Chapter IV

Harriet Hutch,
Her conduct was such,
Her uncle remarked it would conquer the Dutch:
She boiled her new bonnet,
And breakfasted on it,
And rode to the moon on her grandmother's crutch.

AN OLD RAT'S TALE.

He was a rat, and she was a rat,
And down in one hole they did dwell.
And each was as black as your Sunday hat,
And they loved one another well.

He had a tail, and she had a tail;
Both long and curling and fine.
And each said, "My love's is the finest tail
In the world, excepting mine!"

He smelt the cheese, and she smelt the cheese,
And they both pronounced it good;
And both remarked it would greatly add
To the charms of their daily food.

So he ventured out and she ventured out;
And I saw them go with pain.
But what them befell I never can tell,
For they never came back again.

TO THE LITTLE GIRL WHO WRIGGLES.

Don't wriggle about any more, my dear!
I'm sure all your joints must be sore, my dear!
It's wriggle and jiggle, it's twist and it's wiggle,
Like an eel on a shingly shore, my dear,
Like an eel on a shingly shore.

Oh! how do you think you would feel, my dear,
If you should turn into an eel, my dear?
With never an arm to protect you from harm,
And no sign of a toe or a heel, my dear,
No sign of a toe or a heel?

And what do you think you would do, my dear,
Far down in the water so blue, my dear,
Where the prawns and the shrimps, with their curls and their crimps,
Would turn up their noses at you, my dear,
Would turn up their noses at you?

The crab he would give you a nip, my dear,
And the lobster would lend you a clip, my dear.
And perhaps if a shark should come by in the dark,
Down his throat you might happen to slip, my dear,
Down his throat you might happen to slip.

Then try to sit still on your chair, my dear!
To your parents 'tis no more than fair, my dear.
For we really don't feel like inviting an eel
Our board and our lodging to share, my dear,
Our board and our lodging to share.

The Forty Little Ducklings.

[_A story with a certain amount of truth in it._]

The forty little ducklings who lived up at the farm,
They said unto each other, "Oh! the day is very warm!"
They said unto each other, "Oh! the river's very cool!
The duck who did not seek it now would surely be a fool."

The forty little ducklings, they started down the road;
And waddle, waddle, waddle, was the gait at which they goed.
The same it is not grammar,--you may change it if you choose,--
But one cannot stop for trifles when inspired by the Muse.

They waddled and they waddled and they waddled on and on.
Till one remarked, "Oh! deary me, where is the river gone?
We asked the Ancient Gander, and he said 'twas very near.
He must have been deceiving us, or else himself, I fear."

They waddled and they waddled, till no further they could go:
Then down upon a mossy bank they sat them in a row.
They took their little handkerchiefs and wept a little weep,
And then they put away their heads, and then they went to sleep.

There came along a farmer, with a basket on his arm,
And all those little duckylings he took back to the farm.
He put them in their little beds, and wished them sweet repose,
And fastened mustard plasters on their little webby toes.

Next day these little ducklings, they were very very ill.
Their mother sent for Doctor Quack, who gave them each a pill;
But soon as they recovered, the first thing that they did,
Was to peck the Ancient Gander, till he ran away and hid.

THE MOUSE.

I'm only a poor little mouse, Ma'am.
I live in the wall of your house, Ma'am.
With a fragment of cheese,
And a _very few_ peas,
I was having a little carouse, Ma'am.

No mischief at all I intend, Ma'am.
I hope you will act as my friend, Ma'am.
If my life you should take,
Many hearts it would break,
And the mischief would be without end, Ma'am.

My wife lives in there, in the crack, Ma'am,
She's waiting for me to come back, Ma'am.
She hoped I might find
A bit of a rind,
For the children their dinner do lack, Ma'am.

'Tis hard living there in the wall, Ma'am,
For plaster and mortar _will_ pall, Ma'am,
On the minds of the young,
And when specially hung--
Ry, upon their poor father they'll fall, Ma'am.

I never was given to strife, Ma'am,--
(Don't look at that terrible knife, Ma'am!)
The noise overhead
That disturbs you in bed,
'Tis the rats, I will venture my life, Ma'am.

In your eyes I see mercy, I'm sure, Ma'am.
Oh, there's no need to open the door, Ma'am.
I'll slip through the crack,
And I'll never come back,
Oh! I'll _never_ come back any more, Ma'am!

A VALENTINE.

