs. Miller. 3 iSS'/f . 51 JW^ c- •$& BY-LO, BABY-BUNTING. DV-LO, baby-bunting, *^ Papa's gone a hunting ; To o-et a little rabbit skin To wrap the baby-bunting in. Mother Goose. DANCE TO YOUR DADDY-O. TRANCE to your Daddy-O, ^ My Pretty Babby-O ! Dance for your Mammy-Q My pet lamb ! 52 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. She shall have a fishy-o In a little dishy-o ; She shall have a trout When the boat comes in. She shall have a trout That can skip about ; She shall have a trout When the boat comes in. Anonymous. OLD GAELIC LULLABY. T T USH ! the waves are rolling in, * f White with foam, white with foam ; Father toils amid the din ; But baby sleeps at home. Hush ! the winds roar hoarse and deep, — On they come, on they come ! Brother seeks the wandering sheep ; But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, Where they roam, where they roam ; Sister goes to seek the cows ; But baby sleeps at home. Anonymous. HUSH, MY DEAR, LIE STILL AND SLUMBER. 53 NOW I LAY ME. \TOW I lay me down to sleep, ^ ^ I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take, Anonymous. HUSH, MY DEAR, LIE STILL AND SLUMBER. USH, my dear, lie still and slumber, Holy angels guard thy bed ; Heavenly blessings without number 3> Gently falling on thy head. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle ; Coarse and hard thy Savior lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay. 54 THE LAND OF SONG: fiOOK Z I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire ; Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire. Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy clays; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise ! Isaac Watts THE LAMB. [ ITTLE lamb, who made thee ? -*— ' Dost thou know who made thee ? Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead ? Gave thee clothing of delio-ht, — Softest clothing, woolly, bright? Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little 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. A NIGHT WITH A WOLF. 56 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. A NIGHT WITH A WOLF. T ITTLE one, come to my knee ! ■*—^ Hark how the rain is pouring" Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, And the wind in the woods a roaring ! Hush, my darling, and listen, Then pay for the story with kisses : Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is ! High up on the lonely mountains, Where the wild men watched and waited ; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated. The rain and the nioht too-ether Came down, and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine tree roof, And snapping many a rafter. 56 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. I crept along in the darkness, Stunned, and bruised, and blinded — Crept to a fir with thickset boughs, And a sheltering rock behind it. There, from the blowing and raining, Crouchinor \ sought to hide me : Something rustled, two green eyes shone, And a wolf lay down beside me. Little one, be not frightened ; I and the wolf together, Side by side, through the long, long night Hid from the awful weather. His wet fur pressed against me ; Each of us warmed the other ; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, That beast and man was brother. And when the falling forest No longer crashed in warning, Each of us went from our hiding-place Eorth in the wild, wet morning. Darling, kiss me in payment! Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring! Bayard Tavlor. SUPPOSE. , 57 SUPPOSE. i •'^ t*£r^ es-P$fc CUPPOSE, my little lady, Your doll should break her head, Could you make it whole by crying Till your eyes and nose ^.^>Jr^ f^s^ipS: are re d @??0 AJ ^iSBt:^/i^J And wouldn't it be pleas- anter To treat it as a joke ; And say you're glad 'twas Dolly's, And not your head, that broke ? Suppose you're dressed for walking, And the rain comes pouring down, Will it clear off any sooner Because you scold and frown ? And wouldn't it be nicer For you to smile than pout, And so make sunshine in the house When there is none without ? Suppose your task, my little man, Is very hard to get, Will it make it any easier For you to sit and fret ? 58 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And wouldn't it be wiser, Than waiting like a dunce, To o-o to work in earnest And learn the thine at once ? Suppose that some boys have a horse, And some a coach and pair, Will it tire you less while walking- To say "It isn't fair" ? And wouldn't it be nobler To keep your temper sweet, And in your heart be thankful You can walk upon your feet ? And suppose the world don't please you, Nor the way some people do, Do you think the whole creation Will be altered just for you ? And isn't it, my boy or girl, The wisest, bravest plan, Whatever comes, or doesn't come, To do the best you can ? Phcebe Cary. THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW. 59 A LITTLE COCK SPARROW. A LITTLE cock sparrow sat on a green tree, ^■*- And he chirrup'd, and chirrup'd, so merry was he, But a naughty boy came with a small bow and arrow, Determined to shoot this little cock sparrow. " This little cock sparrow shall make me a stew," Said this naughty boy, " Yes, and a little pie, too." " Oh, no ! " said the sparrow, " I won't make a stew," So he fluttered his winers. and away he flew. Mother Goose. THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW. ' I "HE north wind doth blow, -*- And we shall have snow, And what will poor Robin do then ? He'll sit in the barn, And keep himself warm, And tuck his head under his wing, Poor thing ! Mother Goose. (30 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK / ROBIN REDBREAST. /^OOD-BY, good- ^-^ by to summer ! For summer's nearly done ; The o-arden smilincr faintly, Cool breezes in the sun ; Our thrushes now are silent, Our swallows flown away, — But Robin's here with coat of brown, And ruddy breastknot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling* of the year. Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian princes, But soon they'll turn to ghosts ; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough ; It's autumn, autumn, autumn late, 'Twill soon be winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! LITTLE BELL. 61 And what will this poor Robin do ? For pinching days are near. The fireside for the cricket, The wheatstack for the mouse, When trembling night winds whistle And moan all round the house. The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow, — Alas ! in winter dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go ? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear ! And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer! William Allingham. LITTLE BELL. DIPED the blackbird on the beechwood spray, -*- " Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What's your name ? " quoth he — «- "What's your name? O stop, and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold," — " Little Bell," said she. 62 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks — Tossed aside her gfleamins: golden locks — " Bonny bird," quoth she, " Sing me your best song, before I go." " Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he. And the blackbird piped ; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird ; — Full of quips and wiles, Now so round and rich, now soft and slow, All for love of that sweet face below, Dimpled o'er with smiles. And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below, All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped, and through the glade Peeped the 1 squirrel from the hazel shade, And, from out the tree LITTLE BELL. 63 Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear, — While bold blackbird piped, that all might hear, "Little Bell!" piped he. v Little Bell sat down amid the fern : . /j " Squirrel, squirrel, to your task return — ' mm Bring me nuts," quoth she. Up, away the frisky squirrel hies — Golden wood lights glancing in his eyes — And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap, dropped one by one ; — Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun ! " Happy Bell ! " pipes he. Little Bell looked up and down the glade ; — "Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid, Come and share with me ! ' Down came squirrel, eager for his fare, — Down came bonny blackbird, I declare! Little Bell gave each his honest share ; Ah, the merry three ! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below, All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine out in happy overflow, From her blue, bright eyes. 64 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray: Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear. " What orood child is this," the ano-el said, " That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, O ! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, " Bell, dear Bell ! " crooned he. " Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, " God doth bless with angels' care ; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm. Love, deep and kind, Shall watch around, and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee." Thomas Westwood. LINES FROM THE ANCIENT MARINER. H E prayeth well who loveth well Both man and bird and beast. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both o-reat and small ; For the dear God who loveth us He made and loveth all. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. VIOLETS. 