Chapter II: Preface: v (1)

_For the Very Smallest Ones_

RHYMES AND JINGLES

Merry are the Bells 1
Safe in Bed 2
Jenny Wren 2
Curly Locks 3
Pussy-Cat Mew 3
Draw a Pail of Water 4
I Saw a Ship a-sailing 4
The Nut-Tree 5
My Maid Mary 5
The Wind and the Fisherman 6
Blow, Wind, Blow 6
All Busy 6
Winter has Come 7
Poor Robin 7
I have a Little Sister 7
In Marble Walls 8

FAMILIAR OBJECTS

The Moon _Eliza Lee Follen_ 8
The Star _A. & J. Taylor_ 9
Kitty _Mrs E. Prentiss_ 10
Kitty: How to Treat Her 11
Kitty: what She thinks of Herself _W. B. Rands_ 12
The Sea Shell _Amy Lowell_ 12

COUNTRY BOYS’ SONGS

The Cuckoo 13
The Bird-Scarer’s Song 13
Cradle Song 13

Good Night! _A. & J. Taylor_ 14

_For Those a Little Older_

A BUNCH OF LENT LILIES

Daffodils _W. Shakespeare_ 15
To Daffodils _R. Herrick_ 15
Daffodils _W. Wordsworth_ 16

SEASONS AND WEATHER

The Months _Sara Coleridge_ 17
The Wind in a Frolic _William Howitt_ 19
The Four Sweet Months _R. Herrick_ 22
Glad Day _W. G. Robertson_ 22
Buttercups and Daisies _Mary Howitt_ 24
The Merry Month of March _W. Wordsworth_ 24
What the Birds Say _S. T. Coleridge_ 25
Spring’s Procession _Sydney Dobell_ 26
The Call of the Woods _W. Shakespeare_ 28
A Prescription for a Spring
Morning _John Davidson_ 28
The Country Faith _Norman Gale_ 29
The Butterfly’s Ball _W. Roscoe_ 30

TASTES AND PREFERENCES

A Wish _Samuel Rogers_ 33
Wishing _W. Allingham_ 34
Bunches of Grapes _Walter Ramal_ 35
Contentment _Eugene Field_ 36

TOYS AND PLAY, IN-DOORS AND OUT
The Land of Story-Books _R. L. Stevenson_ 38
Sand Castles _W. G. Robertson_ 39
Ring o’ Roses ” 41

DREAM-LAND

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod _Eugene Field_ 42
The Drummer-Boy and the
Shepherdess _W. B. Rands_ 44
The Land of Dreams _William Blake_ 45
Sweet and Low _Lord Tennyson_ 45
Cradle Song _Sir Walter Scott_ 46
Mother and I _Eugene Field_ 47

FAIRY-LAND

The Fairies _W. Allingham_ 48
Shakespeare’s Fairies _W. Shakespeare_ 51
The Lavender Beds _W. B. Rands_ 54
Farewell to the Fairies _Richard Corbet_ 55
Death of Oberon _G. W. Thornbury_ 57
Kilmeny _James Hogg_ 58

TWO SONGS

A Boy’s Song _James Hogg_ 62
A Girl’s Song _Thomas Moore_ 63

FUR AND FEATHER

Three Things to Remember _William Blake_ 65
The Knight of Bethlehem _H. N. Maugham_ 65
The Lamb _William Blake_ 65
The Tiger ” 66
I had a Dove _J. Keats_ 67
Robin Redbreast _W. Allingham_ 68
Black Bunny _W. B. Rands_ 69
The Cow _A. & J. Taylor_ 71
The Skylark _James Hogg_ 72

CHRISTMAS POEMS

Christmas Eve _John Davidson_ 73
A Christmas Carol _R. Herrick_ 75
A Child’s Present ” 76
The Peace-Giver _A. C. Swinburne_ 77

VARIOUS

To a Singer _P. B. Shelley_ 78
The Happy Piper _William Blake_ 80
The Destruction of Sennacherib _Lord Byron_ 81
Sheridan’s Ride _T. Buchanan Read_ 83
Columbus _Joaquin Miller_ 86
Horatius _Lord Macaulay_ 88

INDEX OF AUTHORS 113

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 115

_For the Very Smallest Ones_

RHYMES AND JINGLES

_We begin with some jingles and old rhymes; for rhymes and jingles must not be despised. They have rhyme, rhythm, melody, and joy; and it is well for beginners to know that these are all elements of poetry, so that they will turn to it with pleasant expectation._

MERRY ARE THE BELLS

Merry are the bells, and merry would they ring,
Merry was myself, and merry could I sing;
With a merry ding-dong, happy, gay, and free,
And a merry sing-song, happy let us be!

