I don't think it's right!
I don't think it's fair!
I don't like Easter
At all! so there!
I don't think it's fair!
I don't like Easter
At all! so there!
It's only because
I'm young, you see,
They think they can play
Their tricks upon me.
I'm young, you see,
They think they can play
Their tricks upon me.
They said 'twas a true egg,
A truly true!
And, of course, I supposed
It was so all through;
A truly true!
And, of course, I supposed
It was so all through;
But when it was opened,
Just think what a shame!
'Twas just like the white ones,
Just 'zactly the same!
Just think what a shame!
'Twas just like the white ones,
Just 'zactly the same!
Part white and part yellow,
No bit of it blue,
And it tasted the same
As the other ones, too.
No bit of it blue,
And it tasted the same
As the other ones, too.
I don't think it's right,
And I don't think it's fair,
And I don't like Easter
At all! so there!
And I don't think it's fair,
And I don't like Easter
At all! so there!
MASTER JACK'S VIEWS.
[After a lesson in astronomy.]
The merry old World goes round, goes round,
And round the old World does go;
Day in, day out, from west to east,
At a pace that is far from slow.
And round the old World does go;
Day in, day out, from west to east,
At a pace that is far from slow.
And he's never been known to change his pace,
Or swerve an inch from his course,
Though his journey so easily shortened might be,
By cutting his orbit across.
Or swerve an inch from his course,
Though his journey so easily shortened might be,
By cutting his orbit across.
If I were you, you silly old World,
I know well what I 'd do:
Break loose from that tiresome orbit-track,
And go spinning the Universe through.
I know well what I 'd do:
Break loose from that tiresome orbit-track,
And go spinning the Universe through.
I'd startle the stars from their morning nap,
With a "How do you do to-day?"
And before any one could take off his night-cap,
I'd be millions of miles away.
With a "How do you do to-day?"
And before any one could take off his night-cap,
I'd be millions of miles away.
I'd warm my hands at the gate of the Sun,
And cool them off at the Pole;
Then off and away down the Milky Way,
How merrily I would roll!
And cool them off at the Pole;
Then off and away down the Milky Way,
How merrily I would roll!
I'd steal from Saturn his golden rings,
From Mars his mantle of red;
And I'd borrow the sword of Orion the brave,
To cut off the Serpent's head.
From Mars his mantle of red;
And I'd borrow the sword of Orion the brave,
To cut off the Serpent's head.
I'd saddle the Bear, and ride on his back,
Nor dream of being afraid;
And maybe I'd stop at the Archer's shop,
To see how the rainbows are made.
Nor dream of being afraid;
And maybe I'd stop at the Archer's shop,
To see how the rainbows are made.
I'd race with the comets, I'd flirt with the moon,
I'd waltz with the Northern Lights,
Till the whole Solar System should hold up its hands
And exclaim, "What remarkable sights!"
I'd waltz with the Northern Lights,
Till the whole Solar System should hold up its hands
And exclaim, "What remarkable sights!"
But stay! to all these delightful things
One slight objection I see;
For if the World should play these wonderful pranks.
Pray, what would become of me?
One slight objection I see;
For if the World should play these wonderful pranks.
Pray, what would become of me?
And what would become of papa and mamma?
And what would become of you?
And how should we like to go spinning about,
And careering the Universe through?
And what would become of you?
And how should we like to go spinning about,
And careering the Universe through?
Well, the merry old World goes round, goes round,
And round the old World does go;
And a great deal better than you or I,
The wise old World must know!
And round the old World does go;
And a great deal better than you or I,
The wise old World must know!
EMILY JANE.
Oh! Christmas time is coming again,
And what shall I buy for Emily Jane?
O Emily Jane, my love so true,
Now what upon earth shall I buy for you?
My Emily Jane, my doll so dear,
I've loved you now for many a year,
And still while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
And what shall I buy for Emily Jane?
O Emily Jane, my love so true,
Now what upon earth shall I buy for you?
My Emily Jane, my doll so dear,
I've loved you now for many a year,
And still while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
My Emily Jane has lost her head,
And has a potato tied on instead;
A hole for an eye, and a lump for a nose,
It really looks better than you would suppose.
My Emily Jane has lost her arms,
The half of one leg's the extent of her charms;
But still, while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
And has a potato tied on instead;
A hole for an eye, and a lump for a nose,
It really looks better than you would suppose.
