Chapter 6

And there ought to be a corner for me (And I know there is one for you) When we get the hump-- Cameelious hump-- The hump that is black and blue!

The cure for this ill is not to sit still, Or frowst with a book by the fire; But to take a large hoe and a shovel also, And dig till you gently perspire.

And then you will find that the sun and the wind And the Djinn of the Garden too, Have lifted the hump-- The horrible hump-- The hump that is black and blue!

I get it as well as you-oo-oo, If I haven't enough to do-oo-oo, We all get hump-- Cameelious hump-- Kiddies and grown-ups too! _Rudyard Kipling._

THE TREE

The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown; "Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down. "No, leave them alone Till the blossoms have grown," Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: "Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung. "No, leave them alone Till the berries have grown," Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.

The Tree bore his fruit in the mid-summer glow: Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?" "Yes, all thou canst see: Take them; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low. _Bjornstjerne Bjornson._

CHOOSING A NAME

I have got a new-born sister. I was nigh the first that kissed her. When the nursing-woman brought her To papa, his infant daughter, How papa's dear eyes did glisten! She will shortly be to christen, And papa has made the offer I shall have the naming of her.

Now, I wonder what would please her-- Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa? Ann and Mary, they're too common; Joan's too formal for a woman; Jane's a prettier name beside, But we had a Jane that died. They would say, if 'twas Rebecca, That she was a little Quaker; Edith's pretty, but that looks Better in old English books;

Ellen's left off long ago; Blanche is out of fashion now. None that I have named as yet Are so good as Margaret. Emily is neat and fine; What do you think of Caroline? How I'm puzzled and perplexed What to choose or think of next! I am in a little fever Lest the name that I should give her Should disgrace her or defame her:-- I will leave papa to name her. _Mary Lamb._

CALLING THE VIOLET

Dear little Violet, Don't be afraid! Lift your blue eyes From the rock's mossy shade! All the birds call for you Out of the sky: May is here, waiting, And here, too, am I.

Why do you shiver so, Violet sweet? Soft is the meadow-grass Under my feet. Wrapped in your hood of green, Violet, why Peep from your earth-door So silent and shy?

Trickle the little brooks Close to your bed; Softest of fleecy clouds Float overhead; "Ready and waiting!" The slender reeds sigh: "Ready and waiting!" We sing--May and I.

Come, pretty Violet, Winter's away: Come, for without you May isn't May. Down through the sunshine Wings flutter and fly;-- Quick, little Violet, Open your eye!

Hear the rain whisper, "Dear Violet, come!" How can you stay In your underground home? Up in the pine-boughs For you the winds sigh. Homesick to see you, Are we--May and I.

Ha! though you care not For call or for shout, Yon troop of sunbeams Are winning you out. Now all is beautiful Under the sky: May's here--and violets! Winter, good-by! _Lucy Larcom._

THE BROWN THRUSH

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. "He's singing to me! He's singing to me!" And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!"

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree? Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I'm glad! now I'm free! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy! But long it won't be, Don't you know? Don't you see? Unless we are as good as can be!" _Lucy Larcom._

THE WIND AND THE MOON

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out. You stare In the air Like a ghost in a chair, Always looking what I am about; I hate to be watched--I'll blow you out."

The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. So deep, On a heap Of clouds, to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon-- Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon."

He turned in his bed; she was there again! On high In the sky With her one ghost eye, The Moon shone white and alive and plain. Said the Wind--"I will blow you out again."

The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim. "With my sledge And my wedge I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim, The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. "One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff! One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"

He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone; In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone; Sure and certain the Moon was gone.

The Wind, he took to his revels once more; On down In town, Like a merry-mad clown, He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar, "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the night.

Said the Wind--"What a marvel of power am I! With my breath, Good faith! I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what strength have I!"

But the Moon, she knew nothing about the affair, For high In the sky, With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare. _George Macdonald._

A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap,-- When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash; The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below; When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!-- To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all!" As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the housetop the coursers they flew, With the sleigh full of toys,--and St. Nicholas too. And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound; He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes how they twinkled; his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook when he laughed like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf-- And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle. But I heard him exclaim, ere they drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight!" _Clement C. Moore._

HUNTING SONG

Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay! To the meadows trip away. 'Tis you must tend the flocks this morn, And scare the small birds from the corn. Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house To the cricket and the mouse: Find grannam out a sunny seat, With babe and lambkin at her feet. Not a soul at home may stay: For the shepherds must go With lance and bow To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. _Samuel T. Coleridge._

THE FIR-TREE

The winds have blown more bitter Each darkening day of fall; High over all the house-tops The stars are far and small I wonder, will my fir-tree Be green in spite of all?