65 ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION. ^vO you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, *~-^ the dove, The linnet 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 forever sings he — " I love my Love, and my Love loves me ! " Samuel Taylor Coleridge. VIOLETS. TNDER the green hedges after the snow, ^ There do the dear little violets grow, Hiding their modest and beautiful heads Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds. Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky, Down there do the dear little violets lie ; Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen, By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been. John Moultrie- 66 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW. "AND where have you been, my Man - , ^ *■ And where have you been from me ? ' " I have been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The midsummer night to see ! ' : " And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon-Low ? " " I saw the blithe sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow." " And what did you near, my Mary, All upon the Caldon-Hill ? " " I heard the drops ot the water made, And the ears of the ereen corn fill." " Oh, tell me all, my Mary, — All, all that ever you know ; For you must have seen the fairies, Last night on the Caldon-Low." "Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine: THE FAIRIES OF THE CALD ON-LOW. 67 A hundred fairies danced last nio-ht. And the harpers they were nine. " And their harp strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small : But oh, the words of their talking Were merrier far than all." " And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say ? " " I'll tell you all, my mother ; But let me have my way. " Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill ; 'And this,' they said. ' shall speedily turn 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 dawning of the da}'. " ' Oh, the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the milldam rise ! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes ! ' "And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill ; And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill. G8 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " ' And there,' they said, ' the merry winds go Away from every horn ; And they shall clear the mildew dark From the blind old widow's corn. " ' Oh, the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so loner, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong. ' " And some they brought the brown lintseed, And flung it down from the Low ; ' And this,' they said, ' by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall crrow. £> " ' 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 Ion or 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 1 want to spin another; A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother.' THE FAIRIES OF THE CALD ON-LOW. 69 "With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free ; And then on the top of the Caldon-Low There was no one left but me. "And all on the top of the Caldon-Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones, That round about me la) 7 . " But coming down from the hilltop I heard afar below How busy the jolly miller was And how merry the wheel did go. " And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stout and green. " And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung ; And I met the weaver at his gate, With the orood news on his tongue. t> " Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see ; So, prythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be." Maky Howitt. 70 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. THE LOST DOLL. ONCE had a sweet little doll, dears, -*- The prettiest doll in the world ; Her cheeks were so red and white, dears, And her hair was so charmingly curled. But I lost my poor little doll, dears, As I played on the heath one day ; And I cried for her more than a week, dears, But I never could find where she lay. I found my poor little doll, dears, As I played on the heath one da}' ; Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, For her paint is all washed away. And her arms trodden off by the cows, dears, And her hair's not the least bit curled ; Yet for old time's sake, she is still, dears, The prettiest doll in the world. Charles Kixgsley. "*] IE alder by the river Shakes out her powdery curls ; The willow buds in silver For little boys and girls. SPRING. 71 The little birds fly over — And oh, how sweet they sing ! To tell the happy children That once again 'tis spring. The o-av ereen crass comes creeping So soft beneath their feet ; The frogs begin to ripple A music clear and sweet. And buttercups are coming, And scarlet columbine, And in the sunny meadows The dandelions shine. And just as many daisies As their soft hands can hold, The little ones may gather, All fair in white and gold. Here blows the warm red clover, There peeps the violet blue ; O, happy little children, God made them all for you. Celia Thaxter. THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. THE ANGEL'S WHISPER. A BABY was sleeping ; ■*- ^ Its mother was weeping; For her husband was far on the wild raoqno- S ea ; And the tempest was swell- ing Round the fisherman's dwelling - , And she cried, " Dermot, darling, oh, come back to me ! " Her beads while she numbered, The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee. " Oh, blest be that warning, That sweet sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee ! " And while they are keeping Bright watch o'er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! And say thou wouldst rather They'd watch o'er thy father, For I know that the angels are whispering to thee." The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 7:; And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing Her child with a blessing - , Said, " I knew that the angels were whispering with thee. Samuel Lover. INFANT JOY. " T 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. A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. r J "WAS the night before Christmas, when all *- through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, 7 1 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK L In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap — When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprung from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters, and threw up the sash ; The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a luster of midday to objects below ; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name : "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen ! On, Comet ! on, Cupid ! on, Donder and Blitzen ! — To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all ! ' : As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With a sleigh full of toys — and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 75 As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a hound ; He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot : A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just open- ing his pack. His eyes, how they twinkled! his dimples, how merry ! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face, and a little round belly That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elt ; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon o-ave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, ro THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And filled all the stockings ; then turned with a jerk. And laying- his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, " Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night ! " Clement C. Moore. GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING. A FAIR little girl sat under a tree, ^ *• Sewing as long as her eyes could see ; Then smoothed her work and folded it right, And said, " Dear work, good night, good night ! " Such a number of rooks came over her head, Crying, " Caw ! Caw ! " on their way to lied, She said, as she watched their curious flight, " Little black things, <>ood night, Liood night!" GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD MORNING. 77 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 favorite prayer. And, while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day ; And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good morning, good morning! our work is begun." Lord Houghton {Richard Monckton Mi 78 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. THE CHILD'S WORLD. " f"* REAT, wide, beautiful, wonderful world, ^ T With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast, — World, you are beautifully drest. " The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree, It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. " You, friendly Earth ! how far do you go With the wheat-fields that nod anil the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles, And people upon you for thousands ol 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 prayers 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! " " I illiput Lectures.'* Witt iam Brighty Kands, THE LAND OF SONG: Book I. PART II, THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. -v-** PART TWO. LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. /^H, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, ^^ Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; Their bows would be bended, their blades W011I4I be red, Ere the step ol a foeman draws near to thy bed. Oh, hush thee, my babie, 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. 81 82 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. WISHING. 