My Emily Jane has lost her arms,
The half of one leg's the extent of her charms;
But still, while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
And now, shall I bring you a fine new head,
Or shall I bring you a leg instead?
Or will you have arms, to hug me tight,
When naughty 'Lizabeth calls you a fright?
Or I'll buy you a dress of satin so fine,
'Mong all the dolls to shimmer and shine;
For oh! while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
Or shall I bring you a leg instead?
Or will you have arms, to hug me tight,
When naughty 'Lizabeth calls you a fright?
Or I'll buy you a dress of satin so fine,
'Mong all the dolls to shimmer and shine;
For oh! while there's anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
Mamma says, "Keep all your pennies, Sue,
And I'll buy you a doll all whole and new;"
But better I love my dear old doll,
With her one half-leg and potato poll.
"The potato may rot, and the leg may fall?"
Well, then I shall treasure the sawdust, that's all!
For while there is anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
And I'll buy you a doll all whole and new;"
But better I love my dear old doll,
With her one half-leg and potato poll.
"The potato may rot, and the leg may fall?"
Well, then I shall treasure the sawdust, that's all!
For while there is anything left of you,
My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!
SONG OF THE MOTHER WHOSE CHILDREN ARE FOND OF DRAWING.
Oh, could I find the forest
Where the pencil-trees grow!
Oh, might I see their stately stems
All standing in a row!
I'd hie me to their grateful shade;
In deep, in deepest bliss;
For then I need not hourly hear
A chorus such as this:
Where the pencil-trees grow!
Oh, might I see their stately stems
All standing in a row!
I'd hie me to their grateful shade;
In deep, in deepest bliss;
For then I need not hourly hear
A chorus such as this:
Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, please, Mamma!
Oh, draw me some houses and trees, Mamma!
Oh, make me a floppy
Great poppy to copy,
And a horsey that prances and gees, Mamma!
Oh, draw me some houses and trees, Mamma!
Oh, make me a floppy
Great poppy to copy,
And a horsey that prances and gees, Mamma!
The branches of the pencil-tree
Are pointed every one;
Ay! each one has a glancing point
That glitters in the sun.
The leaves are leaves of paper white,
All fluttering in the breeze;
Ah! could I pluck one rustling bough,
I'd silence cries like these:
Are pointed every one;
Ay! each one has a glancing point
That glitters in the sun.
The leaves are leaves of paper white,
All fluttering in the breeze;
Ah! could I pluck one rustling bough,
I'd silence cries like these:
Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, do, Mamma!
I've got mine all stuck in the glue, Mamma!
Oh, make me a pretty
Big barn and a city,
And a cow and a steam-engine too, Mamma!
I've got mine all stuck in the glue, Mamma!
Oh, make me a pretty
Big barn and a city,
And a cow and a steam-engine too, Mamma!
The fruit upon the pencil-tree
Hangs ripening in the sun,
In clusters bright of pocket-knives,—
Three blades to every one.
Ah! might I pluck one shining fruit,
And plant it by my door,
The pleading cries, the longing sighs,
Would trouble me no more.
Hangs ripening in the sun,
In clusters bright of pocket-knives,—
Three blades to every one.
Ah! might I pluck one shining fruit,
And plant it by my door,
The pleading cries, the longing sighs,
Would trouble me no more.
Chorus. Oh, sharpen a pencil for me, Mamma!
'Cause Johnny and Baby have three, Mamma!
And this isn't fine!
And Hal sat down on mine!
So do it bee-yu-ti-ful-lee, Mamma!
'Cause Johnny and Baby have three, Mamma!
And this isn't fine!
And Hal sat down on mine!
So do it bee-yu-ti-ful-lee, Mamma!
THE SEVEN LITTLE TIGERS AND THE AGED COOK.
Seven little tigers they sat them in a row,
Their seven little dinners for to eat;
And each of the troop had a little plate of soup,
The effect of which was singularly neat.
Their seven little dinners for to eat;
And each of the troop had a little plate of soup,
The effect of which was singularly neat.
They were feeling rather cross, for they hadn't any sauce
To eat with their pudding or their pie;
So they rumpled up their hair, in a spasm of despair,
And vowed that the aged cook should die.
To eat with their pudding or their pie;
So they rumpled up their hair, in a spasm of despair,
And vowed that the aged cook should die.
