Chapter V

Now Sunday came, and in the aisle
Did kneel the Giant tall;
The priest could not forbear a smile,
The church it looked so small!

And, as the Giant walked away,
He knocked off the roof with his head;
But he quarried stones on the following day,
To build another instead.

And it was high and broad and long,
And a hundred years it stood,
To tell of the Giant so cruel and strong
That kindness had made good.

And when Harold and Alice were married there,
A handsome sight was seen;
For the bridegroom was brave, and the bride was fair--
LONG LIVE OUR GRACIOUS QUEEN!

PRINCE PHILIBERT

Oh, who loves Prince Philibert?
Who but myself?
His foot’s in the stirrup;
His book’s on the shelf;
His dapple-grey Dobbin
Attends to his whip,
And rocks up and down
On the floor like a ship.

I went to the pond with him,
Just like the sea,
To swim his three-decker
That’s named after me;
His cheeks were like roses;
He knew all the rocks;
He looks like a sailor
In grey knickerbocks.

Oh, where is the keepsake
I gave you, my prince?
I keep yours in a drawer
That smells of a quince:
So how can I lose it?
But you, giddy thing!
Keep mine in your pocket,
Mixed up with some string.

Remember the riddle
I told you last week!
And how I forgave you
That scratch on the cheek!

You could not have helped it,--
You never would strike,
Intending to do it,
The girl that you like!

You call me Miss Stupid,
You call me Miss Prue;
But how do you like me
In crimson and blue?
We go partners in findings,
And money, and that,
You help me in ciphering;
Look at my hat!

I love you, Prince Philibert!
Who but myself?
With your foot in the stirrup,
Your book on the shelf!
We call you a prince, John,
But oh, when you crack
The nuts we go halves in,
You’re my Filbert Jack!

GOLD-BOY AND GREEN-GIRL

There was a little jackdaw
Lived on a vane;
He was a very black daw,
Shiny in the rain.

There was a boy in gold;
There was a girl in green;
The lad was very bold;
The maid was more serene.

There was a little church;
It had a little steeple;
The jackdaw on his perch
Cawed at the people.

This little golden boy
And green damosel
Did make it their employ
Their loves for to tell.

And early in the morning,
It came into their head
Themselves to be adorning
And go for to be wed.

The girl in green did stammer
At saying _I take thee_;
Gaffer said, and Gammer,
“What a pair they be!”

The yellow boy was bolder,
And spoke up like a king,
As if he had been older--
Hark, the bells ring!

In pops the jackdaw
At the belfry-door;
“Caw!” says the jackdaw,
“One peal more!”

AT HARVEST-TIME

The tawny sheaves of wheat
Are standing on their feet,
They cuddle together,
They huddle together,
They laugh out bold,
Their tassels of gold
They toss up together;
They gossip together
In the harvest weather;
And what may the thing they are whispering be?

The trees stand waiting;
The windmills are prating
And gesticulating--
But what is debating?
What do they wait to hear or to see?

We shall soon know, I trust--
Whew, the wind! just
A soft, rapid gust,
That swirls about the dust
In the serpentine green lane, and the straws upon the lea!

The light white mill divines;
I can see him making signs
To his heavy black brother;
They nod to each other--
“Hail-fellows-well-met with the Wind are we!”

And my lady in her bower,
Or her parlour, or her tower,
Says, “In about an hour
We shall have a thunder-shower”----
Shine or storm, pretty lady, keep a kiss for me!

SEE-SAW

I said to the babe, out of swaddling bands,
As it kicked up its heels, and flung out its hands,
And blew little bubbles, and cried, and crew,
“You innocent dear! But I wouldn’t be you!

And yet I don’t know: you have never to think;
You have only to snuggle, and sleep, and drink,
And, in spite of original sin, grow fat.
Yes, really, one might do worse than that!”

I said to the schoolboy, “You joyous elf!”--
I mean, I murmured the thing to myself,
Or he would have laughed--“Get out, sir, do!
I have half a mind to wish I were you!”

He looked so jolly, that scaramouch did,
As gay as a Clown, as bold as the Cid;
But then I remembered task and taws--
There is always something to make one pause.

And my dot of a daughter, she says, “Papa!
I wish you would make me my own mamma!
She _is_ so happy, she _is_ so nice!
And then I would give you my three white mice!”

Says I, “You’re a duck, a dear, a pearl!”
But really my brain was inclined to whirl;
“There is always something,” I thought; “but why?
Perhaps we shall know of it by-and-bye.”

So I went to my bed, and I dreamed that night
Of a saint in heaven, all shining white.
“Sweet, fair-eyed seraph!” said I, in sleep;
“I wish I were you, in the rest you keep!”