Waddle goes your gait, and hollow are your hose;
Noddle goes your pate, and purple is your nose;
Merry is your sing-song, happy, gay, and free;
With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be!

Merry have we met, and merry have we been;
Merry let us part, and merry meet again;
With our merry sing-song, happy, gay, and free,
With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be!

SAFE IN BED

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John,
Bless the bed that I lie on!
Four corners to my bed,
Five angels there lie spread;
Two at my head,
Two at my feet,
One at my heart, my soul to keep.

JENNY WREN

Jenny Wren fell sick;
Upon a merry time,
In came Robin Redbreast,
And brought her sops of wine.

Eat well of the sop, Jenny,
Drink well of the wine;
Thank you Robin kindly,
You shall be mine.

Jenny she got well,
And stood upon her feet,
And told Robin plainly
She loved him not a bit.

Robin, being angry,
Hopp’d on a twig,
Saying, Out upon you,
Fye upon you,
Bold-faced jig!

CURLY LOCKS

Curly locks! Curly locks!
Wilt thou be mine?
Thou shalt not wash dishes
Nor yet feed the swine.
But sit on a cushion
And sew a fine seam,
And feed upon strawberries
Sugar and cream.

PUSSY-CAT MEW

Pussy-cat Mew jumped over a coal,
And in her best petticoat burnt a great hole.
Pussy-cat Mew shall have no more milk
Till she has mended her gown of silk.

DRAW A PAIL OF WATER

Draw a pail of water
For my Lady’s daughter.
Father’s a King,
Mother’s a Queen,
My two little sisters are dressed in green,
Stamping marigolds and parsley.

I SAW A SHIP A-SAILING

I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea;
And it was full of pretty things
For baby and for me.

There were sweetmeats in the cabin,
And apples in the hold;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold.

The four-and-twenty sailors
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks.

The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back;
And when the ship began to move,
The captain cried, “Quack, quack!”

THE NUT-TREE

I had a little nut-tree,
Nothing would it bear
But a silver nutmeg
And a golden pear;
The King of Spain’s daughter
She came to see me,
And all because of my little nut-tree.
I skipped over water,
I danced over sea,
And all the birds in the air couldn’t catch me.

MY MAID MARY

My maid Mary she minds the dairy,
While I go a-hoeing and a-mowing each morn;
Gaily run the reel and the little spinning-wheel,
Whilst I am singing and mowing my corn.

THE WIND AND THE FISHERMAN

When the wind is in the East,
’Tis neither good for man or beast;
When the wind is in the North,
The skilful fisher goes not forth;
When the wind is in the South,
It blows the bait in the fish’s mouth;
When the wind is in the West,
Then ’tis at the very best.

BLOW, WIND, BLOW

Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go!
That the miller may grind his corn;
That the baker may take it and into rolls make it,
And send us some hot in the morn.

ALL BUSY

The cock’s on the house-top,
Blowing his horn;
The bull’s in the barn,
A-threshing of corn;
The maids in the meadows
Are making the hay,
The ducks in the river
Are swimming away.

WINTER HAS COME

Cold and raw
The north wind doth blow
Bleak in the morning early;
All the hills are covered with snow,
And winter’s now come fairly.

POOR ROBIN

The north wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will poor Robin do then, poor thing?
He’ll sit in the barn,
And keep himself warm,
And hide his head under his wing, poor thing!

I HAVE A LITTLE SISTER

I have a little sister, they call her Peep, Peep,
She wades the waters, deep, deep, deep;
She climbs the mountains, high, high, high;
Poor little creature, she has but one eye.
(A star.)

IN MARBLE WALLS

In marble walls as white as milk,
Lined with a skin as soft as silk,
Within a fountain crystal-clear,
A golden apple doth appear.
No doors there are to this stronghold,
Yet thieves break in and steal the gold.
(An egg.)

FAMILIAR OBJECTS

_Here are some poems about things with which we are all quite familiar: the Moon and the Stars that we see through our bedroom window; Pussy purring on the hearthrug, the spotted shell on the mantelpiece._

THE MOON

O, look at the moon!
She is shining up there;
O mother, she looks
Like a lamp in the air.

Last week she was smaller,
And shaped like a bow;
But now she’s grown bigger,
And round as an O.

Pretty moon, pretty moon,
How you shine on the door,
And make it all bright
On my nursery floor!

You shine on my playthings,
And show me their place,
And I love to look up
At your pretty bright face.

And there is a star
Close by you, and maybe
That small twinkling star
Is your little baby.

ELIZA LEE FOLLEN.

THE STAR

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark;
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

ANN AND JANE TAYLOR.