O grief is colder--colder Than wind from any part; And tears of grief are bitter tears, And doubt's a sorer smart! But I promised to my fir-tree To keep the fragrant heart. _Josephine Preston Peabody._

HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN

"I'll tell you how the leaves came down," The great tree to his children said, "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed."

"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief; Tis such a very pleasant day We do not want to go away."

So, for just one more merry day To the great tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung, Whispering all their sports among,--

"Perhaps the great tree will forget, And let us stay until the spring, If we all beg, and coax, and fret." But the great tree did no such thing; He smiled to hear their whispering.

"Come, children, all to bed," he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Fluttering and rustling everywhere, Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay, Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare tree looked down and smiled, "Good-night, dear little leaves," he said. And from below each sleepy child Replied, "Good-night," and murmured, "It is so nice to go to bed!" _Susan Coolidge._

THE LITTLE LADYBIRD

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! The field-mouse has gone to her nest, The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes, And the bees and the birds are at rest.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! The glow-worm is lighting her lamp, The dew's falling fast, and your fine speckled wings Will flag with the close-clinging damp.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! Good luck if you reach it at last! The owl's come abroad, and the bat's on the roam, Sharp set from their Ramazan fast.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! The fairy bells tinkle afar! Make haste or they'll catch you, and harness you fast With a cobweb to Oberon's car.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! To your house in the old willow-tree, Where your children so dear have invited the ant And a few cozy neighbors to tea.

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! And if not gobbled up by the way, Nor yoked by the fairies to Oberon's car, You're in luck! and that's all I've to say! _Caroline B. Southey._

THE BLUEBIRD

I know the song that the bluebird is singing, Out in the apple-tree where he is swinging; Brave little fellow, the skies may look dreary; Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery.

Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat, Hark! was there ever so merry a note? Listen awhile and you'll hear what he's saying, Up in the apple-tree swinging and swaying.

"Dear little blossoms down under the snow, You must be weary of winter, I know; Hark, while I sing you a message of cheer; Summer is coming and spring-time is here!

"Little white snowdrop! I pray you arise; Bright yellow crocus! come, open your eyes; Sweet little violets, hid from the cold, Put on your mantles of purple and gold; Daffodils! daffodils! say, do you hear?-- Summer is coming and spring-time is here!" _Emily Huntington Miller._

THE BLUE JAY

O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, Shaking your throat with such bursts of glee, How did you happen to be so blue? Did you steal a bit of the lake for your crest, And fasten blue violets into your vest? Tell me, I pray you,--tell me true!

Did you dip your wings in azure dye, When April began to paint the sky, That was pale with the winter's stay? Or were you hatched from a blue-bell bright, 'Neath the warm, gold breast of a sunbeam light, By the river one blue spring day?

O Blue Jay up in the maple tree, A-tossing your saucy head at me, With ne'er a word for my questioning, Pray, cease for a moment your "ting-a-link," And hear when I tell you what I think,-- You bonniest bit of spring.

I think when the fairies made the flowers, To grow in these mossy fields of ours, Periwinkles and violets rare, There was left of the spring's own color, blue, Plenty to fashion a flower whose hue Would be richer than all and as fair.

So, putting their wits together, they Made one great blossom so bright and gay, The lily beside it seemed blurred: And then they said, "We will toss it in air; So many blue blossoms grow everywhere, Let this pretty one be a bird." _Susan Hartley Swett._

THE VIOLET

Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.

And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair! It might have graced a rosy bower, Instead of hiding there.

Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused its sweet perfume, Within the silent shade.

Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow In sweet humility. _Jane Taylor._

THE FERN SONG

Dance to the beat of the rain, little Fern, And spread out your palms again, And say, "Tho' the Sun Hath my vesture spun, He hath labored, alas, in vain, But for the shade That the Cloud hath made, And the gift of the Dew and the Rain." Then laugh and upturn All your fronds, little Fern, And rejoice in the beat of the rain! _John Bannister Tabb._

KING SOLOMON AND THE BEES _A Tale of the Talmud_

When Solomon was reigning in his glory, Unto his throne the Queen of Sheba came, (So in the Talmud you may read the story) Drawn by the magic of the monarch's fame, To see the splendors of his court, and bring Some fitting tribute to the mighty king.

Nor this alone; much had her Highness heard What flowers of learning graced the royal speech; What gems of wisdom dropped with every word; What wholesome lessons he was wont to teach In pleasing proverbs; and she wished, in sooth, To know if Rumor spoke the simple truth.

