Part 5

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said, "To play them such a trick. After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!" The Carpenter said nothing but "The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said: "I deeply sympathize." With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket-handkerchief Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter, "You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?" But answer came there none-- And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one. _Lewis Carroll._

A LOBSTER QUADRILLE

"Will you walk a little faster?" said a whiting to a snail, "There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail. See how eagerly the lobsters and the turtles all advance! They are waiting on the shingle--will you come and join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?

"You can really have no notion how delightful it will be When they take us up and throw us, with the lobsters, out to sea!" But the snail replied, "Too far, too far!" and gave a look askance-- Said he thanked the whiting kindly, but he would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, would not join the dance. Would not, could not, would not, could not, could not join the dance.

"What matters it how far we go?" his scaly friend replied, "There is another shore, you know, upon the other side. The further off from England the nearer is to France-- Then turn not pale, beloved snail, but come and join the dance. Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, will you join the dance? Will you, won't you, will you, won't you, won't you join the dance?" _Lewis Carroll._

DANDELION

He is a roguish little elf, A gay audacious fellow, Who tramps about in doublet green And skirt of brightest yellow; In ev'ry field, by ev'ry road, He peeps among the grasses, And shows his sunny little face To ev'ry one that passes.

Within the churchyard he is seen, Beside the headstones peeping, And shining like a golden star O'er some still form there sleeping; Beside the house door oft he springs, In all his wanton straying, And children shout in laughing glee To find him in their playing.

At eve he dons his nightgown green, And goes to bed right early, At morn, he spreads his yellow skirts To catch the dewdrops pearly; A darling elf is Dandelion, A roguish wanton sweeting; Yet he is loved by ev'ry child, All give him joyous greeting. _Kate L. Brown._

NIGHT

The sun descending in the west, The evening star does shine; The birds are silent in their nest, And I must seek for mine. The moon, like a flower In heaven's high bower, With silent delight Sits and smiles on the night.

Farewell, green fields and happy grove, Where flocks have ta'en delight; Where lambs have nibbled, silent move The feet of angels bright; Unseen they pour blessing, And joy without ceasing, On each bud and blossom, And each sleeping bosom.

They look in every thoughtless nest Where birds are cover'd warm, They visit caves of every beast, To keep them all from harm:-- If they see any weeping That should have been sleeping They pour sleep on their head, And sit down by their bed. _William Blake._

A LAUGHING SONG

When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene; When Mary, and Susan, and Emily, With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha, ha, he!"

When the painted birds laugh in the shade, Where our table with cherries and nuts is spread: Come live, and be merry, and join with me To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!" _William Blake._

THE LAND OF DREAMS

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

--"O what land is the Land of Dreams? What are its mountains, and what are its streams? O father! I saw my mother there, Among the lilies by waters fair.

"Among the lambs, clothed in white, She walk'd with her Thomas in sweet delight: I wept for joy; like a dove I mourn:-- O when shall I again return!"

--"Dear child! I also by pleasant streams Have wander'd all night in the Land of Dreams:-- But, though calm and warm the waters wide, I could not get to the other side."

--"Father, O father! what do we here, In this land of unbelief and fear?-- The Land of Dreams is better far, Above the light of the morning star." _William Blake._

ROBERT OF LINCOLN

Merrily swinging on briar and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name. Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice, new coat is mine; Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me. Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care, Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nobody knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie, Chee, chee, chee.

Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows, Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum drone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. _William Cullen Bryant._

A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD

They say that God lives very high; But if you look above the pines You cannot see our God; and why?

And if you dig down in the mines, You never see Him in the gold, Though from Him all that's glory shines.

God is so good, He wears a fold Of heaven and earth across His face, Like secrets kept, for love, untold.

But still I feel that His embrace Slides down by thrills, through all things made, Through sight and sound of every place;

As if my tender mother laid On my shut lids her kisses' pressure, Half waking me at night, and said, "Who kissed you through the dark, dear guesser?" _Elizabeth Barrett Browning._

"BOB WHITE"

I see you, on the zigzag rails, You cheery little fellow! While purple leaves are whirling down, And scarlet, brown, and yellow. I hear you when the air is full Of snow-down of the thistle; All in your speckled jacket trim, "Bob White! Bob White!" you whistle.

Tall amber sheaves, in rustling rows, Are nodding there to greet you; I know that you are out for play-- How I should like to meet you! Though blithe of voice, so shy you are, In this delightful weather; What splendid playmates you and I, "Bob White," would make together!

There, you are gone! but far away I hear your whistle falling. Ah! may be it is hide-and-seek, And that's why you are calling. Along those hazy uplands wide We'd be such merry rangers; What! silent now, and hidden too? "Bob White," don't let's be strangers.

