Chapter II

When merry milkmaids click the latch,
And rarely smells the new-mown hay,
And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch
Twice or thrice his roundelay,
Twice or thrice his roundelay;
Alone and warming his five wits,
The white owl in the belfry sits. 5

GEORGE MACDONALD

SCOTLAND, 1824-

The Wind and the Moon

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.
You stare
In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about; 10
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep,
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep,
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon--
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again! 5
On high
In the sky,
With her one ghost eye,
The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind--"I will blow you out again." 10

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.
"With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
If only I blow right fierce and grim, 15
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and blew, and she thinned to a thread.
"One puff
More's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred, 5
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"

He blew a great blast and the thread was gone;
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare; 10
Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down
In town, 15
Like a merry mad clown,
He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar,
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage--he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain; 5
For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew--till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne 10
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.

Said the Wind--"What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath, 15
Good faith!
I blew her to death--
First blew her away right out of the sky--
Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair,
For, high
In the sky, 5
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great Wind blare.

JAMES T. FIELDS

AMERICA, 1817-1881

The Tempest

We were crowded in the cabin,
Not a soul would dare to sleep,-- 10
It was midnight on the waters,
And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered in the blast,
And to hear the rattling trumpet
Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,--
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring, 5
And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy in his prayers,--
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs. 10

But his little daughter whispered,
As she took his icy hand,
"Is not God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden, 15
And we spoke in better cheer;
And we anchored safe in harbor
When the morn was shining clear.

CLEMENT C. MOORE

AMERICA, 1779-1863

A Visit from St. Nicholas

'Twas 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,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 5
While visions of sugar-plums 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 sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shatters and threw up the sash.
The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
Gave a luster of midday to objects below; 5
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, 10
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 house-top the coursers they flew, 5
With the 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.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 10
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 opening 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, 5
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. 10
He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf;
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.
A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose, 5
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 he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" 10

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

ENGLAND, 1770-1850

Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray;
And, when I crossed the wild,
I chanced to see at break of day
The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; 5
She dwelt on a wide moor,--
The sweetest thing that ever grew
Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,
The hare upon the green; 10
But the sweet face of Lucy Gray
Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--
You to the town must go:
And take a lantern, child, to light 15
Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do:
'Tis scarcely afternoon--
The minster-clock has just struck two;
And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his hook, 5
And snapped a fagot-band;
He plied his work;--and Lucy took
The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:
With many a wanton stroke 10
Her feet disperse the powdery snow,
That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time,
She wandered up and down;
And many a hill did Lucy climb, 15
But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night
Went shouting far and wide;
But there was neither sound nor sight
To serve them for a guide. 20
At daybreak on a hill they stood
That overlooked the moor;
And thence they saw the bridge of wood,
A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, 5
"In heaven we all shall meet!"
When in the snow the mother spied
The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge
They tracked the footmarks small; 10
And through the broken hawthorn hedge,
And by the low stone wall:

And then an open field they crossed;
The marks were still the same;
They tracked them on, nor ever lost; 15
And to the bridge they came.

They follow from the snowy bank
Those footmarks, one by one,
Into the middle of the plank;
And further there were none! 20
--Yet some maintain that to this day
She is a living child;
That you may see sweet Lucy Gray
Upon the lonesome wild.

O'er rough and smooth she trips along. 5
And never looks behind;
And sings a solitary song
That whistles in the wind.

WILLIAM BRIGHTLY RANDS

ENGLAND, 1823-1880

The Wonderful World

Great, wide, wonderful, beautiful world,
With the beautiful water about you curled, 10
And the wonderful grass upon your breast--
World, you are beautifully dressed!

The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water and whirls the mills, 15
And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

You friendly earth, how far do you go,
With wheat fields that nod, and rivers that flow,
And cities and gardens, and oceans and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah, you are so great and I am so small, 5
I hardly can think of you, world, at all;
And yet, when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper within me seemed to say:
"You are more than the earth, though you're such a dot;
You can love and think, and the world cannot." 10

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

ENGLAND, 1770-1850

To a Child

WRITTEN IN HER ALBUM

Small service is true service while it lasts.
Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one:
The daisy, by the shadow that it casts,
Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun.

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

ENGLAND, 1830-1894

Consider

Consider
The lilies of the field whose bloom is brief:
We are as they; 5
Like them we fade away,
As doth a leaf.