Oh, little loveliest lady mine!
What shall I send for your valentine?
Summer and flowers are far away,
Gloomy old Winter is king to-day,
Buds will not blow, and sun will not shine;
What shall I do for a valentine?

Prithee, Saint Valentine, tell me here,
Why do you come at this time o' year?
Plenty of days when lilies are white,
Plenty of days when sunbeams are bright;
But now, when everything's dark and drear,
Why do you come, Saint Valentine dear?

I've searched the gardens all through and through,
For a bud to tell of my love so true;
But buds are asleep, and blossoms are dead,
And the snow beats down on my poor little head;
So, little loveliest lady mine,
Here is my heart for your valentine.

JAMIE IN THE GARDEN.

How is a little boy to know
About these berries all,
That ripen all the summer through,
From spring-time until fall?

I must not eat them till they're ripe,
I know that very well;
But each kind ripens differently,
So how am I to tell?

Though strawberries and raspberries,
When ripe, are glowing red,
Red blackberries I must not touch,
Mamma has lately said.

And though no one of these is fit
To touch when it is green,
Ripe gooseberries, as green as grass,
At Grandpapa's I've seen.

And peas are green when they are ripe;
Some kinds of apples too.
But they're not berries; neither are
These currants, it is true.

These currants, now! why, some are red,
And some are brilliant green.
"Don't eat unripe ones!" said Mamma.
But which ones did she mean?

To disobey her would be wrong.
To leave them I am loath.
I really _can't_ find out, unless--
Unless I eat them both!

[_He eats them both._]

SOMEBODY'S BOY (NOT MINE).

When he was up he cried to get down,
And when he was in he cried to get out;
And no little boy in Boston town
Was ever so ready to fret and pout.
Poutsy, oh!
And fretsy, oh!
And spend the whole day in a petsy, oh!
And what shall we do to this bad little man,
But scold him as hard as we possibly can!

When he was cold he cried to be warm,
And when he was warm he cried to be cold;
And all the morning 'twas scold and storm,
And all the evening 'twas storm and scold.
Stormy, oh!
And scoldy, oh!
And never do what he was toldy, oh!
And what shall we do to this bad little man,
But scold him as hard as we possibly can!

BOGY.

His eyes are green and his nose is brown,
His feet go up and his head goes down,
And so he goes galloping through the town,
The king of the Hobbledygoblins.
His heels stick out and his toes stick in,
He wears his mustaches upon his chin,
And he glares about with a horrible grin,
The king of the Hobbledygoblins.

No naughty boys can escape his eyes;
He clutches them, 'spite of their tears and sighs,
And away at a terrible pace he hies
To his castle of Killemaneetem;
There he shuts them up under lock and key,
And feeds them on blacking and grasshopper tea,
And if ever they try to get out, you see,
Why, this is the way he'll treat 'em.

[_Here Mamma may toss the little boy up in the air, or shake
him, or tickle his little chin, whichever he likes best._]

Now, Johnny and Tommy, you'd better look out!
All day you've done nothing but quarrel and pout,
And nobody knows what it's all about,
But it gives me a great deal of pain, dears.
So, Johnny and Tommy, be good, I pray,
Or the king will be after you some fine day,
And off to his castle he'll whisk you away,
And we never shall see you again, dears!

THE MERMAIDENS.

The little white mermaidens live in the sea,
In a palace of silver and gold;
And their neat little tails are all covered with scales,
Most beautiful for to behold.

On wild white horses they ride, they ride,
And in chairs of pink coral they sit;
They swim all the night, with a smile of delight,
And never feel tired a bit.

THE PHRISKY PHROG

Now list, oh! list to the piteous tale
Of the Phrisky Phrog and the Sylvan Snayle;
Of their lives and their loves, their joys and their woes,
And all about them that any one knows.

The Phrog lived down in a grewsome bog,
The Snayle in a hole in the end of a log;
And they loved each other so fond and true,
They didn't know what in the world to do.

For the Snayle declared 'twas too cold and damp
For a lady to live in a grewsome swamp;
While her lover replied, that a hole in a log
Was no possible place for a Phrisky Phrog.

"Come down! come down, my beautiful Snayle!
With your helegant horns and your tremulous tail;
Come down to my bower in the blossomy bog,
And be happy with me," said the Phrisky Phrog.

"Come up, come up, to my home so sweet,
Where there's plenty to drink, and the same to eat;
Come up where the cabbages bloom in the vale,
And be happy with me," said the Sylvan Snayle.