Then they called the aged cook, and a frying-pan they took,
To fry him very nicely for their supper;
He was ninety-six years old, on authority I'm told,
And his name was Peter Sparrow-piper Tupper.
To fry him very nicely for their supper;
He was ninety-six years old, on authority I'm told,
And his name was Peter Sparrow-piper Tupper.
"Mr. Sparrow-piper Tup, we intend on you to sup!"
Said the eldest little tiger very sweetly;
But this naughty aged cook, just remarking, "Only look!"
Chopped the little tiger's head off very neatly.
Said the eldest little tiger very sweetly;
But this naughty aged cook, just remarking, "Only look!"
Chopped the little tiger's head off very neatly.
Then he said unto the rest, "It has always been confessed
That a tiger's better eating than a man;
So I'll fry him for you now, and you all will find, I trow,
That to eat him will be much the better plan."
That a tiger's better eating than a man;
So I'll fry him for you now, and you all will find, I trow,
That to eat him will be much the better plan."
So they tried it in a trice, and found that it was nice,
And with rapture they embracèd one another;
And they said, "By hook or crook, we must keep this aged cook;
So we'll ask him to become our elder brother."
And with rapture they embracèd one another;
And they said, "By hook or crook, we must keep this aged cook;
So we'll ask him to become our elder brother."
AGAMEMNON.
About a king I have to tell,
Of all the woes that him befell
Through those who should have served him well,
Poor Agamemnon!
How he was huffed and cuffed about,
And tossed from windows, in and out,
With jest and gibe and eldritch shout,
Poor Agamemnon!
Of all the woes that him befell
Through those who should have served him well,
Poor Agamemnon!
How he was huffed and cuffed about,
And tossed from windows, in and out,
With jest and gibe and eldritch shout,
Poor Agamemnon!
Of worsted was the monarch made,
Of gayest colors neatly laid
In each imaginable shade,
Poor Agamemnon!
His trousers were of scarlet hue,
His jacket of celestial blue,
With snow-white tunic peeping through,
Poor Agamemnon!
Of gayest colors neatly laid
In each imaginable shade,
Poor Agamemnon!
His trousers were of scarlet hue,
His jacket of celestial blue,
With snow-white tunic peeping through,
Poor Agamemnon!
When he was young and in his prime,
On Christmas tree, in Christmas time,
He glowed like bird of tropic clime,
Poor Agamemnon!
His swarthy cheek, his beard of brown,
His gay attire and golden crown,
Showed him a king of high renown,
Poor Agamemnon!
On Christmas tree, in Christmas time,
He glowed like bird of tropic clime,
Poor Agamemnon!
His swarthy cheek, his beard of brown,
His gay attire and golden crown,
Showed him a king of high renown,
Poor Agamemnon!
The children, learning then to pore
O'er Father Homer's god-like lore,
Cried, "See! the king of men once more,
Great Agamemnon!
Now, when we play the siege of Troy,
Achilles, Hector, Ajax boy,
With us the fighting he'll enjoy,
Great Agamemnon!"
O'er Father Homer's god-like lore,
Cried, "See! the king of men once more,
Great Agamemnon!
Now, when we play the siege of Troy,
Achilles, Hector, Ajax boy,
With us the fighting he'll enjoy,
Great Agamemnon!"
But well-a-day! the war began,
And Greek and Trojan, man to man,
In god-like fury raged and ran,
Poor Agamemnon!
'Twas Ajax seized the king, I trow,
And, using him as weapon now,
Did smite bold Hector on the brow,
Poor Agamemnon!
And Greek and Trojan, man to man,
In god-like fury raged and ran,
Poor Agamemnon!
'Twas Ajax seized the king, I trow,
And, using him as weapon now,
Did smite bold Hector on the brow,
Poor Agamemnon!
Then fierce and fell the contest grew;
From hand to hand the monarch flew,
Still clutched and hurled with fury new,
Poor Agamemnon!
His beaded eyes wept tears of shame,
His worsted cheeks with wrath did flame;
In vain he called each hero's name,
Poor Agamemnon!
From hand to hand the monarch flew,
Still clutched and hurled with fury new,
Poor Agamemnon!
His beaded eyes wept tears of shame,
His worsted cheeks with wrath did flame;
In vain he called each hero's name,
Poor Agamemnon!
At length great Hector seized the king
And gave his mighty arm a swing,
Then upward soared with sudden fling,
Poor Agamemnon!