And yet at the word I thought, in bed,
Of wife, and Walter, and Winifred;
The Christmas bells my slumber broke:
“There is always something!” thought I, and woke.

GREAT, WIDE, BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL WORLD

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
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 and the rivers that flow,
With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?

Ah, you are so great, and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all;
And yet, when I said my 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!”

KITTENS AND CHICKENS

That is the Kitten,
The one in black
That you see at the back,
Whose heart was smitten
(For kittens have hearts
As well as brains
And other parts,
For pleasures and pains)--
Was smitten, I say,
On a sunshiny day,
By a callow chicken,
And made a picking
Of the chicken’s bones
Out there, on the stones,
To the great disgust
Of the mother Hen,
Who came up then,
When the feast was ended,
And the undefended
Fowl just swallowed!
And the Hen was followed
By the Cock well-grown,
Who seemed disgusted
That the Hen had trusted
The chicken alone.

It was on the next day
That the Cat did essay
To visit the place
Of this disgrace,
In search of a chicken
Again for picking;
But now the Cock,
As firm as a rock,
Beholding the Kitten,
With rage was smitten,
And stuck out his chest,
And set up his crest,
And crowed defiance,
Like an army of lions,
To the Kitten who there,
With his tail in the air,
Saw that the hens,--
Three in number,--
Were not in slumber,
And so had the sense
To take his departure,
Like the arrow of an archer
Swift from a bow,
And left the Cock,
As firm as a rock,
To ruffle and crow,
All under the door,
As we said before,
With nothing to tire him,
And the hens to admire him.

In a corner was sitting
Another Kitten,
White, not black,
Who heard the clack,
And knowing the story
Of the chicken gory,
And, seeing the Cock
Defying the other
(It was her brother!)
Had trepidations
And meditations
About taking chickens,
And such, for pickings.
But cats will be cats
The whole world long!

THE MAKING OF THE MUSIC

“Make us a song, then, mother dear!
Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing,”
Said the little daughter and the little son;
Their lips were gay, and their eyes were clear--
“And let the song be an easy one,
Sweet to think of, and sweet to sing.”

“Sweet to think of, and sweet to hear?
How shall I make it, children dear?
The night is falling, the winds are rough;
What will you give me to make it of?”

“No, mother dear, the winds are soft,
And the sky is blue and clear aloft,
And oh! we can give you things enough
To make the beautiful music of.

“We will give you the morning and afternoon,
We will give you the sun, and a white full moon;
You shall have all our prettiest toys,
And fields and flowers, and girls and boys.

“We will give you a bird, and a ship at sea,
And a golden cloud, and an almond-tree,
A picture gay, a river that runs,
A chime of bells, and hot cross-buns.

“You may have roses and rubies rare,
And silks and satins beyond compare,
A sceptre and crown, a queen, a king,
And beautiful dreams, and everything!
We will give you all that we think or know--
The song will be sweet if you make it so.”

Then the mother smiled as she began
To make the music, and sweet it ran,
And easy enough, for a strain or two;
And the children said, “Mother, the song will do!”

But soon the melody ran less clear;
There came a pause, and a wandering tear,
And a thought that went back many a year;
And the children fancied the music long,
And asked, “What have you put into the song
That we did not tell you, mother dear?”

THE RACE OF THE FLOWERS

The trees and the flowers seem running a race,
But none treads down the other;
And neither thinks it his disgrace
To be later than his brother.

Yet the pear-tree shouts to the lilac-tree,
“Make haste, for the Spring is late!”
And the lilac whispers to the chestnut-tree
(Because he is so great),
“Pray you, great sir, be quick, be quick,
For down below we are blossoming thick!”

Then the chestnut hears, and comes out in bloom,
White, or pink, to the tip-top boughs--
Oh, why not grow higher, there’s plenty of room,
You beautiful tree, with the sky for your house?
Then like music they seem to burst out together,
The little and the big, with a beautiful burst;
They sweeten the wind, they paint the weather,
And no one remembers which was first:
White rose, red rose,
Bud rose, shed rose,
Larkspur, and lily, and the rest,
North, south, east, west,
June, July, August, September!

Ever so late in the year will come
Many a red geranium,
And chrysanthemums up to November!
Then the winter has overtaken them all,
The fogs and the rains begin to fall,
And the flowers, after running their races,
Are weary, and shut up their little faces,
And under the ground they go to sleep.
Is it very far down? Yes, ever so deep.

