In My Nursery

Brown owl sat on a caraway tree,
Ruffly, puffly, great big owl;
Who so learned and wise as he?
Huffly, snuffly, eminent fowl.

Black bat hung by a twig of the tree,
Blinkety, winkety, blind old bat;
Paying his court to the bumble-bee,
Fuzzy bee, buzzy bee, yellow and fat.

"Oh!" said the owl, "but the sun is so bright.
Blazing, crazing, fiery sun,
How can I possibly wait till night?
Sweltering, meltering, not much fun!"

"Oh!" said the bat, "if a cloud would come,
Showery, lowery, nice gray cloud,
I'd take my love to my cavern home,
Happily, flappily, pleased and proud."

"Oh!" said the bee, "but if that be all,
Whimpering, simpering, blear-eyed bat,
Yonder's a cloud coming up at your call,
Scowling, growling, black as your hat."

"Oh!" said the owl and the bat together:
"Rollicky, jollicky, nice fat cloud,
Give us some good, black, thundery weather;
Roar away, pour away, can't be too loud!"

Up came the cloud, spreading far and wide,
Billowy, pillowy, black as night;
Brisk little hurricane sitting inside,
Blow away, strow away, out of sight.

Off went the owl like a thistle-down puff,
Ruffly, huffly, rolled in a ball;
Off went the bat like a candle-snuff,
Fly away, die away, terrible fall.

Off went the twig, and off went the tree,
Crashing, smashing, splintering round;
Nothing was left but the bumble-bee,
And who so merry, so merry as she,
As she laughed, "Ho! ho!" as she laughed, "He! he!
Creep away, sleep away, hole in the ground."

FROM NEW YORK TO BOSTON.

[Allegro con moto.]

Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail;
Conductor the tickets is clipping,
Boy has bananas for sale.
Raindrops outside are a-dripping,—
Dripping o'er meadow and vale.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Clankety clankety clank,
Clinkety clinkety cling;
Five little boys on a bank,
One little girl in a swing.
Fishhawk o'erhead in the distance,
Spreading his wings like a sail.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

"Puck, Life, Frank Leslie, and Harper!
Latest editions, just out!"
Boy is an impudent sharper!
All are last week's, I've no doubt.
"Every new monthly and weekly,
Every new novel and tale!"
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Jogglety jogglety joggle!
Jigglety jigglety jig!
Snuffy old man with a goggle,
Acid old dame with a wig,
Pretty girl peacefully sleeping
Under her gold-spotted veil.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Now we are duly admonished,
Hartford's the place we reach next;
Cow in the field looks astonished,
Sheep in the pasture perplexed.
Furious puppy pursues us,
Cocking a truculent tail.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

"Lozenges, peanuts, and candy!
Apples and oranges sweet!"
Legs are so frightfully bandy,
Wonder he keeps on his feet.
"All the New York evening papers,—
Times, Tribune, World, Sun, and Mail!"
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Engine goes "Whoosh!" at the station,
Engine goes "Whizz!" o'er the plain;
Horses express consternation,
Drivers remonstrate in vain.
Smoke-witches dancing about us,
Sparks in a fiery train.
Here we go skilfully skipping,
Riding the resonant rail.

Tinklety tinklety tink!
Tunklety tunklety tunk!
Nearing the station, I think.
Where is the check for my trunk?
"Boston!" and "Boston!" and "Boston!"
Home of my fathers, all hail!
Here we go joyfully jumping,
Away from the resonant rail.

SANDY GODOLPHIN.

Sandy Godolphin sat up on the hill,
And up on the hill sat he;
And the only remark he was known to make,
Was "Fiddledy diddledy dee!"

He made it first in the high Hebrew,
And then in the Dutch so low,
In Turkish and Russian and Persian and Prussian,
And rather more tongues than I know.

He made this remark until it was dark,
And he could no longer see;
Then he lighted his lamp, because it was damp,
And gave him the neuralgeë.