Consider
The sparrows of the air of small account:
Our God doth view 10
Whether they fall or mount,--
He guards us too.

Consider
The lilies that do neither spin nor toil,
Yet are most fair: 15
What profits all this care
And all this toil?

Consider
The birds that have no barn nor harvest-weeks;
God gives them food:
Much more our Father seeks
To do us good. 5

SIR WALTER SCOTT

SCOTLAND, 1771-1832

Lullaby of an Infant Chief

Oh, hush thee, my baby, 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 baby, to thee.

Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, 10
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

Oh, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. 5

EUGENE FIELD

AMERICA, 1850-1895

Dutch Lullaby[2]

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe--
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
Into a sea of dew.
"Where are you going, and what do you wish?" 10
The old moon asked the three.
"We have come to fish for the herring fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we!"
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod. 5

The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe,
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew.
The little stars were the herring fish 10
That lived in that beautiful sea--
"Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Never afeard are we";
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken, 15
Blynken,
And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw
To the stars in the twinkling foam--
Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, 20
Bringing the fishermen home;
"Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed
As if it could not be,
And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed
Of sailing that beautiful sea--
But I shall name you the fishermen three: 5
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes:
And Nod is a little head, 10
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
So shut your eyes while mother sings
Of wonderful sights that be,
And you shall see the beautiful things 15
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod. 20

FOOTNOTE:

[2] From "Poems of Childhood," published by Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons.

EUGENE FIELD

AMERICA, 1850-1895

The Night Wind[3]

Have you ever heard the wind go "Yoooo"?
'Tis a pitiful sound to hear!
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and speechless fear.
'Tis the voice of the night that broods outside 5
When folks should be asleep,
And many and many's the time I've cried
To the darkness brooding far and wide
Over the land and the deep:
"Whom do you want, O lonely night, 10
That you wail the long hours through?"
And the night would say in its ghostly way:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!" 15

My mother told me long ago
(When I was a little lad)
That when the wind went wailing so
Somebody had been bad;
And then, when I was snug in bed,
Whither I had been sent,
With the blankets pulled up round my head, 5
I'd think of what my mother'd said,
And wonder what boy she meant!
And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask
Of the wind that hoarsely blew,
And the voice would say in its meaningful way: 10
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo!"

That this was true I must allow--
You'll not believe it, though! 15
Yes, though I'm quite a model now,
I was not always so.
And if you doubt what things I say,
Suppose you make the test;
Suppose, when you've been bad some day 20
And up to bed are sent away
From mother and the rest--
Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?"
And then you'll hear what's true;
For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone:
"Yoooooooo!
Yoooooooo! 5
Yoooooooo!"

FOOTNOTE:

[3] From "Poems of Childhood," published by Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons.

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH

AMERICA, 1836-

Marjorie's Almanac[4]

Robins in the tree top,
Blossoms in the grass,
Green things a-growing
Everywhere you pass
Sudden little breezes, 5
Showers of silver dew,
Black bough and bent twig
Budding out anew;
Pine tree and willow tree,
Fringed elm, and larch,--
Don't you think that May-time's
Pleasanter than March?

Apples in the orchard 5
Mellowing one by one;
Strawberries upturning
Soft cheeks to the sun;
Roses faint with sweetness,
Lilies fair of face, 10
Drowsy scents and murmurs
Haunting every place;
Lengths of golden sunshine,
Moonlight bright as day--
Don't you think that summer's 15
Pleasanter than May?

Roger in the corn patch
Whistling negro songs;
Pussy by the hearth side
Romping with the tongs; 20
Chestnuts in the ashes,
Bursting through the rind;
Red leaf and gold leaf
Rustling down the wind;
Mother "doin' peaches"
All the afternoon,-- 5
Don't you think that autumn's
Pleasanter than June?

Little fairy snow-flakes
Dancing in the flue;
Old Mr. Santa Claus, 10
What is keeping you?
Twilight and firelight
Shadows come and go;
Merry chime of sleigh bells
Tinkling through the snow; 15
Mother knitting stockings,
Pussy's got the ball,
Don't you think that winter's
Pleasanter than all?

FOOTNOTE:

[4] Selections from Thomas B. Aldrich are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., publishers of his works.