Upon the high-pitched roof fell he,
And there, from Greek and Trojan free,
He lay for all the world to see,
Poor Agamemnon!
And gave his mighty arm a swing,
Then upward soared with sudden fling,
Poor Agamemnon!
Upon the high-pitched roof fell he,
And there, from Greek and Trojan free,
He lay for all the world to see,
Poor Agamemnon!
The fierce sun beat upon his head,
The rain washed white his trousers red,
The moon looked down on him and said,
"Poor Agamemnon!"
His gold and blue were gray and brown,
When Ajax, chief of high renown,
The roof-tree scaled, and brought him down,
Poor Agamemnon!
The rain washed white his trousers red,
The moon looked down on him and said,
"Poor Agamemnon!"
His gold and blue were gray and brown,
When Ajax, chief of high renown,
The roof-tree scaled, and brought him down,
Poor Agamemnon!
And now within the nursery,
In doll-house parlor you may see
His dim and faded majesty,
Poor Agamemnon!
And still each little naughty boy,
Ranging the cupboards for some toy,
Cries out, "Aha! the siege of Troy!
Poor Agamemnon!"
In doll-house parlor you may see
His dim and faded majesty,
Poor Agamemnon!
And still each little naughty boy,
Ranging the cupboards for some toy,
Cries out, "Aha! the siege of Troy!
Poor Agamemnon!"
THE WEDDING.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Gallant young Hyacinth marries the Rose.
Here we all wait for the wedding procession,
Standing up high on our tippy-toe-toes.
Gallant young Hyacinth marries the Rose.
Here we all wait for the wedding procession,
Standing up high on our tippy-toe-toes.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
First the three ushers on grasshoppers ride,—
Coxcomb, Larkspur, and gallant Sweet William,
Handsome young dandies as ever I spied.
First the three ushers on grasshoppers ride,—
Coxcomb, Larkspur, and gallant Sweet William,
Handsome young dandies as ever I spied.
Here in a coach come the bride's rich relations,—
Old Madam Damask and old Mr. Moss;
Greatly I fear they approve not the marriage,
Else they'd not look so uncommonly cross.
Old Madam Damask and old Mr. Moss;
Greatly I fear they approve not the marriage,
Else they'd not look so uncommonly cross.
Here comes His Excellence Baron de Goldbug,
Leading the Dowager Duchess of Snail;
Feathers and fringe on the top of her bonnet,
Roses and rings on the end of her tail.
Leading the Dowager Duchess of Snail;
Feathers and fringe on the top of her bonnet,
Roses and rings on the end of her tail.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Here come the bridesmaids, by two and by two;
Gay little Primrose, fair little Snowdrop,
Peachblossom, Jasmine, and Eglantine too.
Here come the bridesmaids, by two and by two;
Gay little Primrose, fair little Snowdrop,
Peachblossom, Jasmine, and Eglantine too.
Last come the lovers, wrapped up in each other,
Thinking of love, and of little beside.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Health and long life to the beautiful bride!
Thinking of love, and of little beside.
Blue-bell, bonny bell, ring for the wedding!
Health and long life to the beautiful bride!
SWING SONG.
As I swing, as I swing,
Here beneath my mother's wing,
Here beneath my mother's arm,
Never earthly thing can harm.
Up and down, to and fro,
With a steady sweep I go,
Like a swallow on the wing,
As I swing, as I swing.
Here beneath my mother's wing,
Here beneath my mother's arm,
Never earthly thing can harm.
Up and down, to and fro,
With a steady sweep I go,
Like a swallow on the wing,
As I swing, as I swing.
As I swing, as I swing,
Honey-bee comes murmuring,
Humming softly in my ear,
"Come away with me, my dear!
In the tiger-lily's cup
Sweetest honey we will sup."
Go away, you velvet thing!
I must swing! I must swing!
Honey-bee comes murmuring,
Humming softly in my ear,
"Come away with me, my dear!
In the tiger-lily's cup
Sweetest honey we will sup."
Go away, you velvet thing!
I must swing! I must swing!
As I swing, as I swing,
Butterfly comes fluttering,
"Little child, now come away
'Mid the clover-blooms to play;
Clover-blooms are red and white,
Sky is blue, and sun is bright.
Why then thus, with folded wing,
Sit and swing, sit and swing?"