13 ING-TING ! I wish I were a primrose, A bright yellow primrose, blowing in the spring! The stooping boughs above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the elm tree for our king;! Nay — stay! I wish I were an elm tree, A great, lofty elm tree, with green 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 dell? Before a day was over, Home comes the rover, For mother's kiss — sweeter this Than any other thing. William Allingham. LITTLE DANDELION. 83 LITTLE DANDELION. -r r^ AY little Dandelion ^-* Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads, Lists to the robin's note Poured from above : Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love. Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green, Where, in the days agone, Bright hues were seen. Wild pinks are slumbering ; Violets delay : True little Dandelion Greeteth the May. Brave little Dandelion ! Fast falls the snow, Bending the daffodil's Haughty head low. Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold. 84 THE LAND OF SONG; BOOK I. Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair, Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair. High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high ; Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye. Pale little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel breeze Call from the cloud ! Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay ! Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. Helen B. Bostwick. TO A CHILD. OMALL service is true service while it lasts. ( )t humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one. The daisy, by the shadow that it casts, Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. William Wordsworth- A BOY'S SONG. 85 A BOY'S SONG. A li /HERE 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 sinofs the latest, Where the hawthorn blooms the sweet- est, 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 thinof I never could tell. 86 THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK I. But this 1 know, 1 love to play, Through the meadow, among the ha) - ; Up the water and o'er the lea, That's the way for Billy and me. James Hogg SEVEN TIMES ONE. HERE'S no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven ; I've said my " seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. 1 am old, so old 1 can write a letter; \j My birthday lessons are done ; The lambs play always, they know no better, — They are only one times one. O Moon ! In the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright, ah, bright ! but your light is failing, — You are not hint-' now but a bow. You Moon, have you done something- wrongf in heaven, That God has hidden your face? SEVEN TIMES ONE. 87 I hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow ; You've powdered your legs with o-old ! O brave marshmary buds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold ! O columbine, open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtledoves dwell ! O cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper That hangs in your clear green bell ! And show me your nest, with the young ones in it, — I will not steal it away; I am old! you may trust me, linnet, linnet, — I am seven times one to-day. Jean Ingelovv. 88 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. TO A BUTTERFLY. 'VE watched you now a full half- *■ hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower ! And, little butterfly ! indeed, I know not if you sleep or {eed. 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 flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary. Here lodge; as in a sanctuary! (Mine often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough ! We'll talk of sunshine and of song ; And summer days, when we were young ; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. William Wordsworth. THE TREE 89 THE TREE. ~^HE Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their ^ brown ; " Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down. " No, leave them alone Till the blossoms have grown," Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown. The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds suno- : " Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung. " No, leave them alone Till the berries have grown," Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. The Tree bore his fruit in the mid- summer glow : Said the girl, " May I gather thy berries now ? " " Yes, all thou canst see : Take them ; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low. BjORNSTJERNE BjORNSON. 90 THE J. AND OF SONG: BOOK L MARCH. PHE cock is crowing, -^ The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun ; The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing, Their heads never raising ; There 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 — 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, anon THE FAIRIES. 91 THE FAIRIES. TP the airy mountain, ^ Down the rushy glen, We daren't ^o a-huntinor 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 fro£s for their watchdogs, All nicrht awake. High on the hilltop The old King sits ; He is now so old and gray, He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist 92 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses ; Or going- up with music 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 lakes, On a bed of flag leaves, Watching till she wakes. By the craggy hillside, 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, I Ie shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS. 93 Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't eo a-huntinQf For fear of little men ; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together ; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather ! William Allingham. THE LAND OF STORY BOOKS. | AT evening, when the -^ *- lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit. They sit at home, and talk and sinpf, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark aloncr the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, 94 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes, And there the river, by whose brink The roaring- lions come to drink. I see the others far away, As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. So, when my nurse comes in lor me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Story Books. R( -1,1 11 I .< >UIS S I \.\ EN ;on, THE THREE BELLS. BENEATH the low-hung night cloud That raked her splintering mast, The good ship settled slowly, The cruel leak grained last. Over the awful ocean Her signal guns pealed out. Dear God ! was that thy answer From the horror round about? THE THREE BELLS. 95 A voice came down the wild wind, " Ho ! ship ahoy ! " its cry ; " Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow Shall lay till daylight by ! " Hour after hour crept slowly, Yet on the heaving swells Tossed up and down the ship lights, The lights of the Three Bells ! And ship to ship made signals, Man answered back to man, While oft, to cheer and hearten, The Three Bells nearer ran ; And the captain from her taffrail Sent down his hopeful cry ; " Take heart ! Hold on ! " he shouted, " The Three Bells shall lay by ! ' ; All night across the waters The tossing lights shone ciear ; All nio-ht from reeling - taffrail The Three Bells sent her cheer. And when the dreary watches Of storm and darkness passed, Just as the wreck lurched under, All souls were saved at last. 96 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Sail on, Three Bells, forever, In grateful memory sail ! Ring- on, Three Bells of rescue, Above the wave and 1 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 water break Above the golden gravel. 112 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And draw them all along, and flow To join the brimming- river, For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. 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, 1 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 may go, But I q;o on forever. Alfred Tennyson. ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 113 ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 1\ /TERRILY swinging on briar and weed, ^ ^ Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Snug and safe in this nest of ours, Hidden anions the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding coat ; White are his shoulders, and white his crest. Hear him call in his merry note : 114 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Look what a nice, new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Brood, kind creature ; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she ; One weak chirp is her only note. Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring- boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight ! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might : ROBERT OF LINCOLN. 115 Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food ; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nobody knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes ; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows ; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes : 116 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK 1. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. William Cullen Bryant. HIE AWAY. T TIE away, hie away! *■ ** Over bank and over brae, Where the copsevvood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the blackcock sweetest sips it, Where 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. OVER HILL, OVER DALE. From Midsummer NighVs Dream. f^VER hill, over dale, ^^ Thorough bush, thorough briar, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. 