But he wouldn't come, and she wouldn't go,
And so they could never be married, you know;
Though they loved each other so fond and true,
They didn't know what in the world to do.

THE AMBITIOUS CHICKEN.

It was an Easter chicken
So blithesome and so gay;
He peeped from out his plaster shell
All on an Easter Day.

His wings were made of yellow down,
His eyes were made of beads;
He seemed, in very sooth, to have
All that a chicken needs.

He winked and blinked and peeped about,
And to himself he said,
"When first a chicken leaves the shell,
Of course he must be fed.

"And though I may be young in years,
And this my natal morn,
I'm quite, _quite_ old enough to know
Where people keep the corn."

He winked and blinked and peeped about,
Till in a corner sly
He saw a heap of golden corn
Piled on a platter high.

"Now, this is well!" the chicken cried;
"Now, this is well, in sooth.
This corn shall nourish and sustain
My faint and tender youth.

"And I shall grow and grow apace,
And come to high estate,
With mighty feathers in my tail,
And combs upon my pate.

"To see my beauty and my grace
The feathered race will flock,
And all will bow them low before
The mighty Easter Cock."

As thus the chicken proudly spake,
And stooped to snatch the prize,
His head fell off, and rolled away
Before his very eyes!!!!

It rolled into the dish of corn,
A sad and sombre sight,
While still upon its plaster legs,
His body stood upright.

And little Mary, when she came
With shining "popper" bright,
To pop the corn, and make the balls
Which were her heart's delight,

Gazed at the dish with wide blue eyes,
And "Oh! Mamma!" she said:
"One piece has gone and _popped itself_
Into a chicken's head!"

THE BOY AND THE BROOK.

Said the boy to the brook that was rippling away,
"Oh, little brook, pretty brook, will you not stay?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, all the day long,
And sing in my ears your sweet murmuring song."
Said the brook to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my music you ask me to stay?
I was silent until from the hillside I gushed;
Should I pause for an instant, my song would be hushed."

Said the boy to the wind that was fluttering past,
"Oh, little wind, pretty wind, whither so fast?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, fan my hot brow,
And ever breathe softly and gently as now."
Said the wind to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my coolness you ask me to stay?
'Tis only in flying you feel my cool breath;
Should I pause for an instant, that instant were death."

Said the boy to the day that was hurrying by,
"Oh, little day, pretty day, why must you fly?
Oh, stay with me, play with me, just as you are;
Let no shadow of evening your noon-brightness mar."
Said the day to the boy as it hurried away,
"And is't for my brightness you ask me to stay?
Know, the jewel of day would no longer seem bright,
If it were not clasped round by the setting of night."

THE SHARK.

Oh! blithe and merrily sang the shark,
As he sat on the house-top high:
A-cleaning his boots, and smoking cheroots,
With a single glass in his eye.

With Martin and Day he polished away,
And a smile on his face did glow,
As merry and bold the chorus he trolled
Of "Gobble-em-upsky ho!"

He sang so loud, he astonished the crowd
Which gathered from far and near.
For they said, "Such a sound, in the country round,
We never, no, never did hear."

He sang of the ships that he'd eaten like chips
In the palmy days of his youth.
And he added, "If you don't believe it is true,
Pray examine my wisdom tooth!"

He sang of the whales who'd have given their tails
For a glance of his raven eye.
And the swordfish, too, who their weapons all drew,
And swor'd for his sake they'd die.

And he sang about wrecks and hurricane decks
And the mariner's perils and pains,
Till every man's blood up on end it stood,
And their hair ran cold in their veins.

But blithe as a lark the merry old shark,
He sat on the sloping roof.
Though he said, "It is queer that no one draws near
To examine my wisdom toof!"

And he carolled away, by night and by day,
Until he made every one ill.
And I'll wager a crown that unless he's come down,
He is probably carolling still.

THE EASTER HEN.

Oh! children, have you ever seen
The little Easter Hen,
Who comes to lay her pretty eggs,
Then runs away again?

She only comes on Easter Day;
And when that day is o'er,
Till next year brings it round again,
You will not see her more.

Her eggs are not like common eggs,
But all of colors bright:
Blue, purple, red, with spots and stripes,
And scarcely one that's white.

She lays them in no special place,--
On this side, now on that.
And last year, only think! she laid
One right in Johnny's hat.