Butterfly comes fluttering,
"Little child, now come away
'Mid the clover-blooms to play;
Clover-blooms are red and white,
Sky is blue, and sun is bright.
Why then thus, with folded wing,
Sit and swing, sit and swing?"
As I swing, as I swing,
Oriole comes hovering.
"See my nest in yonder tree!
Little child, come work with me.
Oriole comes hovering.
"See my nest in yonder tree!
Little child, come work with me.
Learn to make a perfect nest,
That of all things is the best.
Come! nor longer loitering
Sit and swing, sit and swing!"
That of all things is the best.
Come! nor longer loitering
Sit and swing, sit and swing!"
As I swing, as I swing,
Though I have not any wing,
Still I would not change with you,
Happiest bird that ever flew.
Butterfly and honey-bee,
Sure 'tis you must envy me,
Safe beneath my mother's wing
As I swing, as I swing.
Though I have not any wing,
Still I would not change with you,
Happiest bird that ever flew.
Butterfly and honey-bee,
Sure 'tis you must envy me,
Safe beneath my mother's wing
As I swing, as I swing.
THE LITTLE COSSACK.
The tale of the little Cossack,
Who lived by the river Don:
He sat on a sea-green hassock,
And his grandfather's name was John.
His grandfather's name was John, my dears,
And he lived upon bottled stout;
And when he was found to be not at home,
He was frequently found to be out.
Who lived by the river Don:
He sat on a sea-green hassock,
And his grandfather's name was John.
His grandfather's name was John, my dears,
And he lived upon bottled stout;
And when he was found to be not at home,
He was frequently found to be out.
The tale of the little Cossack,—
He sat by the river-side,
And wept when he heard the people say
That his hair was probably dyed.
That his hair was probably dyed, my dears,
And his teeth were undoubtedly sham;
"If this be true," quoth the little Cossàck,
"What a poor little thing I am!"
He sat by the river-side,
And wept when he heard the people say
That his hair was probably dyed.
That his hair was probably dyed, my dears,
And his teeth were undoubtedly sham;
"If this be true," quoth the little Cossàck,
"What a poor little thing I am!"
The tale of the little Cossack,—
He sat by the river's brim,
And he looked at the little fishes,
And the fishes looked back at him.
The fishes looked back at him, my dears,
And winked at him, which was wuss;
"If this be true, my friend," they said,
"You'd better come down to us."
He sat by the river's brim,
And he looked at the little fishes,
And the fishes looked back at him.
The fishes looked back at him, my dears,
And winked at him, which was wuss;
"If this be true, my friend," they said,
"You'd better come down to us."
The tale of the little Cossack,—
He said, "You are doubtless right,
Though drowning is not a becoming death
For it makes one look like a fright.
If my lovely teeth be crockery,
And my hair of Tyrian dye,
Then life is a bitter mockery,
And no more of it will I!"
He said, "You are doubtless right,
Though drowning is not a becoming death
For it makes one look like a fright.
If my lovely teeth be crockery,
And my hair of Tyrian dye,
Then life is a bitter mockery,
And no more of it will I!"
The tale of the little Cossack,—
He drank of the stout so brown;
Then put his toes in the water,
And the fishes dragged him down.
And the people threw in his hassock
And likewise his grandfather John;
And there was an end of the family,
On the banks of the river Don.
He drank of the stout so brown;
Then put his toes in the water,
And the fishes dragged him down.
And the people threw in his hassock
And likewise his grandfather John;
And there was an end of the family,
On the banks of the river Don.
WHAT A VERY RUDE LITTLE BIRD SAID TO JOHNNY THIS MORNING.
Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Stupid old thing!
Why don't you fly, or hop at least?
Why don't you sing?
There you stand with your great long legs
Stiff as a couple of giant pegs;
Have you a nest with five blue eggs?
Have you anything?
Stupid old thing!
Why don't you fly, or hop at least?
Why don't you sing?
There you stand with your great long legs
Stiff as a couple of giant pegs;
Have you a nest with five blue eggs?
Have you anything?
Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Stubborn old thing!
Is that your only song, that harsh,
Loud muttering?
Here! listen, and try to imitate me!
Chirr-a-wink! chirr-a-wink! pirrip-wip-wee!
It's just as easy as easy can be,
Stubborn old thing!
Stubborn old thing!
Is that your only song, that harsh,
Loud muttering?
Here! listen, and try to imitate me!