117 I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moone'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, — Those be rubies, Fairy favors : In those freckles live their savors. I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. William Shakespeare. TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN. HHOU blossom bright with autumn dew ■*■ And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night. Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in 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. 118 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Then cloth 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 draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart. William Cullen Bryant. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. r-p E Mountain and the Squirrel £? Had a quarrel, And the former called the lat- ter " Little Prio-." Bun replied : " You are doubtless very big ; Hut 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're not so small as I, And not half so spry ; THE WIND IN A FROLIC. 119 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." Ralph Waldo Emerson. w MILKING TIME. HEN the cows come home the milk is com- ing ; Honey's made while the bees are humming ; Duck and drake on the rushy lake, And the deer live safe in the breezy brake ; And timid, funny, pert little bunny Winks his nose, and sits all sunny. Christina G. Rossetti. THE WIND IN A FROLIC. PHE wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, " Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! Now for a madcap galloping chase ! I'll make a commotion in every place ! ' So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls, 120 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. There never was heard a much lustier shout, As the apples and oranges tumbled about ; And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the fields it went blustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming-. It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till, offended at such a familiar salute, They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks ; Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks ; Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray, Or the traveler grave on the king's highway. It was not too nice to bustle 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, and the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bowl ' And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm ; And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT 121 To see if their poultry were free from mishaps ; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd ; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to to be crone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. William Howitt. THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT. ' I "HE Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea -*- In a beautiful pea-green boat ; They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. 122 THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK I. The Owl looked up to the moon above, And sang to a small guitar, " O lovely Pussy ! O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, — You are, What a beautiful Pussy you are ! ' Pussy said to the Owl, " You elegant fowl ! How wonderful sweet you sing ! O let us be married, — too long we have tarried, — But what shall we do for a ring-?" They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the Bone tree grows, And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood With a ring in the end of his nose, — His nose, With a rinor in the end of his nose. " Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the piggy, " I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined upon mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon, And hand in hand on the edo-e of the sand They danced by the light of the moon, — The moon, They danced by the light of the moon. Edward Lear. DISCONTENT. 123 DISCONTENT. PjOWN in a field, one day in June, *^ The flowers all bloomed together, Save one, who tried to hide herself, And drooped that pleasant weather. A robin, who had flown too high, And felt a little lazy, Was resting near a buttercup Who wished she were a daisy. For daisies grew so trio- and tall ! She always had a passion For wearing frills around her neck, In just the daisies' fashion. And buttercups must always be The same old tiresome color ; While daisies dress in gold and white, Although their gold is duller. " Dear Robin," said the sad young flower, " Perhaps you'd not mind trying To find a nice white frill for me, Some day when you are flying?" " You silly thing ! " the Robin said, " I think you must be crazy: I'd rather be my honest self, Than any made-up daisy. ±24 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " You're nicer in your own bright gown, The little children love you ; Be the best buttercup you can, And think no flower above you. "Thou of h swallows leave me out of sio-ht, We'd better keep our places ; Perhaps the world would all go wrong With one too many daisies. " Look bravely up into the sky, And be content with knowing That God wished for a buttercup Just here, where you are growing." Sarah Orne Jevvett. DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY. pvAFFY-DOWN-DILLY came up in the cold, *^* Through the brown mold, Although the March breezes blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay on many a place. Daffy- Down-Dilly had heard under ground The sweet rushing" sound Of the streams, as they burst off their white winter chains ; Of the whistling spring winds, and the pattering rains. ; " Now then," thought Daffy, deep down in her heart, " It's time I should start ! " JDAFFY-D O WN-DILL Y. 125 So she pushed her soft leaves through the hard frozen ground, Quite up to the surface, and then she looked round. There was snow all about her, gray clouds overhead ; The trees all looked dead. Then how do you think Daffy- Down-Dilly felt, When the sun would not shine, and the ice would not melt ? •' Cold weather ! " thought Daffy, still working away ; " The earth's hard to-day ! There's but a half-inch of my leaves to be seen, And two-thirds of that is more yellow than green ! " I can't do much yet, but I'll do what I can. It's well I began ! For, unless I can manage to lift up my head, The people will think that Spring herself 's dead ! ' So, little by little, she brought her leaves out, All clustered about ; And then her bright flowers be^an to unfold, Till Daffy stood robed in her spring green and gold. O Daffy-Down-Dilly, so brave and so true ! I wish all were like you ! So ready for duty in all sorts of weather, And holding forth courage and beauty together. Miss Warner, 126 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. A CHRISTMAS CAROL. TN the bleak midwinter -*- Frosty wind made moan, Earth stood hard as iron, Water like a stone ; Snow had fallen, snow on snow, Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter Lono- aero. Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him Nor earth sustain ; Heaven and earth shall flee away, When He comes to reign. In the bleak midwinter A stable place sufficed The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ. Anq-els and archangels May have gathered there ; Cherubim and seraphim Thronged the air. But only His Mother, In her maiden bliss, Worshiped her beloved With a kiss. ABOU BEN AD HEM. What can I give Him, Poor as I am ? If I were a shepherd I would brinQf a lamb : If I were a wise man, I would do my part, — Yet what I can I eive Him, Give my heart. Christina G. Rossettt. 127 ABOU BEN ADHEM. ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase !) -*■*- Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace And saw within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom, An aneel, writingf in a book of o-old. Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And, to the presence in the room, he said, 128 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. "What writest thou ?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord ! " " And is mine one ? " asked Abou. — " Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spake more low, But cheerly still ; and said — "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellowmen." The ano-el wrote and vanished. The next nigfht It came ag-ain, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blest : And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest ! Leigh Hunt. NATIONAL HYMN. Y country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing ; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let freedom ring;. My native country, thee — Land of the noble free — Tin - name I love ; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills ; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. THE PET LAMB. 129 Let music swell the breeze, And rinor from all the trees Sweet freedom's song ; Let mortal tongues awake ; Let all that breathe partake ; Let rocks their silence break — The sound prolong. Our fathers' God, to Thee, Author of Liberty, To Thee we sing- : Loner may our land be bright With freedom's holy light ; Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King. Samuel F. Smith. THE PET LAMB. ~^HE dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; -*- I heard a voice ; it said, " Drink, pretty crea- ture, drink ! " And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb with a maiden at its side. No other sheep 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 little maiden kneel, While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal. 130 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. &£ ; *** j^^bk 1/ l« _ii*. -. RETURN FROM THE MOUNTAIN. P. GIRARDET. THE PET LAMB. 131 The Iamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears ; and his tail with pleasure shook. " Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas 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 turned away : But ere ten yards were gone her footsteps did she stay. Towards the lamb she looked ; and from that shady place I unobserved could see the workings of her face : It Nature to her tongue could measured numbers bring, Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sinof : "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? 