Chapter 3

Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse-- Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, Is up on his heels and away! The Moon in the sky, As he gallopeth by, Cries: "Oh! what a marvelous sight!" And the Stars in dismay Hide their faces away In the lap of old Grandmother Night.

It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse Speedeth ever and ever away-- Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, Over streamlets that sing at their play; And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, While the ships they go sailing below, And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast Adjudge him some portent of woe. "What ho there!" they cry, As he flourishes by With a whisk of his beautiful tail; And the fish in the sea Are as scared as can be, From the nautilus up to the whale!

And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those faraway lands You little folk dream of at night-- Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, And corn-fields with popcorn are white; And the beasts in the wood are ever so good To children who visit them there-- What glory astride of a lion to ride, Or to wrestle around with a bear! The monkeys, they say: "Come on, let us play," And they frisk in the cocoanut-trees: While the parrots, that cling To the peanut-vines, sing Or converse with comparative ease!

Off! scamper to bed--you shall ride him tonight! For, as soon as you've fallen asleep, With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away Over forest and hillside and deep! But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear In those beautiful lands over there, Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his faraway course With the wee one consigned to his care. Then grandma will cry In amazement: "Oh, my!" And she'll think it could never be so; And only we two Shall know it is true-- You and I, little precious! shall know!

SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW

Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow-- It's off for a sailor thy father would go; And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: "Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow!"

Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow-- It's oh for the waiting as weary days go! And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when I sing my song over and over again: "Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow!"

"Swing high and swing low "-- The sea singeth so, And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow; And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me! "Swing high and swing low While the breezes they blow-- 'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!"

WHEN I WAS A BOY

Up in the attic where I slept When I was a boy, a little boy, In through the lattice the moonlight crept, Bringing a tide of dreams that swept Over the low, red trundle-bed, Bathing the tangled curly head, While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek-- When I was a boy, a little boy!

And, oh! the dreams--the dreams I dreamed! When I was a boy, a little boy! For the grace that through the lattice streamed Over my folded eyelids seemed To have the gift of prophecy, And to bring me glimpses of times to be When manhood's clarion seemed to call-- Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all, When I was a boy, a little boy!

I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep When I was a boy, a little boy! For in at the lattice the moon would peep, Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep The crosses and griefs of the years away From the heart that is weary and faint to-day; And those dreams should give me back again A peace I have never known since then-- When I was a boy, a little boy!

AT PLAY

Play that you are mother dear, And play that papa is your beau; Play that we sit in the corner here, Just as we used to, long ago. Playing so, we lovers two Are just as happy as we can be, And I'll say "I love you" to you, And you say "I love you" to me! "I love you" we both shall say, All in earnest and all in play.

Or, play that you are that other one That some time came, and went away; And play that the light of years agone Stole into my heart again to-day! Playing that you are the one I knew In the days that never again may be, I'll say "I love you" to you," And you say "I love you" to me! "I love you!" my heart shall say To the ghost of the past come back to-day!

Or, play that you sought this nestling-place For your own sweet self, with that dual guise Of your pretty mother in your face And the look of that other in your eyes! So the dear old loves shall live anew As I hold my darling on my knee, And I'll say "I love you" to you, And you say "I love you" to me! Oh, many a strange, true thing we say And do when we pretend to play!

A VALENTINE

Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell I love her well. Yes, though she tramples on my heart And rends that bleeding thing apart; And though she rolls a scornful eye On doting me when I go by; And though she scouts at everything As tribute unto her I bring-- Apple, banana, caramel-- Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, In spite of all, I love her well!

And further say I have a sled Cushioned in blue and painted red! The groceryman has promised I Can "hitch" whenever he goes by-- Go, tell her that, and, furthermore, Apprise my sweetheart that a score Of other little girls implore The boon of riding on that sled Painted and hitched, as aforesaid;-- And tell her, Cupid, only she Shall ride upon that sled with me! Tell her this all, and further tell I love her well.

LITTLE ALL-ALONEY

Little All-Aloney's feet Pitter-patter in the hall, And his mother runs to meet And to kiss her toddling sweet, Ere perchance he fall. He is, oh, so weak and small! Yet what danger shall he fear When his mother hovereth near, And he hears her cheering call: "All-Aloney"?

Little All-Aloney's face It is all aglow with glee, As around that romping-place At a terrifying pace Lungeth, plungeth he! And that hero seems to be All unconscious of our cheers-- Only one dear voice he hears Calling reassuringly: "All-Aloney!"