POLLY

Brown eyes,
Straight nose;
Dirt pies,
Rumpled clothes;

Torn books,
Spoilt toys;
Arch looks,
Unlike a boy’s;

Little rages,
Obvious arts;
(Three her age is,)
Cakes, tarts;

Falling down
Off chairs;
Breaking crown
Down stairs;

Catching flies
On the pane;
Deep sighs,--
Cause not plain;

Bribing you
With kisses
For a few
Farthing blisses;

Wide awake,
As you hear,
“Mercy’s sake,
Quiet, dear!”

New shoes,
New frock;
Vague views
Of what’s o’clock

When it’s time
To go to bed,
And scorn sublime
Of what is said;

Folded hands,
Saying prayers,
Understands
Not, nor cares;

Thinks it odd,
Smiles away;
Yet may God
Hear her pray!

Bedgown white,
Kiss Dolly;
Good-night!--
That’s Polly,

Fast asleep,
As you see;
Heaven keep
My girl for me!

THE WINDMILL

Now, who will live in the windmill, who,
With the powdery miller-man?
The miller is one, but who’ll make two,
To share his loaf and can?

“O, I will live with the miller, I!
To grind the corn is grand;
The great black sails go up on high,
And come down to the land!”

Now who will be the miller’s bride?
The miller’s in haste to wed
A girl in her pride, with a sash at her side,
A girl with a curly head!

“O, I will be the miller’s wife;
The dust is all my joy;
To live in a windmill all my life
Would be a sweet employ!”

Then spake the goblin of the sails
(You heard, but could not see),
“The wickedest man of the hills and dales,
The miller-man is he!

“None ever dwelt in the mill before
But died by the miller’s steel;
The whiskered rats lap up their gore,
He grinds their bones to meal!”

O gossiping goblin, my dreams will be bad,
You tell such dreadful tales!
O mill, how secret you seem! how mad,
How wicked you look, black sails!

THE GIRL THAT GARIBALDI KISSED

Oh, where’s the little maid
That Garibaldi kissed?
She ought to be displayed,
She shall be, I insist,

Command, resolve, determine,--
Beneath a tent of gold,
In swan’s-down and in ermine,
If Christmas should be cold!

I am not very rich,
But would give a golden guinea
To see that little witch,
That happy pick-a-ninny!

He bowed to my own daughter,
And Polly is her name;
She wore a shirt of slaughter,
Of Garibaldi flame,--

Of course I mean of scarlet;
But the girl he kissed--who knows?--
May be named Selina Charlotte,
And dressed in yellow clothes!

I look for her in church,
I seek her in the crowd;
Some bellman on a perch
Ought to ask for her out loud!

I would offer a reward,
But I might get cheated then,
And I cannot well afford
To make that guinea ten.

She may live up in Lancashire,
All in her yellow gown,
Or down in Hankypankyshire,
Or here in London town.

She may be on board a steamer
Upon the briny sea--
O stewardess! esteem her,
For a glorious girl is she!

Perhaps at some academy
Her _Télémaque_ is read--
They would think it very bad of me
To turn her little head!

She may be doing fancy-work,
She may be taking tea;
But I wish some necromancy-work
Would bring that girl to me!

For I would dress the little girl
That Garibaldi kissed
In a necklace all of precious pearl,
With a bracelet for her wrist,

With diamonds in her stomacher,
And garlands in her hair;
She should sit, for folks to come at her,
All in a silver chair;

And no one would be rude
To Garibaldi’s pet,--
The sight would do the people good,
They never would forget!

Oh glorious is the girl
Whom such a man has kissed,
The proudest duke or earl
Stands lower in the list!

It would be a happy plan
For everything that’s human,
If the pet of such a man
Should grow to such a woman!

If she does as much in her way
As he has done in his,--
Turns bad things topsy-turvey,
And sad things into bliss,--
Oh, we shall not need a survey
To find that little miss,
Grown to a woman worthy
Of Garibaldi’s kiss!

SEEING GOD

It is dark, the night is come,
And the world is hushed and dumb;
Sleep, my darling; God is here!--
_Shall I see Him, mother dear?_

It is day, the sun is bright,
And the world is laid in light;
Wake, my darling, God is here!--
_Shall I see Him, mother dear?_

Not the day’s awakening light,
Babe, can show thee God aright;
Not the dark, that brings thee sleep,
Him can from my darling keep.

Day and night are His, to fill:
We are His, to do His will;
Do His will, and, never fear,
_Thou shalt see Him, baby dear_.

FAIR LADY, RARE LADY

Fair lady, rare lady,
Light on the lea
Wandering, and pondering--
“Oh, bring him to me!”

Gallant knight, valiant knight,
Swift on the sea
Sailing, prevailing,
Thy shallop shall be!

Ringing bells, singing bells,
Chime merrilie!
Brave knight and lady bright
Wedded shall be!