KITTY

Once there was a little kitty
Whiter than snow;
In a barn she used to frolic,
Long time ago.

In the barn a little mousie
Ran to and fro;
For she heard the kitty coming,
Long time ago.

Two eyes had little kitty,
Black as a sloe;
And they spied the little mousie,
Long time ago.

Four paws had little kitty,
Paws soft as dough,
And they caught the little mousie,
Long time ago.

Nine teeth had little kitty,
All in a row;
And they bit the little mousie,
Long time ago.

When the teeth bit little mousie,
Little mouse cried “Oh!”
But she got away from kitty,
Long time ago.

MRS E. PRENTISS.

KITTY: HOW TO TREAT HER

I like 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.

KITTY: WHAT SHE THINKS OF HERSELF

I am the Cat of Cats. I am
The everlasting cat!
Cunning, and old, and sleek as jam,
The everlasting cat!
I hunt the vermin in the night--
The everlasting cat!
For I see best without the light--
The everlasting cat!

W. B. RANDS.

THE SEA SHELL

Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O please!
A song of ships and sailor-men,
Of parrots and tropical trees;
Of islands lost in the Spanish Main
Which no man ever may see again,
Of fishes and corals under the waves,
And sea-horses stabled in great green caves--
Sea Shell, Sea Shell,
Sing me a song, O please!

AMY LOWELL.

COUNTRY BOYS’ SONGS

THE CUCKOO

The cuckoo’s a bonny bird,
She sings as she flies;
She brings us good tidings,
And tells us no lies.
She sucks little birds’ eggs,
To make her voice clear,
And never cries Cuckoo
Till the spring of the year.

THE BIRD-SCARER’S SONG

We’ve ploughed our land, we’ve sown our seed,
We’ve made all neat and gay;
Then take a bit and leave a bit,
Away, birds, away!

CRADLE SONG

Sleep, baby, sleep,
Our cottage vale is deep;
The little lamb is on the green,
With woolly fleece so soft and clean,
Sleep, baby, sleep!

Sleep, baby, sleep,
Down where the woodbines creep;
Be always like the lamb so mild,
A kind and sweet and gentle child,
Sleep, baby, sleep!

GOOD NIGHT!

Little baby, lay your head
On your pretty cradle-bed;
Shut your eye-peeps, now the day
And the light are gone away;
All the clothes are tucked in tight;
Little baby dear, good night.

Yes, my darling, well I know
How the bitter wind doth blow;
And the winter’s snow and rain
Patter on the window-pane:
But they cannot come in here,
To my little baby dear.

For the window shutteth fast,
Till the stormy night is past;
And the curtains warm are spread
Round about her cradle-bed:
So till morning shineth bright
Little baby dear, good night!

ANN AND JANE TAYLOR.

_For Those a Little Older_

A BUNCH OF LENT LILIES

_Here three Poets treat the same flower each from his own distinct and delightful point of view. To the first it appeals as the flower of courage, the brave early comer; to the second it is the early goer, the flower of a too swift departure--though daffodils really bloom for a fairly long time, as flowers go; the third is grateful for an imperishable recollection._

DAFFODILS

... Daffodils
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty.

SHAKESPEARE.

TO DAFFODILS

Fair daffodils, we weep to see
You haste away so soon;
As yet the early-rising sun
Has not attain’d his noon.
Stay, stay
Until the hasting day
Has run
But to the evensong;
And, having pray’d together, we
Will go with you along.

We have short time to stay, as you,
We have as short a spring;
As quick a growth to meet decay,
As you, or anything.
We die
As your hours do, and dry
Away
Like to the summer’s rain;
Or as the pearls of morning’s dew,
Ne’er to be found again.

ROBERT HERRICK.

DAFFODILS

I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

SEASONS AND WEATHER

THE MONTHS

January brings the snow,
Makes our feet and fingers glow.

February brings the rain,
Thaws the frozen lake again.

March brings breezes loud and shrill,
Stirs the dancing daffodil.

April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.

May brings flocks of pretty lambs,
Skipping by their fleecy dams.

June brings tulips, lilies, roses,
Fills the children’s hands with posies.

Hot July brings cooling showers,
Apricots and gillyflowers.

August brings the sheaves of corn,
Then the harvest home is borne.

Warm September brings the fruit,
Sportsmen then begin to shoot.

Fresh October brings the pheasant,
Then to gather nuts is pleasant.

Dull November brings the blast,
Then the leaves are whirling fast.

Chill December brings the sleet,
Blazing fire and Christmas treat.

SARA COLERIDGE.