Sandy Godolphin came down from the hill,
And moaned in a dark despair:
"I've finished," said he, "with my fiddledy dee,
For nobody seems to care."

MY CLOCK.

My little clock, my little clock,
He lives upon the shelf;
He stands on four round golden feet,
And so supports himself.

His face is very white and clean,
His hands are very black;
He has no soap to wash them with,
And suffers from the lack.

He holds them up, his grimy hands,
And points at me all day;
"Make haste, make haste, the moments waste!"
He always seems to say.

"Tick tock! tick tock! I am a clock;
I'm always up to time.
Ding dong! ding dong! the whole day long
My silver warnings chime.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis nine o'clock,
And time to go to school;
Don't loiter 'mid the buttercups,
Or by the wayside pool.

"Ding dong! tick tock! 'tis two o'clock.
The dinner's getting cold;
You'd better hurry down, you child,
Or your mamma will scold.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis six o'clock.
You've had the afternoon
To play and romp, so now come in;
Your tea'll be ready soon.

"Tick tock! tick tock! 'tis nine o'clock.
To bed, to bed, my dear!
Sleep sound, until I waken you,
When day is shining clear."

So through the night and through the day,
My busy little clock,
He talks and talks and talks away,
With ceaseless "tick" and "tock."

But warning others on his shelf,
All earnest as he stands,
He never thinks to warn himself;
He'll never wash his hands.

MY UNCLE JEHOSHAPHAT.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat had a pig,—
A pig of high degree;
And he always wore a brown scratch wig,
Most beautiful for to see.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat loved this pig,
And the piggywig he loved him;
And they both jumped into the lake one day,
To see which best could swim.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat he swam up,
And the piggywig he swam down;
And so they both did win the prize,
Which the same was a velvet gown.

My Uncle Jehoshaphat wore one half,
And the piggywig wore the other;
And they both rode to town on the brindled calf,
To carry it home to its mother.

ROSY POSY.

There was a little Rosy,
And she had a little nosy;
And she made a little posy,
All pink and white and green.
And she said, "Little nosy,
Will you smell my little posy?
For of all the flowers that growsy,
Such sweet ones ne'er were seen."

So she took the little posy,
And she put it to her nosy,
On her little face so rosy,
The flowers for to smell;
And which of them was Rosy,
And which of them was nosy,
And which of them was posy,
You really could not tell!

SICK-ROOM FANCIES.

MY WALL-PAPER.

The paper roses, blue and red,
That climbing go about my bed,
All up and down my chamber wall,
A-quarrelling one day did fall;
And as with half-shut eyes I lay,
'Twas thus I heard the roses say:

"You vulgar creature!" cried the Red,
"I wonder you dare raise your head,
Much less go flaunting here and there
With such a proud and perky air.
I am a rose indeed; but you!
Who ever heard of roses blue?
Your sense of truth, Ma'am, must be small,
To call yourself a rose at all."

The Blue Rose proudly raised her head;
"Your humble servant, Ma'am!" she said.
"My family, I own, is far
From being such as you, Ma'am, are.
We blossomed lately in the sky,
A fairy plucked us, floating by,
And flung us down to earth, that we
Might show what roses ought to be.
So, while we still adorn the earth,
Our hue attests our skyey birth."

Just then my Rose came through the room;
And in her hand, in wondrous bloom,
A lovely snow-white bud she bore,
With diamond dew-drops sprinkled o'er.
She laid it in my hand, and "See,"
She said, "how fair a rose may be!"
The paper roses, Blues and Reds,
For shame hung down their silly heads.
I watched them, laughing, as I lay,
But not another word said they.

II.

MY JAPANESE FAN.

I have a friend, a little friend,
Who lives upon a fan;
Perhaps he is a woman,
Perhaps she is a man.
His clothes they are so very queer,
So very queer, in sooth,
I sometimes call him "lovely maid,"
And sometimes "gentle youth."