132 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " 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 Mowers they have no peers ; And that green corn all day is rustling in thy ears ! " If the sun be shining hot, do but stretch thy woolen chain, This beech is standing by, its covert thou canst gain ; For rain and mountain storms ! the like thou needest not fear — The rain and storm are things that scarcely can come here. " Rest, little young one, rest ; thou hast fomot 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 thv mother from thy side for evermore was crone. " He took thee in his arms, and in pity brought thee home : A blessed day for thee ! 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. THE PET LAMB. 133 " Thou knowest that twice 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 I'll yoke thee to my cart like a pony in the plow ; My playmate thou shalt be ; and when the wind is cold Our hearth shall be thy bed, our house shall be tin- 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 darkness that come there ; The little brooks that seem all pastime and all play, When they are angry, roar like lions for their prey. 134 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " Here thou needest not dread the raven in the sky; Night and day thou art safe, — our cottage 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 aoain." — As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; 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, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, Hi at 1 almost received her heart into my own." William Wordsworth. CHRISTMAS CAROL. AS Joseph was a-walking, ^ He heard an angfel sinp-, "" This niofht shall be the birthnipfht Ot Christ our heavenly King. CHRISTMAS CAROL. 135 " His birth-bed shall be neither In housen nor in hall, Nor in the place of paradise, But in the oxen's stall. " He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in o-old, But in the wooden manger That lieth in the mold. " He neither shall be washen With white wine nor with red, But with the fair spring' water That on you shall be shed. " He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall, But in the fair, white linen That usen babies all." As Joseph was a-walking, Thus did the ano-el sin or, And Mary's son at midnight Was born to be our Kino-. &>■ Then be you glad, good people, At this time of the year; And light you up your candles, For His star it shineth clear. Anonymous (Old English), 136 THE LAND OE SONG . BOOK I. A BABY'S FEET. A BABY'S feet, like seashells pink, -**• Might tempt, should heaven see meet, An angel's lips to kiss, we think, — A baby's feet. Like rose-hued sea flowers toward the heat They stretch and spread and wink Their ten soft buds that part and meet. No flower bells that expand and shrink Gleam half so heavenly sweet, As shine on life's untrodden brink, — A baby's feet. Algernon Charles Swinburne. A BABY'S HANDS. A BABY'S hands, like rosebuds furled, ^ *- Whence yet no leaf expands, Ope if you touch, though close upcurled, — A baby's hands. Then, even as warriors grip their brands When battle's bolt is hurled, They close, clenched hard like tightening bands. SWEET AND LOW. L37 No rosebuds yet by dawn impearled Match, even in loveliest lands, The sweetest flowers in all the world, — A baby's hands. Algernon Charles Swinburne. S 1 SWEET AND LOW. WEET and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea ! Over the rolling waters o-o, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him aofain to me ; While my little 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 little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. Alfred Tennyson. 138 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. CONSIDER. /^ONSIDER The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief: — We are as they; Like them we fade away, As doth a leaf. Consider The sparrows of the air of small account: Our God doth view Whether they fall or mount, — He qaiards us too. Consider The lilies that do neither spin nor toil, Yet are most fair : — What profits all this care And all this coil ? Consider Iiie birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks ; God o-ives them food : — Much more our Father seeks To do us ;j'ood. Christina G. Rossetti. THE LAND OF SONG: Book I, PART III. -V THE PEI" BIRD. *EM VUN Ii EMI .. PART THREE. I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. T 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 brought 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 vi'lets, and the lily-cups, 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 { 141 ML' THE LAND OF SONG : BOOK I. 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 farther off from heav'n Than when I was a boy. Thomas Hood. TO A BUTTERFLY. OTAY near me — do not take thy flight! A liulc longfer stav m sig'ht ! Much converse do I find in thee, I listorian <>l my infancy ! bloat near me; do not yet depart! 1 )ead times revive in thee : Thou bring'st, <\ CT HE dweltamong the un- mS. Ws!MBi trodden ways Beside 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 ; Rut she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me ! William Worhsworth. msm BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. T^REAK, break, break, -^ On thy cold, gray stones, O Sea! And 1 would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. BREAK, BREAK, BREAK. 145 Oh, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play ! Oh, 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 oh, for the touch of a vanished 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. Alfred Tennyson. 146 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. BUGLE SONG. rHE splendor 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 Hying, Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. Oh, hark, oh, hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going ! Oh, sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying : Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying Oh, love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And otow forever and forever. Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying Alfred Tennyson. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 147 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. T TNDER the greenwood tree ^ Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun And loves to live i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets — Come hither, come hither, come hither ! Here shall we see No enemy But winter and rough weather. William Shakespeare THE PALM TREE. TS it the palm, the cocoa palm, ■*■ On the Indian sea by the isles of balm ? Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm ? A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, And a rudder of palm it steereth with. 148 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK L Branches of palm are its spars and rails, Fibers of palm are its woven sails, And the rope is of palm that idly trails. What does the good ship bear so well ? The cocoanut with its stony shell, And the milky sap of its inner cell. What are its jars, so smooth and fine, But hollowed nuts, filled with oil and wine, And the cabbage that ripens under the Line ? The master he sits on a palm mat soft, From a beaker of palm his drink is quaffed, And a palm thatch shields from the sun aloft. His dress is woven of palmy strands, And he holds a palm-leaf scroll in his hands, Traced with the Prophet's wise commands. The turban folded about his head Was daintily wrought of the palm-leaf braid, And the fan that cools him ot palm was made. Of threads of palm was the carpet spun Whereon he kneels when the day is done, And the foreheads of Islam are bowed as one ! To him the palm is a gift divine. Wherein all uses ot man combine, — House, and raiment, and food, and wine. THE PALM TREE. 14VJ And, in the hour of his great release, His need of the palm shall only cease With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. ■'Allah il Allah ! " he sings his psalm, On the Indian sea, by the isles of balm ; ; Thanks to Allah who gives the palm ! ' John Greknleaf Whittier. -^ • 150 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. ALEC YEATON'S SON. Gloucester, August, 1720. "^HE wind it wailed, the wind it moaned, A And the white caps flecked the sea ; "An' I would to God," the skipper groaned, " I had not my boy with me ! ' Snug in the stern sheets, little John Laughed as the scud swept by ; But the skipper's sunburnt cheek grew wan As he watched the wicked sky. " Would he were at his mother's side ! '' And the skipper's eyes were dim. " Good Lord in heaven, if ill betide, What would become of him ! " For me, my muscles are as steel, For me, let hap what may ; I might make shift upon the keel Until the break o' day. " But he, he is so weak and small, So young, scarce learned to stand, — O pitying father of us all, I trust him in Thy hand ! " For thou, who markest from on hig-h A sparrow's fall, each one! Surely, () Lord, thou'lt have an eye < )n Alec Yeaton's son ! ' ALEC YE A TON'S SON. 151 Then, helm hard port, right straight he sailed, Towards the headland light : The wind it moaned, the wind it wailed And black, black fell the night. Then burst a storm to make one quail Though housed from winds and waves, — They who could tell about that gale Must rise from watery graves ! Sudden it came, as sudden went ; Ere half the night was sped, The winds were hushed, the waves were spent. And the stars shone overhead. Now, as the morning mist grew thin, The folk on Gloucester shore Saw a little figure floating- in, Secure, on a broken oar ! Up rose the cry, "A wreck ! a wreck! Pull, mates, and waste no breath ! ' They knew it, though 'twas but a speck Upon the edge of death ! Long did they marvel in the town At God, His strange decree, That let the stalwart skipper drown And the little child go free ! Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 152 THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK I. THE SANDPIPER. ACROSS the narrow beach we flit, *-*■ One little sandpiper and I ; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud, black and swift, across the sky ; Like silent ghosts in mist)- shrouds Stand out the white, lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach, One little sandpiper and I. I watch him as he skims along, Uttering his sweet and mournful cry: He starts not at my fitful song, Nor flash of fluttering drapery. He has no thought of any wrong, He scans me with a fearless eye ; Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD. 153 Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, When the loosed storm breaks furiously ? My driftwood fire will burn so bright! To what warm shelter canst thou fly ? I do not fear for thee, though wroth The tempest rushes through the sky ; For are we not God's children both, Thou, little sandpiper, and I ? Celia Thaxter. A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD. PHFY 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 crood, 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, 154 THE J. AND OF SONG: BOOK I. Half waking me at night ; and said, " Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser ? " Elizabeth Barrett Browning. CANADIAN BOAT-SONG. FAINTLY as tolls the evening chime, A Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past. Why should we yet our sails unfurl ? — There is not a breath the blue wave to curl. But when the wind blows off the shore Oh, sweetly we'll rest our weary oar ! Blow, breezes, blow ! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past. Utawa's tide ! this trembline moon Shall see us float over thy surges soon. Saint of this green isle, hear our prayers, — Oh, grant us cool heavens and favoring airs ! Blow, breezes, blow! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight's past. Thomas Moore. THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. 155 MY HEART'S IN THE HIGHLANDS. IV /TV heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; IV J. ]yjy h ear t'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. Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birthplace of valor, the country of worth ; Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands forever I love. Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow ; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below ; Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring 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 followino- the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go. Robert Burns. THE ROSE UPON MY BALCONY. % HHE rose upon my balcony, the -*- morning air perfuming, P diSr Was leafless all the winter time and * ¥ pining for the spring. lf.i; THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK 1. You ask me why her breath is sweet and why her cheek is blooming-, It is because the sun is out, and birds began to sine. The nightingale, whose melody is through the green- wood ringing", Was silent when the boughs were ban? and winds were blowing- keen. And if, Mamma, you ask of me the reason of his singing", It is because the sun is out and all the leaves are green. Then each performs his part, .Mamma ; the birds have found their voices, The blowing rose a flush, Mamma, her bonny cheek to dye ; And there's sunshine in my heart, Mamma, which wakens and rejoices, And so I sing; and blush. Mamma, and that's the reason why William Makepeace Thackeray. • HARK, HARK! THE LARK AT HEAVEN'S GATE SINGS. T ARK, Hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, * And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs ( hi chaliced flowers that lies; THE EAGLE. And winking- Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes ; With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise ! From ' ' ( 'ymbelinc. 157 William Shakespeare THE EAGLE. TTE clasps the crag with hooked hands ; A * Close to the sun in lonely lands, Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; He watches from his mountain walls ; And like a thunderbolt he falls, Alfred Tennyson. A CHILD'S MORNING HYMN. f^\ FATHER ! whom my father loves ! Thou who art named on bended knee ! Thou, at whose sweet and awful name My mother's head bows reverently ! 158 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. They tell me that the brilliant sun Is but a plaything" of Thy might, And hangs in balance 'neath Thy feet, Like a great lamp of golden light. They tell me that the little birds In all the fields are made by Thee ; And that Thou givest every child A soul to know and worship Thee. They tell me Thou dost make the flowers That dress the gardens gay and fair ; And that the trees no fruits could yield Without Thy love and fostering care. In all the gifts thy bounty sends The world at large is made to share ; The smallest insect may partake Of Nature's feast, spread everywhere. The lark secures the little grain The gleaner drops from all the rest ; Sparrows attend the winnowers, And baby clings to mother's breast. And then to gain these precious gifts Thou furnishest each day the same, At noon, at niodit, at morning's light, What must be done ? Pronounce Thy name! O God ! this name by angels feared Is lisped with stammering tongue by me, A CHILD'S MORNING HYMN. 159 And yet Thou nearest every child In the great choir that praises Thee. Ah ! since He understands from far The wishes that our lips shall say ; For things that others need the most I want to ask Him day by day. My God ! give water to the streams ; Give feathers to the birds Thou'st made ; Give wool to all the little lambs ; And to the plains give dew and shade. Give health to all the sick, O God ! Give bread to those who cry to Thee ; Give to the orphans friends and home ; And give the prisoner liberty ! Give to the man who lears the Lord Numberless children, good and dear; Give to me wisdom, happiness, That mother's heart be filled with cheer. Ai.phonse de Lamartine (translated by Camelia M'Fadden). A 1 THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN. r the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears, Hanors a thrush that sines loud ; it has sungf for three years : 160 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK J. Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence oi morning 1 the sono- of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending-, a vision of trees ; Bright volumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, 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 like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but the)- fade The mist and the river, the hill and the shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her eyes. William Wordsworth. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. /^~^AN I see another's woe, ^-^ And not be in sorrow too ? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? 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? ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. 10 i 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- pity 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 ! He doth give His joy to all; He becomes an infant small ; He becomes a man of woe ; He doth feel the sorrow too. Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, And thy Maker is not by ; Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near. 162 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Oh ! He gives to us His joy, That our griefs He may destroy ; Till our orrief is fled and o-one. He doth sit by us and moan. William Blake. HUMANITY. WOULD not enter on my list of friends A (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Vet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. From "The suit." William Cowper. DUTY. CO nigh is grandeur to our dust, ^ So near is God to man, When Duty whispers low, "Thou must," The youth replies, " I can." Ralph Waldo Emerson. WE ARE SEVEN. A SIMPLE child, ||\\) That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb, \\ nat should it know of death ? WE ARE SEVEN. 