THE WIND IN A FROLIC

The 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.
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges trundled about;
And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes
For ever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

Then away to the field it went 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 sullenly mute.
So on it went, capering and playing its pranks;
Whistling with reeds on the broad river’s banks;
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveller grave on the king’s highway.
It was not too nice[1] to hustle the bags
Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags;
’Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke
With the doctor’s wig, or the gentleman’s cloak.
Through the forest it roared, and cried gaily, “Now,
You sturdy old oaks, I’ll make you bow!”
And it made them bow without more ado,
Or it cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,
Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm;
And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.
There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,
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 be gone.
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.

But away went the wind in its holiday glee,
And now it was far on the billowy sea,
And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow,
And the little boats darted to and fro.
But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest,
On the sea-bird’s rock in the gleaming West,
Laughing to think, in its fearful fun,
How little of mischief it had done.

WILLIAM HOWITT.

[1] _nice_: particular.

THE FOUR SWEET MONTHS

First, April, she with mellow showers
Opens the way for early flowers;
Then after her comes smiling May,
In a more sweet and rich array;
Next enters June, and brings us more
Gems than those two that went before:
Then, lastly, July comes and she
More wealth brings in than all those three.

ROBERT HERRICK.

GLAD DAY

Here’s another day, dear,
Here’s the sun again
Peeping in his pleasant way
Through the window pane.
Rise and let him in, dear,
Hail him “hip hurray!”
Now the fun will all begin.
Here’s another day!

Down the coppice path, dear,
Through the dewy glade,
(When the Morning took her bath
What a splash she made!)
Up the wet wood-way, dear,
Under dripping green
Run to meet another day,
Brightest ever seen.

Mushrooms in the field, dear,
Show their silver gleam.
What a dainty crop they yield
Firm as clouted cream,
Cool as balls of snow, dear,
Sweet and fresh and round!
Ere the early dew can go
We must clear the ground.

Such a lot to do, dear,
Such a lot to see!
How we ever can get through
Fairly puzzles me.
Hurry up and out, dear,
Then--away! away!
In and out and round about,
Here’s another day!

W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON.

BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES

Buttercups and daisies--
O the pretty flowers!
Coming ere the spring-time,
To tell of sunny hours.
When the trees are leafless;
When the fields are bare;
Buttercups and daisies
Spring up here and there.

Welcome, yellow buttercups!
Welcome, daisies white!
Ye are in my spirit
Vision’d, a delight!
Coming ere the spring-time,
Of sunny hours to tell--
Speaking to our hearts of Him
Who doeth all things well.

MARY HOWITT.

THE MERRY MONTH OF MARCH

The 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 Plough-boy is whooping anon, anon.
There’s joy in the mountains;
There’s life in the fountains;
Small clouds are sailing,
Blue sky prevailing;
The rain is over and gone!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

WHAT THE BIRDS SAY

Do you know 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 for ever sings he--
“I love my love, and my love loves me!”

S. T. COLERIDGE.

SPRING’S PROCESSION

First came the primrose,
On the bank high,
Like a maiden looking forth
From the window of a tower
When the battle rolls below,
So look’d she,
And saw the storms go by.

Then came the wind-flower
In the valley left behind,
As a wounded maiden, pale
With purple streaks of woe,
When the battle has roll’d by
Wanders to and fro,
So tottered she,
Dishevell’d in the wind.

Then came the daisies,
On the first of May,
Like a banner’d show’s advance
While the crowd runs by the way,
With ten thousand flowers about them
they came trooping through the fields.
As a happy people come,
So came they,
As a happy people come
When the war has roll’d away,
With dance and tabor, pipe and drum,
And all make holiday.

Then came the cowslip,
Like a dancer in the fair,
She spread her little mat of green,
And on it danced she.
With a fillet bound about her brow,
A fillet round her happy brow,
A golden fillet round her brow,
And rubies in her hair.

SYDNEY DOBELL.

THE CALL OF THE WOODS

Under 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 he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun,
And loves to live in the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleas’d with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither!
Here shall he see
No enemy
But winter and rough weather.

SHAKESPEARE.

A PRESCRIPTION FOR A SPRING MORNING

At early dawn through London you must go
Until you come where long black hedgerows grow,
With pink buds pearl’d, with here and there a tree,
And gates and stiles; and watch good country folk;
And scent the spicy smoke
Of wither’d weeds that burn where gardens be;
And in a ditch perhaps a primrose see.
The rooks shall stalk the plough, larks mount the skies,
Blackbirds and speckled thrushes sing aloud,
Hid in the warm white cloud
Mantling the thorn, and far away shall rise
The milky low of cows and farm-yard cries.

From windy heavens the climbing sun shall shine,
And February greet you like a maid
In russet cloak array’d;
And you shall take her for your mistress fine,
And pluck a crocus for her valentine.