But naughty boys and girls get none:
So, children, don't forget!
And be as good as good can be--
It is not Easter yet!

PUMP AND PLANET.

With a hop, skip, and jump,
We went to the pump,
To fill our kettles with starch.
He gave us good day
In the pleasantest way,
With a smile that was winning and arch.

"Oh, Pump," said I,
"When you look up on high
To flirt with the morning star,
Does it make you sad,
Oh! Pumpy, my lad,
To think she's away so far?"

Said the Pump, "Oh no!
For we've settled it so
That but little my feelings are tried.
For every clear night
She slides down the moonlight,
And shines in the trough at my side."

THE POSTMAN.

Hey! the little postman,
And his little dog.
Here he comes a-hopping
Like a little frog;
Bringing me a letter,
Bringing me a note,
In the little pocket
Of his little coat.

Hey! the little postman,
And his little bag,
Here he comes a-trotting
Like a little nag;
Bringing me a paper,
Bringing me a bill,
From the little grocer
On the little hill.

Hey! the little postman,
And his little hat,
Here he comes a-creeping
Like a little cat.
What is that he's saying?
"Naught for you to-day!"
Horrid little postman!
I wish you'd go away!

HOPSY UPSY.

Hopsy upsy, Baby oh!
Into your bath you now must go;
Splash and dash, and paddle and plash,
That's what you like, my Baby oh!

Where is the sponge for Baby oh?
See the silvery fountains flow,--
Diamond drops so bright and clear,
Falling all over my Baby dear.

Now for the soap, my Baby oh!
Watch the bubbles that come and go;
Rainbow isles in a sea of foam,
Reflecting your smiles, they go and come.

Here is the towel for Baby oh!
Cannot stay in all day, you know;
Now scrub and rub, and rub and scrub,
And so good-by to the beautiful tub.

Now for the shirt, my Baby oh!
Soft and warm, and as white as snow.
Puffy white petticoats, fluffy white gown;
Why, what a great ball of thistle-down!

Last come the curls, my Baby oh!
Soft as silver they fall and flow.
Now toss him up and carry him down,
The bonniest Baby in Boston town!

LITTLE BLACK MONKEY.

Little black Monkey sat up in a tree,
Little black Monkey he grinned at me;
He put out his paw for a cocoanut,
And he dropped it down on my occiput.

The occiput is a part, you know,
Of the head which does on my shoulders grow;
And it's very unpleasant to have it hit,
Especially when there's no hair on it.

I took up my gun, and I said, "Now, why,
Little black Monkey, should you not die?
I'll hit you soon in a vital part!
It may be your head, or it may be your heart."

I steadied my gun, and I aimed it true;
The trigger it snapped and the bullet it flew;
But just where it went to I cannot tell,
For I never _could_ find where that bullet fell.

Little black Monkey still sat in the tree,
And placidly, wickedly grinned at me.
I took up my gun and I walked away,
And postponed his death till another day.

JIPPY AND JIMMY.

Jippy and Jimmy were two little dogs.
They went to sail on some floating logs;
The logs rolled over, the dogs rolled in,
And they got very wet, for their clothes were thin.

Jippy and Jimmy crept out again.
They said, "The river is full of rain!"
They said, "The water is far from dry!
Ki-hi! ki-hi! ki-_hi_-yi! ki-hi!"

Jippy and Jimmy went shivering home.
They said, "On the river no more we'll roam;
And we won't go to sail until we learn how,
Bow-wow! bow-wow! bow-_wow_-wow! bow-wow!"

MASTER JACK'S SONG.

[_Written after spending the Christmas Holidays at
Grandmamma's._]

You may talk about your groves,
Where you wander with your loves.
You may talk about your moonlit waves that fall and flow.
Something fairer far than these
I can show you, if you please.
'Tis the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

There the golden peaches shine
In their syrup clear and fine,
And the raspberries are blushing with a dusky glow.
And the cherry and the plum
Seem to beckon you to come
To the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

There the sprightly pickles stand,
With the catsup close at hand,
And the marmalades and jellies in a goodly row.
While the quinces' ruddy fire
Would an anchorite inspire
To seek the little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

Never tell me of your bowers
That are full of bugs and flowers!
Never tell me of your meadows where the breezes blow!
But sing me, if you will,
Of the house beneath the hill,
And the darling little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

_Chorus._ Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jam-pots grow!
Where the jelly jolly, jelly jolly jam-pots grow.
The fairest spot to me,
On the land or on the sea,
Is the charming little cupboard where the jam-pots grow.