Besides, the queen had heard (which piqued her most) How through the deepest riddles he could spy; How all the curious arts that women boast Were quite transparent to his piercing eye; And so the queen had come--a royal guest-- To put the sage's cunning to the test.

And straight she held before the monarch's view, In either hand, a radiant wreath of flowers; The one, bedecked with every charming hue, Was newly culled from Nature's choicest bowers; The other, no less fair in every part, Was the rare product of divinest Art.

"Which is the true, and which the false?" she said, Great Solomon was silent. All-amazed, Each wondering courtier shook his puzzled head, While at the garlands long the monarch gazed, As one who sees a miracle, and fain, For very rapture, ne'er would speak again.

"Which is the true?" once more the woman asked, Pleased at the fond amazement of the king; "So wise a head should not be hardly tasked, Most learned liege, with such a trivial thing!" But still the sage was silent; it was plain A deepening doubt perplexed the royal brain.

While thus he pondered, presently he sees, Hard by the casement,--so the story goes,-- A little band of busy, bustling bees, Hunting for honey in a withered rose. The monarch smiled, and raised his royal head; "Open the window!"--that was all he said.

The window opened at the king's command; Within the room the eager insects flew, And sought the flowers in Sheba's dexter hand! And so the king and all the courtiers knew That wreath was Nature's; and the baffled queen Returned to tell the wonders she had seen.

My story teaches (every tale should bear A fitting moral) that the wise may find In trifles light as atoms in the air, Some useful lesson to enrich the mind, Some truth designed to profit or to please,-- As Israel's king learned wisdom from the bees! _John G. Saxe._

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF

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 drew near to thy bed.

O hush thee, my baby, the time soon will 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._

HAIL, COLUMBIA!

Hail, Columbia! happy land! Hail, ye heroes! heaven-born band! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, And when the storm of war was gone,

Enjoyed the peace your valor won. Let independence be our boast, Ever mindful what it cost; Ever grateful for the prize, Let its altar reach the skies.

Firm, united, let us be, Rallying round our Liberty; As a band of brothers joined, Peace and safety we shall find.

Immortal patriots! rise once more: Defend your rights, defend your shore: Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Invade the shrine where sacred lies Of toil and blood the well-earned prize. While offering peace sincere and just, In Heaven we place a manly trust, That truth and justice will prevail, And every scheme of bondage fail.

Sound, sound, the trump of Fame! Let WASHINGTON'S great name Ring through the world with loud applause; Ring through the world with loud applause; Let every clime to Freedom dear, Listen with a joyful ear. With equal skill, and godlike power, He governed in the fearful hour Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, The happier times of honest peace.

Behold the chief who now commands, Once more to serve his country, stands-- The rock on which the storm will beat, The rock on which the storm will beat; But, armed in virtue firm and true, His hopes are fixed on Heaven and you; When hope was sinking in dismay, And glooms obscured Columbia's day, His steady mind, from changes free, Resolved on death or liberty. _Joseph Hopkinson._

THE SNOWDROP

Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! Ever as of old time, Solitary firstling, Coming in the cold time, Prophet of the gay time, Prophet of the May time, Prophet of the roses, Many, many welcomes, February fair-maid! _Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

THE OWL

When cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round, Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the cock hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits. _Alfred, Lord Tennyson._

A TRAGIC STORY

There lived a sage in days of yore, And he a handsome pigtail wore; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him.

He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him.

Said he, "The mystery I've found,-- I'll turn me round."-- He turned him round; But still it hung behind him.

Then round and round, and out and in, All day the puzzled sage did spin; In vain--it mattered not a pin-- The pigtail hung behind him.

And right, and left, and round about, And up, and down, and in, and out He turned; but still the pigtail stout Hung steadily behind him.

And though his efforts never slack, And though he twist, and twirl, and tack, Alas! still faithful to his back The pigtail hangs behind him. _William M. Thackeray._

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

There's a song in the air! There's a star in the sky! There's a mother's deep prayer And a baby's low cry! And the star rains its fire while the Beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

There's a tumult of joy O'er the wonderful birth, For the virgin's sweet boy Is the Lord of the earth. Ay! the star rains its fire and the Beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a king.

In the light of that star Lie the ages impearled; And that song from afar Has swept over the world. Every hearth is aflame, and the Beautiful sing In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King.

We rejoice in the light, And we echo the song That comes down through the night From the heavenly throng. Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, And we greet in his cradle our Saviour and King. _J.G. Holland._

THE WONDERFUL WORLD

"Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful world, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast,-- World, you are beautifully drest.

"The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree, It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills.

"You friendly Earth! how far do you go With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs, and isles And people upon you for thousands of miles?