163 I met a little cottage gfirl : She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad : Her eyes were fair, and very fair ; — Her beauty made me glad. " Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you 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, 1 Dwell near them with my mother." " You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are o-one to sea, Yet ye are seven ! — I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be," Then did the little maid reply, " Seven bpys and girls are we ; 164 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree." "You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied ; " Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. " My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit — I sit and singf to them. " And often after sunset, Sir, When it is liorht and fair, I take my little porringer, And eat my supper there. " The first that died was little Jane ; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain, And then she went away. " So in the churchyard she was laid ; And, when the grass was dry, Together round her grave we played, My brother John and I. GOOD NAME. 165 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 ? " The little maiden did reply, " O Master! we are seven." " But they are dead ; those two are 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. GOOD NAME. /^OOD name in man and woman, dear my lord, ^-^ Is the immediate jewel of their souls : Who steals my purse, steals trash ; 'tis something, nothing ; 'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands; But he that filches from me my good name Robs me of that which not enriches him, And makes me poor indeed. „ ...-,, ,, ,, William Shakespeare. from "Othello. 166 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. THE BETTER LAND. ' T HEAR thee speak of -*- the better land ; Thou call'st its children a happy band ; Mother ! oh, where is that radiant shore ? Shall we not seek it, and weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fireflies dance through the myrtle 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 olitterinor seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?" " Not there, not there, my child ! " "Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ? Where 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 ! THE FIRST SNOW FALL. 167 " 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 breathe on its fadeless bloom ; For beyond the clouds and beyond the tomb, It is there, it is there, my child ! ' Felicia D. Hemans. THE FIRST SNOW FALL. HHE snow had begun in the gloaming, *~ And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow ; The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snowbirds, Like brown leaves whirling by. 1(38 THE LAND OE SONG: BOOK I. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood, — Mow the Makes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, " Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-Father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first oreat sorrow, When that mound was heaped so high. T remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow. Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe. And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall ! " Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; And she, kissing back, could not know That my kiss was given to her sister, Folded close under the deepening snow. I hues Russell Lowell. WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED. 169 WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT. A 1 7HILE shepherds watched their flocks by night, * * All seated on the ground, The ano-el 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, The Savior, 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 swaddling bands, And in a manner laid." Thus spake the seraph ; and forthwith Appeared a shining throng Of angels, praising God, who thus Addressed their joyful song: " All glory be to God on high, And to the earth be peace ; Good will henceforth from Heaven to men Begin and never cease." nahum Tate. 170 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK L THE ECHOING GREEN. ^HE sun does arise, A 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 bell's cheerful sound; While our sports shall be seen On the echoing green. 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, EVENING HYMN 171 Such, such were the joys When we all — girls and boys In our youth time were seen On the echoing green." Till the little ones, weary, No more can be merry ; The sun does descend, And our sports have an end. Round 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 darkening oreen. William Blake. EVENING HYMN. f~^ OD that madest Earth and Heaven, ^-^ Darkness and light ! Who the day for toil 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 ! Reginald Hebek. 171' THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK /. HOME, SWEET HOME. ' A /TID pleasures and palaces though we may roam, -L* A Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us there, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with, elsewhere. Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain : Ah, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds sinking- sweetlv that come at my call — ( rive me them, and that peace of mind, dearer than all Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! John Howard Payne. A VISIT FROM THE SEA, 173 A VISIT FROM THE SEA. "C\AR from the loud sea beaches, ^ Where he goes fishing and crying. Here in the inland garden, Why is the sea gull flying ? Here are no fish to dive for : Here is the corn and lea ; Here are the green trees rustling. Hie away home to sea ! Fresh is the river water, And quiet among the rushes ; This is no home for the sea gull, But for the rooks and thrushes. Pity the bird that has wandered ! Pity the sailor ashore ! Hurry him home to the ocean, Let him come here no more ! High on the sea cliff ledges The white gulls are trooping and cryin Here among- rooks and roses, Why is the sea gull flying ? Robert Louis Stevenson. 174 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. M GEORGE NIDIVER. EN have done brave deeds, And bards have sune them well & I of good George Nidiver Now the tale will tell. In Californian mountains A hunter bold was he : Keen his eye and sure his aim As any you should see. A little Indian boy Followed him everywhere, Eager to share the hunter's joy, The hunter's meal to share. And when the bird or deer Fell by the hunter's skill, The boy was always near To help with right good will. One day as through the cleft Between two mountains steep, Shut in both right and left, Their weary way they keep, They see two grizzly bears, With hunger fierce and fell, Rush at them unawares Right down the narrow dell, GEORGE NIDIVER. \1\ The boy turned round with screams, And ran with terror wild ; One of the pair of savage beasts Pursued the shrieking- child. The hunter raised his gun, — He knew one charge was all, — And through the boy's pursuing foe He sent his only ball. The other on George Nidiver Came on with dreadful pace ; The hunter stood unarmed, And met him face to face. I say unarmed he stood : Against those frightful paws The rifle butt, or club of wood, Could stand no more than straws. George Nidiver stood still, And looked him in the face ; The wild beast stopped amazed, Then came with slack'ning pace. Still firm the hunter stood, Although his heart beat high ; Again the creature stopped, And gazed with wond'ring eye. 176 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. The hunter met his gaze, Mor yet an inch orave way ; The bear turned slowly round, And slowly moved away. What thoughts were in his mind It would be hard to spell ; What thoughts were in George Nidiver I rather guess than tell. But sure that rifle's aim, Swift choice of gen'rous part, Showed in its passing gleam The depths of a brave heart. Anonymous. THE MINSTREL BOY. " I "HE Minstrel boy to the war is gone, ■*- In the ranks of death vou'll find him J His father's sword he has girded on, And his wild harp slung behind him. — THE TIGER. i t ' Land of song ! " said the warrior bard, "Though all the 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 ; The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, For he tore its chords asunder ; And said, " No chain 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. THE TIGER. TIGER, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry ? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt 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 ? 178 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. What the hammer ? what the chain ? In what furnace was thy brain ? What the anvil ? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp ? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did He smile His work to see ? Did He who made the lamb make thee ? Tio-er, tieer, burn in of bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry ? \\ iixiam Blake. B A LULLABY. ALOO, loo, lammy, now baloo, my dear. Does wee lammy ken that its daddy's no here? Ye're rocking full sweetly on mammy's warm knee, But daddy's a rocking upon the salt sea. Now hush-a-by, lammy, now hush-a-by dear; Now hush-a-by, lammy, for mother is near. The wild wind is raving, and mammy's heart's sair ; The wild wind is raving, and ye dinna care. Sing baloo, loo, lammy, sing baloo, my dear ; Sing baloo, loo, lammy, for mother is here My wee bairnie's dozing, it's dozing now fine, And oh, may its wakeningf be blither than mine! Lady Nairne. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 179 \ THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. TT was the schooner Hesperus, -*- That sailed the wintry sea ; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And watched how the veerinor fl aw c lid 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 I fear a hurricane. L80 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. " Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see! ' The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast ; 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. " Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, \nd do not tremble so! For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." lie wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast ; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O Father! 