Her hair is combed up straight and smooth
Above his pretty face.
His looks are full of friendliness;
Her attitude, of grace.
And every morning when I wake,
And every evening too,
She greets me with his pleasant smile,
And friendly "How-d'ye-do?"

She wonders why I lie in bed;
He thinks my wisest plan
Would be to come and live with her
Upon a paper fan.
But that, alas! can never be;
And so I never can
Know whether he's a woman,
Or whether she's a man.

MARJORIE'S KNITTING.

In the chimney-corner our Marjorie sits,
Softly singing the while she knits.
The fire-light, flickering here and there,
Plays on her face and her shining hair;

And glimmering bright in the fitful glow,
Backward and forward her needles go,—
Backward and forward, swift and true,—
And hark! the needles are singing too.

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

And what is our Marjorie knitting, I pray?
A soft, warm scarf, for a wintry day,
A pair of mittens for schoolboy Fred,
Or some reins for toddling Baby Ned?

I cannot see, in the twilight gray,
How many needles are working away;
But I see them flickering in and out,
And they know exactly what they are about.

"One and two and three and four
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

The fire is whispering, "Marjorie mine,
'Tis a positive pleasure on you to shine,
From your pretty brown hair, all shining and neat,
Down to your dainty, trim-slippered feet."

The kettle is murmuring, "Marjorie dear,
'Tis all for your sake that I'm bubbling here;
But though I have bubbled both loud and long,
You've ears for nought save those needles' song."

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, good little girl!"

Marjorie cheerily works away,
Nor ever her thoughts from her knitting stray.
Whatever it is, 'twill be sure to fit,
For loving thoughts in the web are knit.

The kettle may bubble, the fire may burn,
But Marjorie's thoughts they cannot turn;
And I think my heart must be working too,
For it seems to sing as the needles do.

"One and two and three and four,
Counting and narrowing o'er and o'er;
Knit and rib and seam and purl.
Clickety clackety, dear little girl!"

HE AND HIS FAMILY.

His father was a whale,
With a feather in his tail,
Who lived in the Greenland sea;
And his mother was a shark,
Who kept very dark
In the Gulf of Caribbee.
His uncles were a skate,
And a little whitebait,
And a flounder, and a chub beside;
And a lovely pickerèl,
Both a beauty and a belle,
Had promised for to be his bride.
You may think these things are strange,
And they are a little change
From the ordinary run, 'tis true;
But the queerest thing (to me)
Of all appeared to be,
That he was a kangaroo!

EASTER-TIME.

The little flowers came through the ground,
At Easter-time, at Easter-time;
They raised their heads and looked around,
At happy Easter-time.
And every pretty bud did say,
"Good people, bless this holy day;
For Christ is risen, the angels say,
This happy Easter-time."

The scarlet lily raised its cup,
At Easter-time, at Easter-time;
The crocus to the sky looked up,
At happy Easter-time.
"We hear the song of heaven!" they say;
"Its glory shines on us to-day,
Oh! may it shine on us alway,
At happy Easter-time."

'Twas long and long and long ago,
That Easter-time, that Easter-time;
But still the scarlet lilies blow
At happy Easter-time.
And still each little flower doth say,
"Good Christians, bless this holy day;
For Christ is risen, the angels say,
At blessed Easter-time."

EASTER.

Give flowers to all the children,
This blessed Easter Day,—
Fair crocuses and snowdrops,
And tulips brave and gay;

Bright nodding daffodillies,
And purple iris tall,
And sprays of silver lilies,
The loveliest of all.

And tell them, tell the children,
How in the dark, cold earth,
The flowers have been waiting
Till spring should give them birth.

All winter long they waited,
Till the south wind's soft breath
Bade them rise up in beauty,
And bid farewell to death.

Then tell the little children
How Christ our Saviour, too,
The flower of all eternity,
Once death and darkness knew.

How, like these blossoms, silent,
Within the tomb he lay;
Then rose in light and glory,
To live in heaven alway.