MOTHER ROSEBUSH.

There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine,
There are roses that grow on a stalk;
But my little Rose
Grows on ten little toes,
So I'll take my Rose out for a walk.
Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy,
Come visit your cousins, child, with me!
If you are my daughter, it stands to reason
Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.

Now, here is your cousin Damask, Rosy!
And, Rosy, here is your cousin Blush;
General Jacqueminot,
(Your uncle, you know,)
Salutes you hero with his crimson flush.
Here's Gloire de Dijon, a splendid fellow,
All creamy and dreamy and soft and sweet;
And Cloth-of-Gold, with his coat of yellow,
Is dropping rose-nobles here at your feet.

My Baltimore Belle, my Queen of the Prairie,
Now, why are your ladyships looking so cross?
Lord Butterfly, see!
And Sir Honey de Bee,
Have deserted them both for your sweet cousin Moss.
All! Marechal Niel, I am glad to observe, sir,
You train up your buds in the way they should go,
All buttoned up close; while careless Niphetos
Lets her children go fluttering to and fro.

You whitest beauty, what is your name, now?
"Snow Queen?" Ay, and it suits you well!
And yonder, I see,
Is my friend Cherokee,
Who will not stop climbing, his name to tell;
And hero and there are blushing and blowing
Crimson and yellow and white and pink;
Pale or angry, gleaming or glowing.
The whole world's turning to roses, I think.

Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine,
And sweet is the rose on the tree;
But there's only one Rose
That has ten little toes,
And she is the Rose for me.
Come, put on your calyx, Rosy Posy,
Put on your calyx and come with me;
For if you are my daughter, it stands to reason,
Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.

THE FIVE LITTLE PRINCESSES.

Five little princesses started off to school,
Following their noses, because it was the rule;
But one nose turned up, and another nose turned down,
So all these little princesses were lost in the town.

Poor little princesses cannot find their way.
Naughty little noses, to lead them astray!
Poor little princesses, sadly they roam;
Naughty little noses, pray lead them home!

THE HORNET AND THE BEE.

Said the hornet to the bee,
"Pray you, will you marry me?
Will you be my little wife,
For to love me all my life?
You shall have a velvet cloak,
And a bonnet with a poke.
You shall sit upon a chair
With a cabbage in your hair.
You shall ride upon a horse,
If you fancy such a course.
You shall feed on venison pasty
In a manner trig and tasty;
Devilled bones and apple-cores,
If you like them, shall be yours.
You shall drink both rum and wine,
If you only will be mine.
Pray you, will you marry me?"
Said the hornet to the bee.

Said the bee unto the hornet,
"Your proposal, sir, I scorn it.
Marry one devoid of money,
Who can't make a drop of honey?
Cannot even play the fiddle,
And is pinched up in the middle?
Nay, my love is set more high.

Cockychafer's bride am I.
Cockychafer whirring loud,
Frisking free and prancing proud,
Cockychafer blithe and gay,
He hath stole my heart away.
Him alone I mean to marry,
So no longer you need tarry.
Not another moment stay!
Cockychafer comes this way.
Your proposal, sir, I scorn it!"
Said the bee unto the hornet.

So the cockychafer came,
Took the bee to be his dame.
Took the bee to be his wife,
For to love her all his life.
Wedding dress of goblin green,
Hat and feathers for a queen,
Worsted mittens on her feet,
Thus her toilet was complete.
Then when it was time to dine,
Cockychafer brought her wine,
Roasted mouse and bunny-fish,
Porridge in a silver dish;
Lobster-claws and scalloped beast.
Was not that a lovely feast?
But when it was time to sup,
Cockychafer ate her up.
Thus concludes the history
Of the hornet and the bee.

THE THREE LITTLE CHICKENS WHO WENT OUT TO TEA, AND THE ELEPHANT.

Little chickens, one, two, three,
They went out to take their tea,
Brisk and gay as gay could be,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Feathers brushed all smooth and neat,
Yellow stockings on their feet,
Tails and tuftings all complete,
Cackle wackle wackle!

"Very seldom," said the three,
"Like of us the world can see,
Beautiful exceedingly,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Such our form and such our face,
Such our Cochin China grace,
We must win in beauty's race,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Met an elephant large and wise,
Looked at them with both his eyes:
Caused these chickens great surprise,
Cackle wackle wackle!
"Why," they said, "do you suppose
Elephant doesn't look out of his nose,
So very conveniently it grows?
Cackle wackle wackle!