JOHN DAVIDSON.

THE COUNTRY FAITH

Here in the country’s heart
Where the grass is green,
Life is the same sweet life
As it e’er hath been

Trust in a God still lives,
And the bell at morn
Floats with a thought of God
O’er the rising corn.

God comes down in the rain,
And the crop grows tall--
This is the country faith,
And the best of all.

NORMAN GALE.

THE BUTTERFLY’S BALL

“Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste
To the Butterfly’s Ball and the Grasshopper’s Feast;
The Trumpeter, Gadfly, has summoned the crew,
And the revels are now only waiting for you.”
So said little Robert, and pacing along,
His merry Companions came forth in a throng,
And on the smooth Grass by the side of a Wood,
Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood,
Saw the Children of Earth and the Tenants of Air
For an Evening’s Amusement together repair.

And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,
Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back.
And there was the Gnat and the Dragon-fly too,
With all their Relations, green, orange and blue.
And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down,
And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and brown;
Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,
But they promised that evening to lay by their sting.
And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole,
And brought to the feast his blind Brother, the Mole,
And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell,
Came from a great distance, the length of an ell.

A Mushroom their Table, and on it was laid
A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made.
The Viands were various, to each of their taste,
And the Bee brought her honey to crown the Repast.
Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,
The Frog from a corner look’d up to the skies;
And the Squirrel, well pleased such diversions to see,
Mounted high overhead and look’d down from a tree.

Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,
To show his dexterity on the tight-line.
From one branch to another his cobwebs he slung,
Then quick as an arrow he darted along.
But just in the middle--oh! shocking to tell,
From his rope, in an instant, poor Harlequin fell.
Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread,
Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread.

Then the Grasshopper came, with a jerk and a spring,
Very long was his leg, though but short was his Wing;
He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight,
Then chirp’d his own praises the rest of the night.

With step so majestic the Snail did advance,
And promised the Gazers a Minuet to dance;
But they all laughed so loud that he pulled in his head,
And went in his own little chamber to bed.
Then as Evening gave way to the shadows of Night,
Their Watchman, the Glowworm, came out with a light.

“Then home let us hasten, while yet we can see,
For no Watchman is waiting for you and for me.”
So said little Robert, and pacing along,
His merry Companions return’d in a throng.

WILLIAM ROSCOE.

TASTES AND PREFERENCES

A WISH

Mine be a cot beside the hill;
A bee-hive’s hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow oft beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch
And share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy at her wheel shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.

The village church among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to Heaven.

SAMUEL ROGERS.

WISHING

Ring-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.

BUNCHES OF GRAPES

“Bunches of grapes,” says Timothy;
“Pomegranates pink,” says Elaine;
“A junket of cream and a cranberry tart
For me,” says Jane.

“Love-in-a-mist,” says Timothy;
“Primroses pale,” says Elaine;
“A nosegay of pinks and mignonette
For me,” says Jane.

“Chariots of gold,” says Timothy;
“Silvery wings,” says Elaine;
“A bumpity ride in a waggon of hay
For me,” says Jane.

WALTER RAMAL.

CONTENTMENT

Once on a time an old red hen
Went strutting round with pompous clucks,
For she had little babies ten,
A part of which were tiny ducks.
“’Tis very rare that hens,” said she,
“Have baby ducks as well as chicks--
But I possess, as you can see,
Of chickens four and ducklings six!”

A season later, this old hen
Appeared, still cackling of her luck,
For, though she boasted babies ten,
Not one among them was a duck!
“’Tis well,” she murmured, brooding o’er
The little chicks of fleecy down,
“My babies now will stay ashore,
And, consequently, cannot drown!”

The following spring the old red hen
Clucked just as proudly as of yore--
But lo! her babes were ducklings ten,
Instead of chickens as before!
“’Tis better,” said the old red hen,
As she surveyed her waddling brood;
“A little water now and then
Will surely do my darlings good!”

But oh! alas, how very sad!
When gentle spring rolled round again,
The eggs eventuated bad,
And childless was the old red hen!
Yet patiently she bore her woe,
And still she wore a cheerful air,
And said: “’Tis best these things are so,
For babies are a dreadful care!”

I half suspect that many men,
And many, many women too,
Could learn a lesson from the hen
With plumage of vermilion hue.
She ne’er presumed to take offence
At any fate that might befall,
But meekly bowed to Providence--
She was contented--that was all!

EUGENE FIELD.

TOYS AND PLAY, IN-DOORS AND OUT

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 sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along 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,
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 for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.

R. L. STEVENSON.

SAND CASTLES

Build me a castle of sand
Down by the sea.
Here on the edge of the strand
Build it for me.
How shall a foeman invade,
Where may he land,
While we can raise with our spade
Castles of sand?