So take the flowers, children,
And be ye pure as they;
And sing of Christ our Saviour,
This blessed Easter Day.

JACKY FROST.

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Came in the night;
Left the meadows that he crossed
All gleaming white.
Painted with his silver brush
Every window-pane;
Kissed the leaves and made them blush,
Blush and blush again.

Jacky Frost, Jacky Frost,
Crept around the house,
Sly as a silver fox,
Still as a mouse.
Out little Jenny came,
Blushing like a rose;
Up jumped Jacky Frost,
And pinched her little nose.

SUBTRACTION.

Six from four leaves two, Mamma,
Six from four leaves two.
Surely that is right, Mamma,—
Don't you think 'twill do?

Please don't shake your head, Mamma!
Well, it's nearly right;
And what difference does it make
If it isn't quite?

Hark! the boys are there, Mamma,
Out upon the lawn;
If I don't go soon, Mamma,
They will all be gone.

I would let you go, Mamma,
Were I teaching you.
Six from four leaves two—oh dear!

Four from six leaves two, Mamma!
Now I have it right.
Well! upon my word, I think
I wasn't very bright.

Dear Mamma, before I go,
Here's a kiss for you.
Four from six leaves two, hurrah!
Four from six leaves two!

GRANDFATHER DEAR.

[Written for Decoration Day.]

Jonquil and daffodil mine,
Lift me your golden-crowned heads!
Cockscomb and peony fine,
Lend me your lordliest reds!
Tying my posy up here,
I must have flowers at will;
They are for Grandfather dear,
There where he sleeps on the hill.

Grandfather dear was a soldier,
Gallant and handsome and young.
Flowers, I'll show you his picture,
Over the shelf where 'tis hung.
Yes, and his sword hangs beneath it,
The sword that he waved as he fell,
Fighting on Winchester Field,—
The field he was holding so well.

So when the year's at the sweetest,
Mother and Grandmother dear
And I, we go gathering flowers,
So sweet as they're blossoming here.
And when Grandfather looks down from heaven,
As he looks, and looks lovingly still,
He smiles as he sees his own flowers,
All shining and sweet on the hill.

GATHERING APPLES.

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard,
Under the gold-apple tree,
One little maid and two little maids
Frolic, merry and free.
Brown as a berry, red as a rose,
Sweeter maidens nobody knows.
"What are you doing, Marjorie?
Marjorie, tell to me?"
Up she lifted her curly head,
(Oh, but her cheeks were rosy-red!)
Shaking her curls right saucily,
"I'm gathering apples!" said she, said she,
"I'm gathering apples!" said she.

Down in the orchard, down in the orchard,
Under the gold-apple tree,
Softly treading, the farmer came,
Peeping so warily.
Six feet high from his head to his toes;
A jollier farmer nobody knows.
"What are you doing, farmer, pray?
Jolly old farmer, say!"
Up he caught them both in his arms;
Oh, the shrieks, the merry alarms!
Closer clasping them lovingly,
"I'm gathering apples!" said he, said he,
"I'm gathering apples!" said he.

THE BALLAD OF THE BEACH.

"Take off thy stockings, Samuel!
Now take them off, I pray;
Roll up thy trousers, Samuel,
And come with me to play.

"The ebbing tide has left the sand
All hard and smooth and white,
And we will build a goodly fort,
And have a goodly fight."

Then Samuel he pullèd off
His hose of scarlet hue,
And Samuel he rollèd up
His breeches darkly blue.

And hand-in-hand with Reginald,
He hied him to the beach;
Each little boy a shovel had,
And eke a pail had each.

Then down upon the shining sand
Right joyfully they sat;
And far upon the shining sand
Each tossed his broad-brimmed hat.

Then valiantly to work they went,
Like sturdy lads and true;
And there they built a stately fort,
The best that they might do.

"Now sit we down within the walls,
Which rise above our head,
And we will make us cannon-balls
Of sand, as good as lead."