THE ABSENT BOY

I know an absent-minded boy,
To meditate is all his joy;
He seldom does the thing he ought
Because he is so rapt in thought.

At marbles he can never win;
He wears his waistcoat outside in;
He cannot add a sum up right;
And often he is not polite.

His mother cries, “My poor heart breaks,
Because the child makes such mistakes;
He never knows,” she says with sighs,
“Which side his bread the butter lies!”

One day, absorbed in meditation,
He roamed into a railway station,
And in a corner of a train
Sat down, with inattentive brain.

They rang the bell, the whistle blew,
They shook the flags, the engine flew;
But all the noise did not induce
This boy to quit his mood abstruse.

And when three hours were past and gone
He found himself at Something_ton_;
“What is this place?” he sighed in vain,
For railway men can not speak plain.

When he got home his parents had
To pay his fare, which was too bad;
More than two hundred miles, alas!
The Absent Boy had gone first-class.

For fear he should, in absentness,
Forget his own name and address
Whilst he pursues his meditations,
And so be lost to his relations,

Would it be best that he should wear
A collar like our Tray? or bear
His name and home in indigo
Pricked on his shoulder, or below?

The chief objection to this plan
Is, that his father is a man
Who often moves. If we begin
To prick the Boy’s home on his skin,

Before long he will be tattooed
With indigo from head to foot:
Perhaps a label on his chest
Would meet the difficulty best.

MORNING

Welcome to the new To-day!
Yesterday is past and gone;
Good-bye Night and Twilight gray,
Earth has put the Morning on:

Morning on the high hill’s shoulder,
On the valley’s lap so soft,
On the river running colder,
On the trees with heads aloft.

All night Baby thought of nothing,
Sleep took care of Baby dear;
Baby, too, has fine new clothing,
Now the sweet To-day is here.

Tell me, without many guesses,--
Come! it is not much to con,--
Tell me what my Babe’s new dress is?
Babe has put the Morning on!

THE RISING, WATCHING MOON

Ah, the moon is watching me!
Red, and round as round can be,
Over the house and the top of the tree
Rising slowly. We shall see
Something happen very soon;--
Hide me from the dreadful moon!

Slowly, surely, rising higher,
Soon she will be as high as the spire!
It seems as if something must happen then
To all the world, and all the men!
Oh, I dare not think, for I am not wise--
I must look away, I must shut my eyes!

THE FLOWERS

When Love arose in heart and deed,
To wake the world to greater joy,
“What can she give me now?” said Greed,
Who thought to win some costly toy.

He rose, he ran, he stooped, he clutched,
And soon the flowers, that Love let fall,
In Greed’s hot grasp were frayed and smutched,
And Greed said, “Flowers! can this be all?”

He flung them down, and went his way,
He cared no jot for thyme or rose;
But boys and girls came out to play,
And some took these, and some took those,

Red, blue, and white, and green and gold;
And at their touch the dew returned,
And all the bloom a thousand fold,
So red, so ripe, the roses burned.

THE PENANCE OF THE LITTLE MAID

I met a fair maiden, I saw her plain,
In the five-acre when the corn was mellow,
Counting her fingers again and again,
Her kirtle was green, her hair was yellow,
“Oh, what are you counting, fair maid?” said I,
“Counting, I will be bound, your treasures?”
“Oh no, kind sir,” she made sad reply,
“Counting, for penance, my unshared pleasures.”

Her head was bent low, and slowly went she;
If she goes on straight, she must come to the sea!

Blow, blow, south wind, the year’s on the turn;
Creep, little blue-bell, close under the fern!

I hope that the penance the little maid is doing
Will be finished before winter comes with rattle, rain, and ruin?

“Oh yes, kind sir, my penance will be over”
(She told me in a dream last night, I know it will come true),
“Come and look for me next summer, when the bee is in the clover,
And I will share my pleasures then with you, you, you!”

FRODGEDOBBULUM’S FANCY

I

Did you ever see Giant Frodgedobbulum,
With his double great-toe and his double great thumb?

Did you ever hear Giant Frodgedobbulum,
Saying _Fa-fe-fi_ and _fo-faw-fum_?

He shakes the earth as he walks along,
As deep as the sea, as far as Hong-kong!

He is a giant and no mistake;
With teeth like the prongs of a garden rake!

II

The Giant Frodgedobbulum got out of bed,
Sighing, “Heigh-ho! that I were but wed!”

The Giant Frodgedobbulum sat in his chair,
Saying, “Why should a giant be wanting a fair?”

The Giant Frodgedobbulum said to his boots,
“The first maid I meet I will wed, if she suits!”

They were Magic Boots, and they laughed as he spoke--
“Oh, ho,” says the giant, “you think it’s a joke?”