Turrets upleap and aspire,
Battlements rise
Sweeping the sea with their fire,
Storming the skies.
Pile that a monarch might own,
Mightily plann’d!
I can’t sit here on a throne,
This is too grand.

Build me a cottage of sand
Up on the hill;
Snug in a cleft it must stand
Sunny and still.
Plant it with ragwort and ling,
Bramble and bine:
Castles I’ll leave to the King,
This shall be mine.

Storm-clouds drive over the land,
High flies the spray;
Gone are our houses of sand,
Vanished away!
Look at the damage you’ve done,
Sea-wave and rain!
--“Nay, we but give you your fun
Over again.”

W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON.

RING O’ ROSES

Hush a while, my darling, for the long day closes,
Nodding into slumber on the blue hill’s crest.
See the little clouds play Ring a ring o’ roses,
Planting Fairy gardens in the red-rose West.

Greet him for us, cloudlets, say we’re not forgetting
Golden gifts of sunshine, merry hours of play.
Ring a ring o’ roses round the sweet sun’s setting,
Spread a bed of roses for the dear dead day.

Hush-a-bye, my little one, the dear day dozes,
Doffed his crown of kingship and his fair flag furled,
While the earth and sky play Ring a ring o’ roses,
Ring a ring o’ roses round the rose-red world.

W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON.

DREAM-LAND

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD

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?”
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.

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
That lived in that beautiful sea--
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish--
Never afeared are we”:
So cried the stars to the fishermen three:
Wynken,
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,
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:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,
And Nod is a little head,
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
As you rock in the misty sea,
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three:
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.

EUGENE FIELD.

THE DRUMMER-BOY AND THE SHEPERDESS

Drummer-boy, drummer-boy, where is your drum?
And why do you weep, sitting here on your thumb?
The soldiers are out, and the fifes we can hear;
But where is the drum of the young grenadier?

“My dear little drum it was stolen away
Whilst I was asleep on a sunshiny day;
It was all through the drone of a big bumblebee,
And sheep and a shepherdess under a tree.”

Shepherdess, shepherdess, where is your crook?
And why is your little lamb over the brook?
It bleats for its dam, and dog Tray is not by,
So why do you stand with a tear in your eye?

“My dear little crook it was stolen away
Whilst I dreamt a dream on a morning in May;
It was all through the drone of a big bumblebee,
And a drum and a drummer-boy under a tree.”

W. B. RANDS.

THE LAND OF DREAMS

“Awake, awake, my little boy!
Thou wast thy mother’s only joy;
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
O wake! thy father doth thee keep.

O what land is the land of dreams?
What are its mountains and what are its streams?”
“O father! I saw my mother there,
Among the lilies by waters fair.”

“Dear child! I also by pleasant streams
Have wandered all night in the land of dreams,
But, though calm and warm the waters wide
I could not get to the other side.”

“Father, O father! what do we here,
In this land of unbelief and fear?
The land of dreams is better far,
Above the light of the morning star.”

WILLIAM BLAKE.

SWEET AND LOW

Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again 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, LORD TENNYSON.

CRADLE SONG

O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear baby, 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 would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

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

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

MOTHER AND I

O Mother-My-Love, if you’ll give me your hand,
And go where I ask you to wander,
I will lead you away to a beautiful land--
The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder.
We’ll walk in a sweet-posy garden out there,
Where moonlight and starlight are streaming,
And the flowers and the birds are filling the air
With the fragrance and music of dreaming.

There’ll be no little tired-out boy to undress,
No questions or cares to perplex you;
There’ll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,
Nor patching of stockings to vex you.
For I’ll rock you away on a silver-dew stream,
And sing you asleep when you’re weary,
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream
But you and your own little dearie.

And when I am tired I’ll nestle my head
In the bosom that’s sooth’d me so often,
And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead
A song which our dreaming shall soften.
So Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand,
And away through the starlight we’ll wander--
Away through the mist to the beautiful land--
The Dreamland that’s waiting out yonder!

EUGENE FIELD.

FAIRY-LAND

THE FAIRIES

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.

High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and grey
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
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 hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig one up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together,
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.

SHAKESPEARE’S FAIRIES

_Some of them_,--

Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes and groves,
And ye that on the sands with printless foot
Do chase the ebbing Neptune and do fly him
When he comes back; you demi-puppets[2], that
By moonshine do the green sour ringlets make
Whereof the ewe not bites, and you whose pastime
Is to make midnight mushrooms, that rejoice
To hear the solemn curfew....