"Elephant with nose so long,
Sing on now a lovely song,
As we gayly trip along,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Sing of us and sing of you,
Sing of corn and barley too,
Beauteous beast with eyes of blue,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Elephant sang so loud and sweet,
Chickens fell before his feet;
For his love they did entreat,
Cackle wackle wackle.
"Well-a-day! and woe is me!
Would we all might elephants be!
Then he'd marry us, one, two, three,
Cackle wackle wackle!"

Elephant next began to dance:
Capered about with a stately prance
Learned from his grandmother over in France,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Fast and faster 'gan to tread,
Trod on every chicken's head,
Killed them all uncommonly dead,
Cackle wackle wackle!

MORAL.

Little chickens, one, two, three,
When you're walking out to tea,
Don't make love to all you see,
Cackle wackle wackle!
Elephants have lovely eyes,
But to woo them is not wise,
For they are not quite your size!
Cackle wackle wackle!

A LEGEND OF LAKE OKEEFINOKEE.

There once was a frog,
And he lived in a bog,
On the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.
And the words of the song
That he sang all day long
Were, "Croakety croakety croaky."

Said the frog, "I have found
That my life's daily round
In this place is exceedingly poky.
So no longer I'll stop,
But I swiftly will hop
Away from Lake Okeefinokee."

Now a bad mocking-bird
By mischance overheard
The words of the frog as he spokee.
And he said, "All my life
Frog and I've been at strife,
As we lived by Lake Okeefinokee.

"Now I see at a glance
Here's a capital chance
For to play him a practical jokee.
So I'll venture to say
That he shall not to-day
Leave the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."

So this bad mocking-bird,
Without saying a word,
He flew to a tree which was oaky.
And loudly he sang,
Till the whole forest rang,
"Oh! Croakety croakety croaky!"

As he warbled this song,
Master Frog came along,
A-filling his pipe for to smokee,
And he said, "'Tis some frog
Has escaped from the bog
Of Okeefinokee-finokee.

"I am filled with amaze
To hear one of my race
A-warbling on top of an oaky;
But if frogs can climb trees,
I may still find some ease
On the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."

So he climbed up the tree;
But alas! down fell he!
And his lovely green neck it was brokee;
And the sad truth to say,
Never more did he stray
From the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.

And the bad mocking-bird
Said, "How very absurd
And delightful a practical jokee!"
But I'm happy to say
He was drowned the next day
In the waters of Okeefinokee.

GRANDPAPA'S VALENTINE.

I may not claim her lovely hand,
My darling and my pride!
I may not ask her to become
My bright and beauteous bride;
The measure of my love for her
May not be said or sung;
And all because I'm rather old,
And she is rather young.

I may not clasp her slender waist,
And thread the mazy dance;
I may not drive her in the Park,
With steeds that neigh and prance.
I may not tempt her with my lands,
Nor buy her with my gold;
And all because she's rather young,
And I am rather old.

She leaves me for a younger swain,
A plump and beardless boy.
She slights me for a sugar-plum,
Neglects me for a toy.
And worst of all, this state of things
Can never altered be;
For I am nearly sixty-eight,
And she is only three.

ALIBAZAN.

All on the road to Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
'Twas there I met a bonny young man,
A May Day in the morning;
A bonny young man all dressed in blue,
Hat and feather and stocking and shoe,
Ruff and doublet and mantle too,
A May Day in the morning.

He made me a bow, and he made me three,
A May Day in the morning;
He said, in truth, I was fair to see,
A May Day in the morning.
"And say, will you be my sweetheart now?
I'll marry you truly with ring and vow;
I've ten fat sheep and a black-nosed cow,
A May Day in the morning.

"What shall we buy in Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning?
A pair of shoes and a feathered fan,
A May Day in the morning.
A velvet gown all set with pearls,
A silver hat for your golden curls,
A pot of pinks for my pink of girls,
A May Day in the morning."

All in the streets of Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
The merry maidens tripped and ran,
A May Day in the morning.
And this was fine, and that was free,
But he turned from them all to look on me;
And "Oh! but there's none so fair to see,
A May Day in the morning."

All in the church of Alibazan,
A May Day in the morning,
'Twas there I wed my bonny young man,
A May Day in the morning.
And oh! 'tis I am his sweetheart now!
And oh! 'tis we are happy, I trow,
With our ten fat sheep and our black-nosed cow,
A May Day in the morning.