1 hear the church bells ring, O say, what may it be ? " " Tis a fog bell, on a rock-bound coast ! ' And he steered for the open sea. THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 181 " O father ! I hear the sound of euns, O say, what may it be ? " " Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea ! " " O father ? I see a gleaming lisfht, 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 gleaming 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 surf On the rocks and the hard sea sand. 182 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted, a dreary wreck, And a whooping- billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck. She struck where the white and fleecy waves J Looked soft as carded wool ; But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides Like the horns of an angry bull. Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board ; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! At daybreak, on the bleak seabeach A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting mast. The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes ; And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, On the billows fall and rise. Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midniofht and the snow ! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe ! Henky Wadsworth Longfellow, THE YELLOW VLOLET. 18.' THE YELLOW VIOLET. \ \ 7HEN beechen buds begin to swell, * * And woods the bluebird's warble know, The yellow violet's modest bell Peeps from the last year's leaves below. Ere russet fields their green resume, Sweet flower, I love, in forest bare, To meet thee, when thy faint perfume Alone is in the virgin air. & Of all her train, the hands of spring First plant thee in the watery mold, And I have seen thee blossoming Beside the snowbank's edees cold. *fc> Thy parent sun, who bade thee view Pale skies, and chilling moisture sip, Has bathed thee in his own bright hue, And streaked with jet thy glowing lip. Yet slight thy form, and low thy seat, And earthward bent thy gentle eye, 184 THE LAND GF SONG: BOOK L Unapt the passing- view to meet, When loftier flowers are flaunting nigh. Oft, in the sunless April day, Thy early smile has stayed my walk ; But midst the gorgeous blooms of May, I passed thee on thy humble stalk. So they who climb to wealth forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them — but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride. And when again the genial hour Awakes the painted tribes of light, I'll not o'erlook the modest flower That made the woods of April bright. William Cullen Bryant. FAIRY SONG. CHED no tear! O shed no tear! ^ The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more ! O weep no more ! Young buds sleep in the roots' white core. Dry your eyes ! O dry your eyes ! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies — Shed no tear ! OLD CHRISTMAS. 185 Overhead ! look overhead ! 'Mongf the blossoms white and red — Look up, look up ! I flutter now On this fresh pomegranate bough. See me ! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill. Shed no tear ! O shed no tear ! The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu ! I vanish in the heaven's blue — Adieu, adieu ! John Keats. OLD CHRISTMAS. IV TOW he who knows old Christmas, ^ ^ He knows a carle of worth ; For he is as g-ood a fellow As any upon earth. He comes warm cloaked and coated, And buttoned up to the chin, And soon as he comes anigh the door We open and let him in. We know that he will not fail us, So we sweep the hearth up clean ; We set him in the old armchair, And a cushion whereon to lean. 18G THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay, Just out of an old regard to him, For it was his ancient way. He must be a rich old fellow : What money he gives away ! There is not a lord in England Could equal him any day. Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing, For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king ! Mary Howitt. OLD IRONSIDES. AY, tear her tattered ensign down ! ^ ^ Loncj has it waved on hio-h, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky ; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar ; — The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, OLD lRO.\ SIDES. is; THE FAMOUS U. S. VESSEL, CONSTITUTION (" OED IRONSIDES "). From photogravure of painting by Marshall Johnson, published by A. W. Elson & Co., Boston. 188 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. When winds were hurrying- o'er the flood, And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread, Or know the conquered knee ; The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea ! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave : Nail to the mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale ! Oliver Wendell Holmes. SEE WHAT A LOVELY SHELL. CEE what a lovely shell, ^ Small and pure as a pearl, Lying close to my foot, Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairily well With delicate spire and whorl, How exquisitely minute, A miracle of design ! • What is it ? a learned man Could give it a clumsy name. THE HOUSEKEEPER. 189 Let him name it who can, The beauty would be the same. The tiny cell is forlorn, Void of the little living will That made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house in a rainbow frill ? Did he push, when he was uncurl'd, A golden f QO t or a fairv horn Thro' his dim water world ? Slight, to be crush'd with a tap Of my finger nail on the sand, Small, but a work divine, Frail, but of force to withstand, Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snap The three decker's oaken spine Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand ! Alfred Tennyson. THE HOUSEKEEPER. ^HE frugal snail, with forecast of repose, -*■ Carries his house with him where'er he goes ; Peeps out, — and if there comes a shower of rain, Retreats to his small domicile again. Touch but a tip of him, a horn, — 'tis well, — 190 THE LAND OF SONG: BOOK I. He curls up in his sanctuary shell. He's his own landlord, his own tenant; stay Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day. Himself he boards and lodges both invites And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o'er nights. He spares the upholsterer trouble to procure Chattels ; himself is his own furniture, And his sole riches. Whereso'er he roam, — Knock when you will, — he's sure to be at home. Charles Lamp. A FAREWELL. A /TY fairest child, I have no song- to give you ; ^'^ No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray; Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every daw Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; I )o noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make life, death, and that vast lorever One grand, sweet song. Charles Kjngsley. Recommended Poems. The following additional poems are recommended for use in the grades designated : GRADE 1. Field, Eugene. The Dutch Lullaby. The Rockaby Lady, Howitt, Mary. father is Coming. The Spider and the Fly. Kipling, Rudyard. Shiv and the Grasshopper. Seal Lullaby. Lamb, Mary. Choosing a Name. Longfellow Henry Wadsworth. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers.) Hiawatha's Childhood. The Children's Hour. Stevenson, Robert Louis (Charles Scrib- ner's Suns, publishers). The Dumb Soldier. The Land of Counterpane. Where go the Boats ? And many others from A Child's Garden of Ver:es. GRADE 2. Cary, Alice (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., pub- lishers). A Lesson of Mercy. Barbara Blue. Nobility. November. Peter Grey. The Grateful Swan. The Spider and Fly. The Wise Fairy. To Mother Fairy. Gary, Phcebe (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers). A Legend of the Northland. Cooke, Rose Terry. A Wish. Cowper, William. A Law Case. The Faithful Bird. Field, Eugene. Good Children Street. The Duel. The Norse Lullaby. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth. (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers.) Daybreak. The Emperor's Bird's Nest. Thaxter, Celia (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers). Piccola. •The Waning Moon. The Wounded Curlew. Trowbridge, John T. The Farmyard Song. Wordsworth, William. Alice Fell. Characteristic of a Favorite Dog. Lucy Gray. 101 192 RECOMMENDED POEMS, GRADE 3 Bryant, William Cullen (D. Appleton& Co., publishers*. November. The Rivulet (first stanza). Campbell. The Child and Hind. Cary, Alice (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., pub- lishers). A Sermon. Cary, Phcebe (Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers). Nora's Charm. The Prairie on Fire. Cowper, William. John Gilpin. The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk. Holmes, Oliver Wendell. The Dorchester Giant. Howitt, Mary. Mabel on Midsummer's Day. Lamb, Mary. The Spartan Boy. " Lilliput Levee." Little Christel. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth (Hough ton, Mifflin & Co., publishers). The Arrow and the Song. The Castle by the Sea. The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz. The Happiest Land. The Rain. The Reaper and the Flowers. Twilight. Walter Von der Vogelweid. Swift, Jonathan. Baucis and Philemon. Whittier, John Greenieaf (Houghtoi Mifflin & Co., publishers). Barbara Frietchie. In School Days. My Playmate. The Barefoot Boy. Wordsworth. William. The Childless Father. The Kitten and the Falling Leaves. 29 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped "below JAN 16 1952 Form L-fl 20m -12,'30(3^S0) 1175 Shu-te - S56 1 The lend of •v.l song. JAN 16 1^52 WSSL • PR 1175 S56 1 v.l UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 51 CO