_They Dance and Play_,--

Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands:
Courtsied when you have, and kiss’d,--
The wild waves whist[3],--
Foot it featly[4] here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
_Bow, wow_,
The watch-dogs bark:
_Bow, wow_,
Hark, hark! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!

_Ariel Sings_,--

Where 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 hangs on the bough.

_A Busy One_

Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moonè’s sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs[5] upon the green.

The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours:
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip’s ear.

_They Sing Their Queen to Sleep_,--

You spotted snakes with double tongue,
Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;
Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;
Come not near our fairy queen.
Philomel, with melody
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders, come not here;
Hence, you long-legg’d spinners, hence!
Beetles black, approach not near;
Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!
Never harm,
Nor spell nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh;
So, good night, with lullaby.

SHAKESPEARE.

[2] _Demi-puppets_: half the size of a doll.

[3] _Whist_: silent.

[4] _Featly_: neatly, elegantly.

[5] _Orbs_: circles, or fairy rings.

THE LAVENDER BEDS

The garden was pleasant with old-fashioned flowers,
The sunflowers and hollyhocks stood up like towers;
There were dark turncap lilies and jessamine rare,
And sweet thyme and marjoram scented the air.

The moon made the sun-dial tell the time wrong;
’Twas too late in the year for the nightingale’s song;
The box-trees were clipped, and the alleys were straight,
Till you came to the shrubbery hard by the gate.

The fairies stepped out of the lavender beds,
With mob-caps, or wigs, on their quaint little heads;
My lord had a sword and my lady a fan;
The music struck up and the dancing began.

I watched them go through with a grave minuet;
Wherever they footed the dew was not wet;
They bowed and they curtsied, the brave and the fair;
And laughter like chirping of crickets was there.

Then all on a sudden a church clock struck loud:
A flutter, a shiver, was seen in the crowd,
The cock crew, the wind woke, the trees tossed their heads,
And the fairy folk hid in the lavender beds.

W. B. RANDS.

FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES

Farewell rewards and fairies,
Good housewives now may say,
For now foul sluts in dairies
Do fare as well as they.
And though they sweep their hearths no less
Than maids were wont to do,
Yet who of late, for cleanliness,
Finds sixpence in her shoe?

At morning and at evening both,
You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleep or sloth
Those pretty ladies had.
When Tom came home from labour,
Or Cis to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabor,
And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelays
Of theirs, which yet remain,
Were footed in Queen Mary’s days
On many a grassy plain;
But since of late Elizabeth,
And later, James came in,
They never danced on any heath
As when the time hath been.

By which we note the fairies
Were of the old profession,
Their songs were Ave-Maries,
Their dances were procession:
But now, alas! they all are dead,
Or gone beyond the seas;
Or farther for religion fled,
Or else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company
They never could endure,
And whoso kept not secretly
Their mirth, was punished sure;
It was a just and Christian deed
To pinch such black and blue:
O how the commonwealth doth need
Such justices as you!

RICHARD CORBET (1582-1635).

DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF OBERON, THE FAIRY KING

Toll the lilies’ silver bells!
Oberon, the King, is dead!
In her grief the crimson rose
All her velvet leaves has shed.

Toll the lilies’ silver bells!
Oberon is dead and gone!
He who looked an emperor
When his glow-worm crown was on.

Toll the lilies’ silver bells!
Slay the dragonfly, his steed;
Dig his grave within the ring
Of the mushrooms in the mead.

G. W. THORNBURY.

(_But he wasn’t dead really. It was all a mistake. So they didn’t slay the dragonfly after all._)

KILMENY

(_A Story about one who went there_)

Bonny Kilmeny gaed[6] up the glen;
But it wasna to meet Duneira’s men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see,
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
It was only to hear the yorlin[7] sing,
And pull the blue cress-flower round the spring;
To pull the hip and the hindberrye[8],
And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree;
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
But lang may her minnie[9] look o’er the wa’,
And lang may she seek in the greenwood shaw;
Lang the Laird o’ Duneira blame,
And lang, lang greet[10] e’er Kilmeny come hame!

When many a day had come and fled,
When grief grew calm, and hope was dead,
When mass for Kilmeny’s soul had been sung,
When the bedesman had prayed and the dead-bell rung;
Late, late in a gloaming, when all was still,
When the fringe was red on the westlin[11] hill,
The wood was sere, the moon i’ the wane,
The reek[12] of the cot hung o’er the plain,
Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane[13];
When the ingle[14] lowed[15] with an eery gleam,
Late, late in the gloamin’, Kilmeny came hame!

“Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?
Lang hae we sought baith holt and dene;
By linn[16], by ford, and green-wood tree,
Yet you are halesome and fair to see.
Where gat you that joup[17] of the lily sheen?
That bonny snood[18] of the birk[19] sae green?
And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen?
Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?”