Chirr-a-wink! chirr-a-wink! pirrip-wip-wee!
It's just as easy as easy can be,
Stubborn old thing!
Thing with two legs, out on the lawn!
Ugly old thing!
I hear my little brown wife in the nest
Soft chirruping.
And if you think I've nothing else to do
But stay here and talk to the like of you,
You're greatly mistaken, I tell you true!
Good-by, old thing!
Ugly old thing!
I hear my little brown wife in the nest
Soft chirruping.
And if you think I've nothing else to do
But stay here and talk to the like of you,
You're greatly mistaken, I tell you true!
Good-by, old thing!
THE MONKEYS AND THE CROCODILE.
Five little monkeys
Swinging from a tree;
Teasing Uncle Crocodile,
Merry as can be.
Swinging high, swinging low,
Swinging left and right:
"Dear Uncle Crocodile,
Come and take a bite!"
Swinging from a tree;
Teasing Uncle Crocodile,
Merry as can be.
Swinging high, swinging low,
Swinging left and right:
"Dear Uncle Crocodile,
Come and take a bite!"
Four little monkeys
Sitting in the tree;
Heads down, tails down,
Dreary as can be.
Weeping loud, weeping low,
Crying to each other:
"Wicked Uncle Crocodile,
To gobble up our brother!"
Sitting in the tree;
Heads down, tails down,
Dreary as can be.
Weeping loud, weeping low,
Crying to each other:
"Wicked Uncle Crocodile,
To gobble up our brother!"
Painted Ladies
Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies,
That go running, climbing, running,
All about my cottage door.
Would you have their story, Johnny?
Sit beside me, Sweet-and-bonny!
You shall hear a sadder story
Than you ever beard before.
Oh, the naughty painted ladies,
That go running, climbing, running,
All about my cottage door.
Would you have their story, Johnny?
Sit beside me, Sweet-and-bonny!
You shall hear a sadder story
Than you ever beard before.
These were maidens fair and slender,
Some with dove-eyes, brown and tender,
Some with black, and some with blue eyes,
Locks of auburn, locks of gold.
Rosy cheeks, and lips of cherry,
Voices glad and laughter merry,
Ever smiling, ever singing,
Over gay and over bold.
Some with dove-eyes, brown and tender,
Some with black, and some with blue eyes,
Locks of auburn, locks of gold.
Rosy cheeks, and lips of cherry,
Voices glad and laughter merry,
Ever smiling, ever singing,
Over gay and over bold.
And these maids were ever running,
Watching going, watching coming,
Asking questions of each other
And of every one they knew.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
Ready still to guess and wonder,
"Was it she?" "And did he do it?"
"Tell me quickly!" "Tell me true!"
Watching going, watching coming,
Asking questions of each other
And of every one they knew.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
Ready still to guess and wonder,
"Was it she?" "And did he do it?"
"Tell me quickly!" "Tell me true!"
Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
When the king came riding, riding,
For to seek him out a bride,
How they whispered, how they chattered;
Each herself in secret flattered
She could win him, she could wed him,
In an hour, if she tried.
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
When the king came riding, riding,
For to seek him out a bride,
How they whispered, how they chattered;
Each herself in secret flattered
She could win him, she could wed him,
In an hour, if she tried.
So they prinked and pranked them gayly,
So they crimped and curled them daily,
Trying ring and trying jewel,
All their beauty to complete.
Not content with Nature's roses,
Fie! their cheeks are painted posies;
And their lips are red and reddest,
But alas! they are not sweet.
So they crimped and curled them daily,
Trying ring and trying jewel,
All their beauty to complete.
Not content with Nature's roses,
Fie! their cheeks are painted posies;
And their lips are red and reddest,
But alas! they are not sweet.
Then the king came riding stately,
On his charger set sedately,
With his golden robe about him,
And his crown upon his head.
Oh! a royal port and presence,
Meet for courtly love and pleasance;
Happy, happy is the maiden
He shall woo and he shall wed.
On his charger set sedately,
With his golden robe about him,
And his crown upon his head.
Oh! a royal port and presence,
Meet for courtly love and pleasance;
Happy, happy is the maiden
He shall woo and he shall wed.
Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
How they leaned from door and window,
Flinging roses 'neath his feet;
Silken robes and jewels shining,
White arms waving, tossing, twining,
Lips that laughed and eyes that languished,
Over bold and over sweet.