Though his legs bend with their load, Though his feet they seem so small That you cannot help forebode Some disastrous episode In that noisy hall, Neither threatening bump nor fall Little All-Aloney fears, But with sweet bravado steers Whither comes that cheery call: "All-Aloney!"

Ah, that in the years to come, When he shares of Sorrow's store,-- When his feet are chill and numb, When his cross is burdensome, And his heart is sore: Would that he could hear once more The gentle voice he used to hear-- Divine with mother love and cheer-- Calling from yonder spirit shore: "All, all alone!"

SEEIN' THINGS

I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night!

Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound! Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white-- But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night!

Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me--so! Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite-- It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night!

Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; An' I am, oh! so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night! An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice, I want to--but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night!

THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING

When baby wakes of mornings, Then it's wake, ye people all! For another day Of song and play Has come at our darling's call! And, till she gets her dinner, She makes the welkin ring, And she won't keep still till she's had her fill-- The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-walking, Oh, how her paddies fly! For that's the way The babies say To other folk "by-by"; The trees bend down to kiss her, And the birds in rapture sing, As there she stands and waves her hands-- The cunnin' little thing!

When baby goes a-rocking In her bed at close of day, At hide-and-seek On her dainty cheek The dreams and the dimples play; Then it's sleep in the tender kisses The guardian angels bring From the Far Above to my sweetest love-- You cunnin' little thing!

THE DOLL'S WOOING

The little French doll was a dear little doll Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; Her eyes were of hue A most delicate blue And dark as the night were her tresses; Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, And this little French doll was so very well bred That whenever accosted her little mouth said "Mamma! mamma!"

The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, Had once been a handsome young fellow; But now he appeared Rather frowzy and bleared In his torn regimentals of yellow; Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay In the little toy cart near the window one day And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: "Mamma! mamma!"

He listened so long and he listened so hard That anon he grew ever so tender, For it's everywhere known That the feminine tone Gets away with all masculine gender! He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest But all she'd reply to the love he professed Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): "Mamma! mamma!"

Her mother--a sweet little lady of five-- Vouchsafed her parental protection, And although stockinet Wasn't blue-blooded, yet She really could make no objection! So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: "Mamma! mamma!"

INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE

When thou dost eat from off this plate, I charge thee be thou temperate; Unto thine elders at the board Do thou sweet reverence accord; And, though to dignity inclined, Unto the serving-folk be kind; Be ever mindful of the poor, Nor turn them hungry from the door; And unto God, for health and food And all that in thy life is good, Give thou thy heart in gratitude.

FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS

Fisherman Jim lived on the hill With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; 'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will-- Naught we reck of your cold and noise!" For happy and warm were he an' his, And he dandled his kids upon his knee To the song of the sea.

Fisherman Jim would sail all day, But, when come night, upon the sands His little kids ran from their play, Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands; Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high, He'd hear'em--you bet--above the roar Of the waves on the shore!

Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay As the sun went down in a cloudy sky, And never a kid saw he at play, And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry. In his little house he learned it all, And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head-- "The fever!" they said.

'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim, With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes, A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries He had heerd so often upon the sands; For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore-- Till they spoke no more.

But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; As a man will live when his heart is gone, Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, Till once in those years they come an' said: "Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick-- Go to him, quick!"

Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: "It's a long, long cruise-you understand-- But over beyont the ragin' sea I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore, Just as they used to--ah, mate, you know!-- In the long ago."

No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; For all night long he seemed to see His little boys of the days gone by, An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me! An' just as the mornin' sun come up-- "They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, An' so he died.

"FIDDLE-DEE-DEE"

There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"-- A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling the summer day long! Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee."

Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, That weird iteration repented him sore; "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son His awfully truculent little red gun; The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in-- The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"!

The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, The gun it went off with a terrible bang! Then loud laughed the youth--"By my Bottle," cried he, "I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!"

Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" She kissed the dear boy. (The bird in the tree Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee")

OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY

Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple-tree He lies and he dreams of the things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won, Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done-- Of the valor that he shall prove some day, Over the hills and far away-- Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day! But it mattereth not to the soul aflame With a love for riches and power and fame! On, O man! while the sun is high-- On to the certain joys that lie Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, Over the hills and far away-- Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away, An old man lingers at close of day; Now that his journey is almost done, His battles fought and his victories won-- The old-time honesty and truth, The trustfulness and the friends of youth, Home and mother-where are they? Over the hills and far away-- Over the years, and far away!