Now as they worked, these little boys,
Full glad in heart and mind,
The creeping tide came back again,
To see what it could find.

The creeping tide came up the sand,
To see what it could do;
And there it found two broad-brimmed hats,
With ribbons red and blue.

And "See now!" said the creeping tide;
"These hats belong, I trow,
To Reginald and Samuel;
I saw them here but now."

And "See now!" said the creeping tide;
"What hinders me to float
These hats out to the boys' mamma,
Is sailing in a boat?"

Then up there came two little waves,
All rippling so free;
They lifted up the broad-brimmed hats,
And bore them out to sea.

The ribbons red and ribbons blue
Streamed gallantly away;
The straw did glitter in the sun,
Were never craft so gay!

The mother of these little lads
Was sailing on the sea;
And now she laughed, and now she sang,
And who so blithe as she?

And "Look!" she said; "what things be these
That dance upon the wave,
All fluttering and glittering
And sparkling so brave?

"Now row me well, my brethren, twain,
Now row me o'er the sea!
For we will chase these tiny craft,
And see what they may be."

They rowed her fast, they rowed her well,—
Too well, those gallants true;
For when she reached the broad-brimmed hats,
Right well those hats she knew.

"Alas!" she cried; "my little lads
Are drownèd in the sea!"
Then down she sank in deadly swoon,
As pale as she might be.

They rowed her well, those gallants gay,
They rowed her to the land;
They lifted up that lady pale,
And bore her up the strand.

But as they bore her up the beach,
The balls began to fly,
And hit those gallants on the nose,
And hit them in the eye.

They lookèd here, they lookèd there,
To see whence this might be;
And soon they spied a stately fort,
Beside the salt, salt sea.

And straight from out the stately fort
The balls were flying free;
Each gallant rubbed his smitten nose,
And eke his eye rubbed he.

They looked within the stately fort,
To see who aimed so well;
And there was little Reginald,
And youthful Samuel.

They lifted up those little lads,
Each by his waisty-band;
And down beside that lady pale
They set them on the sand.

And first that lady waxed more pale,
And syne she waxed full red;
And syne she kissed those little boys,
But not a word she said.

Then up and spoke those gallants gay,
"You naughty little chaps,
Your poor mamma you've frightened sore,
And made her ill, perhaps.

"And if you are not shaken well,
And if you are not spanked,
It will not be your uncles' fault;
So they need not be thanked."

Then up and spoke those little lads,
All mournful as they sat;
And each did cry, "Ah, woe is me!
I've lost—my nice—new—hat!"

Then up and spoke that lady fair,
"Nay, nay, my little dears,
You sha'n't be spanked! so come with me,
And wipe away your tears.

"There be more hats in Boston town,
For little boys to wear;
And as for those that you have lost,
I pray their voyage be fair.

"For since I have my little lads,
The hats may sail away
Around the world and back again,
Forever and a day!"

THE BOOTS OF A HOUSEHOLD.

[After Mrs. Hemans.]

They came in beauty, side by side,
They filled one house with noise;
And now they're trotting far and wide,
On feet of girls and boys.

The self-same shoemaker did bend
O'er every heel and toe;
Shaped all their upper leathers fair,—
Where are those leathers now?

One pair is kicking 'gainst the bench,
The patient bench, at school;
And two are wading through the mud,
And splashing in the pool.

"The sea, the blue, lone sea," hath one.
He left it on the beach;
A merry wave came dancing up,
And bore it out of reach.

One sleeps where depths of slimy bog
Are glossed with grasses o'er;
One hasty plunge—it loosed its hold,
And sank to rise no more.

One pair—aha! I see them now,
And know them past all doubt;
For through each leather, gaping wide,
A rosy toe peeps out.

And parted thus, old, dusty, torn,
They travel far and wide,
Who in the shop, in shining rows,
Sat lately side by side.

And thus they frolic, frolic there,
And thus they caper here;
But great and small, and torn and all,
To mother's heart are dear.

[N. B.—Also to father's purse.]

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