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
How they leaned from door and window,
Flinging roses 'neath his feet;
Silken robes and jewels shining,
White arms waving, tossing, twining,
Lips that laughed and eyes that languished,
Over bold and over sweet.
But the king looked gravely on them;
Cast no answering glance upon them;
Coldly turned from where they waited
In their beauty, in their pride.
"Find me out some modest maiden,
Not with silks and jewels laden,
One whose pureness, one whose sweetness
Fit her for a royal bride."
Cast no answering glance upon them;
Coldly turned from where they waited
In their beauty, in their pride.
"Find me out some modest maiden,
Not with silks and jewels laden,
One whose pureness, one whose sweetness
Fit her for a royal bride."
Oh, the pretty painted ladies!
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
Red with shame and white with anger,
Back they pressed against the wall.
As they drew their silks around them,
Lo! some sudden magic bound them,
While they whispered, while they clustered,
Into flowers changed them all.
Oh, the naughty painted ladies!
Red with shame and white with anger,
Back they pressed against the wall.
As they drew their silks around them,
Lo! some sudden magic bound them,
While they whispered, while they clustered,
Into flowers changed them all.
Glowing cheek and snowy bosom
Changed to white and ruddy blossom;
Locks of gold and locks of auburn
Into tendrils curling green.
While for silk and satin's shimmer,
And for jewels' rainbow glimmer,
Leaves that whispered, leaves that clustered,—
Only these were to be seen.
Changed to white and ruddy blossom;
Locks of gold and locks of auburn
Into tendrils curling green.
While for silk and satin's shimmer,
And for jewels' rainbow glimmer,
Leaves that whispered, leaves that clustered,—
Only these were to be seen.
But the pretty painted ladies,
But the naughty painted ladies,
Still are running, climbing, running,
At the window, at the door.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
"Is the story true?" you wonder;
Sure, I heard it from themselves, dear,
For they tell it o'er and o'er.
But the naughty painted ladies,
Still are running, climbing, running,
At the window, at the door.
Peeping, peeping, here and yonder,
"Is the story true?" you wonder;
Sure, I heard it from themselves, dear,
For they tell it o'er and o'er.
SOME FISHY NONSENSE.
Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs,
They both went a-fishing for pollothywogs;
They both went a-fishing
Because they were wishing
To see how the creatures would turn into frogs.
They both went a-fishing for pollothywogs;
They both went a-fishing
Because they were wishing
To see how the creatures would turn into frogs.
Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs,
They both got stuck in the bogothybogs;
They caught a small minnow,
And said 'twas a sin oh!
That things with no legs should pretend to be frogs.
They both got stuck in the bogothybogs;
They caught a small minnow,
And said 'twas a sin oh!
That things with no legs should pretend to be frogs.
LADY'S SLIPPER.
MY lady she rose from her bower, her bower,
All under the linden tree.
'Twas midnight past, and the fairies' hour,
And up and away must she.
All under the linden tree.
'Twas midnight past, and the fairies' hour,
And up and away must she.
She's pulled on her slippers of golden yellow,
Her mantle of gossamer green;
And she's away to the elfin court,
To wait on the elfin queen.
Her mantle of gossamer green;
And she's away to the elfin court,
To wait on the elfin queen.
Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
And now she flitted, and now she stepped,
Through dells of the woodland deep,
Where owls were flying awake, awake,
And birds were sitting asleep.
Through dells of the woodland deep,
Where owls were flying awake, awake,
And birds were sitting asleep.
And now she flitted, and now she trod,
Where the mist hung shadowy-white;
And the river lay gleaming, sleeping, dreaming,
Under the sweet moonlight.
Where the mist hung shadowy-white;
And the river lay gleaming, sleeping, dreaming,
Under the sweet moonlight.
Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
And now she passed through the wild marsh-land,
Where the marsh-elves lay asleep;
And a heron blue was their watchman true,
Good watch and ward for to keep.
Where the marsh-elves lay asleep;
And a heron blue was their watchman true,
Good watch and ward for to keep.
But Jack-in-the-Pulpit was wake, awake,
And saw my lady gay;
And he reached his hand as she fluttered past,
And caught her slipper away.
And saw my lady gay;
And he reached his hand as she fluttered past,
And caught her slipper away.
Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
Oh! long that lady she searched and prayed,
And long she wept and besought;
But all would not do, and with one wee shoe
She must dance at the elfin court.