THE THREE FISHERS.

John, Frederick, and Henry,
Had once a holiday;
And they would go a-fishing,
So merry and so gay.
They went to fish for salmon,
These little children three;
As in this pretty picture
You all may plainly see.

It was not in the ocean,
Nor from the river shore,
But in the monstrous water-butt
Outside the kitchen door.
And John he had a fish-hook,
And Fred a crooked pin,
And Henry took his sister's net,
And thought it was no sin.

They climbed up on the ladder,
Till they the top did win;
And then they perched upon the edge,
And then they did begin.
But how their fishing prospered,
Or if they did it well,
Or if they caught the salmon,
I cannot, cannot tell.

Because I was not there, you know,
But I can only say
That I too went a-fishing,
That pleasant summer day.
It was not for a salmon,
Or shark with monstrous fin,
But it was for three little boys,
All dripping to the skin.

PEEPSY.

[_After the manner of Jane Taylor._]

Our Julia has a little bird,
And Peepsy is his name;
And now I'll sing a little song
To celebrate the same.

He's yellow all from head to foot,
And he is very sweet,
And very little trouble, for
He never wants to eat.

He never asks for water clear,
He never chirps for seed,
For cracker, or for cuttlefish,
For sugar or chickweed.

"Oh! what a perfect pet!" you cry,
But there's one little thing,
One drawback to the bonny bird,--
Our Peepsy cannot sing.

He chirps no song at dawn or eve,
He makes no merry din;
But this one cannot wonder at,
For Peepsy's made of tin.

MAY SONG.

On a certain First of May,
So they say,
Came two merry little maids
Out to play.
Brown-haired Jeanie, sweet and wise,
Fair-haired Norah, with her eyes
Blue as are the morning skies.
Each in cap and kirtle gay,
Pretty little maids were they;
Light of heart and well content,
Through the fields they singing went,
On a merry First of May,
So they say.

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Came two sturdy little lads
By that way.
Miller's Robin from the mill,
Shepherd's Johnnie from the hill;
Bonny little lads, I trow,
Sunny eyes and open brow,
Ruddy cheeks and curly hair,
Sturdy legs all brown and bare,
Through the fields they marched along,
Whistling each his cheery song,
On a merry First of May,
So they say.

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Lads and lasses, there they met
On their way.
Said the lads, "We'll choose a queen!
May Day comes but once, I ween.
Search we all the country round,
Sweeter maids could not be found."
Laughed the lasses merrily,
"Ay! but which one shall it be?
John and Robin, tell us true,
Which is fairer of the two,
On this merry First of May?
Quickly say!"

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Shepherd Johnnie hushed his whistle
Blithe and gay;
"Brown eyes are more fair," said he,
"For they shine so winsomely!"
"Nay!" quoth Robin, "'tis confessed
Blue eyes _always_ are the best!
Fair-haired Norah wins the prize!"
"That she does not!" Johnnie cries;
"Norah's well enough, but Jean,
Brown and sweet, shall be the queen
On this merry First of May!
Choose _my_ way!"

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Soon to earnest turned their play.
Well-a-day!
Loud and angry words arose,
Angry words soon turned to blows;
John and Robin o'er the ground
Chase each other round and round,
Kicking, cuffing, here and there,
Shouting through the sweet May air:
"Jeanie!" "Norah!--is more fair!"
While the little maids aside,
Blue eyes, brown eyes, open wide
On this stormy First of May,
Well-a-day!

On this merry First of May,
So they say,
Jean and Norah stole away
From the fray.
"Silly lads!" they laughing cried,
"Let them as they will decide;
Shall we while they quarrel, pray,
Lose our pretty holiday?
Come away, and we may find
Other lads, who know their mind.
Or if not, why then, I ween,
Each will be the other's queen,
On this merry First of May.
Come away!"

TWO LITTLE VALENTINES.

[_For two little girls._]

I.

Young Rosalind, she is my rose!
I care not who the secret knows;
So deep within my heart she grows,
Her constant bloom no winter knows;
Sweet Rosalind, she is my rose.

Alas! this rose hath yet a thorn,
Whereon my heart is daily torn.
The love I proffer her each morn,
That love she flings me back in scorn.
But shall I therefore idly mourn?
She'd be no rose _without_ the thorn.