Kilmeny look’d up with a lovely grace,
But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face;
As still was her look, and as still was her ee,
As the stillness that lay on the emerald lea,
Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea.
For Kilmeny had been she knew not where,
And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare.
Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew,
Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.
But it seem’d as the harp of the sky had rung,
And the airs of heaven play’d round her tongue,
When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen,
And a land where sin had never been;
A land of love and a land of light,
Withouten sun, or moon, or night;
The land of vision it would seem,
And still an everlasting dream.

* * * * *

They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away,
And she walk’d in the light of a sunless day;
The sky was a dome of crystal bright,
The fountain of vision, and fountain of light:
The emerald fields were of dazzling glow,
And the flowers of everlasting blow.
Then deep in the stream her body they laid,
That her youth and beauty might never fade;
And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie
In the stream of life that wander’d by.
And she heard a song, she heard it sung,
She kenn’d not where; but so sweetly it rung,
It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn:
“O blest be the day Kilmeny was born!”

* * * * *

To sing of the sights Kilmeny saw,
So far surpassing nature’s law,
The singer’s voice would sink away,
And the string of his harp would cease to play.
But she saw till the sorrows of man were by,
And all was love and harmony;
Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away,
Like the flakes of snow on a winter day.

* * * * *

When seven lang years had come and fled,
When grief was calm and hope was dead;
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny’s name,
Late, late in a gloaming Kilmeny came hame!
And O, her beauty was fair to see,
But still and steadfast was her ee!
Her seymar[20] was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant melody
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to raike[21] the lanely glen,
And keepit away frae the haunts of men;
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appear’d,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheer’d;
The wolf play’d blythly round the field,
The lordly bison low’d and kneel’d;
The dun deer woo’d with manner bland,
And cower’d aneath her lily hand.
And all in a peaceful ring were hurl’d;
It was like an eve in a sinless world!

When a month and a day had come and gane,
Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene;
There laid her down on the leaves sae green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.

JAMES HOGG.

[6] _gaed_: went.

[7] _yorlin_: yellow-hammer.

[8] _hindberrye_: wild raspberry.

[9] _minnie_: mother.

[10] _greet_: weep.

[11] _westlin_: western.

[12] _reek_: smoke.

[13] _its lane_: alone.

[14] _ingle_: fire.

[15] _lowed_: flamed.

[16] _linn_: waterfall.

[17] _joup_: bodice.

[18] _snood_: hair-ribbon.

[19] _birk_: birch.

[20] _seymar_: a light robe.

[21] _raike_: wander through.

TWO SONGS

A BOY’S SONG

Where the pools are bright and deep,
Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Up the river and over the lea,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest,
Where the nestlings chirp and flee,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hay lies thick and greenest,
There to track the homeward bee,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Where the shadow falls the deepest,
Where the clustering nuts fall free,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

Why the boys should drive away
Little sweet maidens from the play,
Or love to banter and fight so well,
That’s the thing I never could tell.

But this I know, I love to play
Through the meadow, among the hay;
Up the water and over the lea,
That’s the way for Billy and me.

JAMES HOGG.

A GIRL’S SONG

There’s a bower of roses by Bendemeer’s stream,
And the nightingale sings round it all the day long;
In the time of my childhood ’twas like a sweet dream
To sit in the roses and hear the bird’s song.

That bower and its music I never forget,
But oft when alone in the bloom of the year,
I think--is the nightingale singing there yet?
Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?

No, the roses soon withered that hung o’er the wave,
But some blossoms were gathered, while freshly they shone,
And a dew was distilled from their flowers, that gave
All the fragrance of summer, when summer was gone.

Thus memory draws from delight, ere it dies,
An essence that breathes of it many a year;
Thus bright to my soul, as ’twas then to my eyes,
Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer!

THOMAS MOORE.

FUR AND FEATHER

“_Men are brethren of each other,
One in flesh and one in food;
And a sort of foster brother
Is the litter, or the brood,
Of that folk in fur or feather,
Who, with men together,
Breast the wind and weather._”

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

THREE THINGS TO REMEMBER

A Robin Redbreast in a cage
Puts all Heaven in a rage.

A skylark wounded on the wing
Doth make a cherub cease to sing.

He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be beloved by men.

WILLIAM BLAKE.

THE KNIGHT OF BETHLEHEM

There was a Knight of Bethlehem,
Whose wealth was tears and sorrows;
His men-at-arms were little lambs,
His trumpeters were sparrows.
His castle was a wooden cross,
On which he hung so high;
His helmet was a crown of thorns,
Whose crest did touch the sky.

H. N. MAUGHAM.

THE LAMB

Little 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 delight,
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?