And long she wept and besought;
But all would not do, and with one wee shoe
She must dance at the elfin court.
But she might have found her slipper, her slipper,
It shone so golden-gay;
For I am no elf, yet I found it myself,
And I brought it home to-day.
It shone so golden-gay;
For I am no elf, yet I found it myself,
And I brought it home to-day.
Oh hone! my lady's slipper,
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
Oh hey! my lady's shoe.
She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow,
A-tripping it over the dew.
A LITTLE SONG TO SING TO A LITTLE MAID IN A SWING.
If I were a fairy king,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would give to you a ring,
(Swinging oh!)
With a diamond set so bright
That the shining of its light
Should make morning of the night,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Should make morning of the night.
(Swinging oh!)
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would give to you a ring,
(Swinging oh!)
With a diamond set so bright
That the shining of its light
Should make morning of the night,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Should make morning of the night.
(Swinging oh!)
On each ringlet as it fell
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would tie a golden bell;
(Swinging oh!)
And the golden bells would chime
In a little merry rhyme,
In the merry summer-time,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
In the happy summer-time.
(Swinging oh!)
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
I would tie a golden bell;
(Swinging oh!)
And the golden bells would chime
In a little merry rhyme,
In the merry summer-time,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
In the happy summer-time.
(Swinging oh!)
You should wear a satin gown
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
All with ribbons falling down;
(Swinging oh!)
And your little darling feet,
Oh, my Pretty and my Sweet,
Should be shod with silver neat,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Shod with silver slippers neat.
(Swinging oh!)
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
All with ribbons falling down;
(Swinging oh!)
And your little darling feet,
Oh, my Pretty and my Sweet,
Should be shod with silver neat,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Shod with silver slippers neat.
(Swinging oh!)
All the flowers in the land
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
You should hold in either hand;
(Swinging oh!)
And the myrtle and the rose
Should spring up beneath your toes,
For to gratify your nose,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
For to gratify your nose.
(Swinging oh!)
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
You should hold in either hand;
(Swinging oh!)
And the myrtle and the rose
Should spring up beneath your toes,
For to gratify your nose,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
For to gratify your nose.
(Swinging oh!)
But I'm not a fairy, Pet,
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Am not even a king as yet;
(Swinging oh!)
So all that I can do
Is to kiss your little shoe,
And to make a queen of you,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Make a fairy queen of you.
(Swinging oh!)
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Am not even a king as yet;
(Swinging oh!)
So all that I can do
Is to kiss your little shoe,
And to make a queen of you,—
(Swinging high, swinging low,)
Make a fairy queen of you.
(Swinging oh!)
BETTY IN BLOSSOM-TIME.
Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming,
Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat.
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming,
Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat.
Has she not gathered the summer about her?
Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!
Think you the sun there would shine on without her?
Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies.
Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!
Think you the sun there would shine on without her?
Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies.
Fire of the rose and snow of the jessamine,
Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair;
Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her,
Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.
Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair;
Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her,
Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.
Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees,
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her,
And carpet the ground for her dear little feet.
Pink and white drifting of petals sweet,
Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her,
And carpet the ground for her dear little feet.
BETTY'S SONG.
Little Two-shoes,
Little Toddle-toes,
Like a little pretty pinky winky rose,
Come to me, now,
And we'll see, now,
How the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.
Little Toddle-toes,
Like a little pretty pinky winky rose,
Come to me, now,
And we'll see, now,
How the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.
With a heigh ho,
And a by-low,
And a swinging, swinging softly to and fro;
With a sleepy croon,
All about the moon,
How she puts the sleepy stars to beddy oh!
And a by-low,
And a swinging, swinging softly to and fro;
With a sleepy croon,
All about the moon,
How she puts the sleepy stars to beddy oh!
With a hey-day,
And a rock-away,
And a patting down the hands that want to play;
With a swing swong
In the drowsy song,
That forgets the drowsy words it has to say.
And a rock-away,
And a patting down the hands that want to play;
With a swing swong
In the drowsy song,
That forgets the drowsy words it has to say.
Now the lids close,
Just when no one knows,
And the dimpled flush grows deeper, rose on rose.
Little Two-shoes,
Little Toddle-toes,
With the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.
Just when no one knows,
And the dimpled flush grows deeper, rose on rose.
Little Two-shoes,
Little Toddle-toes,
With the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.