Perhaps you teach your brood the game, In yonder rainbowed thicket, While winds are playing with the leaves, And softly creaks the cricket. "Bob White! Bob White!"--again I hear That blithely whistled chorus; Why should we not companions be? One Father watches o'er us! _George Cooper._

THE DAISIES

Over the shoulders and slopes of the dune I saw the white daisies go down to the sea, A host in the sunshine, an army in June, The people God sends us to set our hearts free.

The bobolinks rallied them up from the dell, The orioles whistled them out of the wood; And all of their saying was, "Earth, it is well!" And all of their dancing was, "Life, thou art good!" _Bliss Carman._

WAITING TO GROW

Little white snowdrop just waking up, Violet, daisy, and sweet buttercup, Think of the flowers that are under the snow, Waiting to grow!

And think what a number of queer little seeds, Of flowers and mosses, of ferns and of weeds, Are under the leaves and under the snow, Waiting to grow!

Think of the roots getting ready to sprout, Reaching their slender brown fingers about, Under the ice and the leaves and the snow, Waiting to grow!

No seed is so small, or hidden so well, That God cannot find it; and soon he will tell His sun where to shine, and His rain where to go, Making it grow! _Frank French._

THE DANDELIONS

Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning.

We were not waked by bugle notes No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn, their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded.

We careless folk the deed forgot; Till one day, idly walking, We marked upon the self-same spot A crowd of veterans, talking. They shook their trembling heads and gray, With pride and noiseless laughter, When, well-a-day! they blew away, And ne'er were heard of after. _Helen Gray Cone._

A FAIRY TALE

There stands by the wood-path shaded A meek little beggar maid; Close under her mantle faded She is hidden like one afraid.

Yet if you but lifted lightly That mantle of russet brown, She would spring up slender and sightly, In a smoke-blue silken gown.

For she is a princess, fated, Disguised in the wood to dwell, And all her life long has awaited The touch that should break the spell;

And the Oak, that has cast around her His root like a wrinkled arm, Is the wild old wizard that bound her Fast with his cruel charm.

Is the princess worth your knowing? Then haste, for the spring is brief, And find the Hepatica growing, Hid under a last year's leaf! _Helen Gray Cone._

A FABLE

The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter "Little Prig"; Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together, To make up a year And a sphere. And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you You are not so small as I, And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track; Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." _Ralph Waldo Emerson._

THE NIGHT WIND

Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? 'Tis a pitiful sound to hear! It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear. 'Tis the voice of the night that broods outside When folk should be asleep, And many and many's the time I've cried To the darkness brooding far and wide Over the land and the deep: "Whom do you want, O lonely night, That you wail the long hours through?" And the night would say in its ghostly way: "Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!"

My mother told me long ago (When I was a little tad) That when the night went wailing so, Somebody had been bad;

And then, when I was snug in bed, Whither I had been sent, With the blankets pulled up round my head, I'd think of what my mother'd said, And wonder what boy she meant! And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask Of the wind that hoarsely blew; And the voice would say in its meaningful way: "Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!"

That this was true I must allow-- You'll not believe it, though! Yes, though I'm quite a model now, I was not always so. And if you doubt what things I say, Suppose you make the test; Suppose, when you've been bad some day And up to bed are sent away From mother and the rest-- Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" And then you'll hear what's true; For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: "Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo! Yoooooooo!" _Eugene Field._

DON'T KILL THE BIRDS

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds That sing about your door, Soon as the joyous spring has come And chilling storms are o'er. The little birds, how sweet they sing! Oh, let them joyous live, And never seek to take the life That you can never give!

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds That play among the trees; 'Twould make the earth a cheerless place Should we dispense with these. The little birds, how fond they play! Do not disturb their sport; But let them warble forth their songs Till winter cuts them short.

Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, That bless the fields and grove; So innocent to look upon, They claim our warmest love. The happy birds, the tuneful birds, How pleasant 'tis to see! No spot can be a cheerless place Where'er their presence be. _J. Colesworthy._

A THANKSGIVING FABLE

It was a hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving morn, And she watched a thankful little mouse, that ate an ear of corn. "If I ate that thankful little mouse, how thankful he should be, When he has made a meal himself, to make a meal for me!

"Then with his thanks for having fed, and his thanks for feeding me, With all _his_ thankfulness inside, how thankful I shall be!" Thus mused the hungry pussy cat, upon Thanksgiving Day; But the little mouse had overheard and declined (with thanks) to stay. _Oliver Herford._

THE BALLAD OF THE TEMPEST

We were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep,-- It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,-- For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy with his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs.

But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand, "Isn't God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden, And we spoke in better cheer, And we anchored safe in harbor, When the morn was shining clear. _James T. Fields._

A CHILD'S PRAYER

God make my life a little light, Within the world to glow,-- A tiny flame that burneth bright, Wherever I may go.

God make my life a little flower, That giveth joy to all;-- Content to bloom in native bower Although its place be small.

God make my life a little song, That comforteth the sad; That helpeth others to be strong, And makes the singer glad.

God make my life a little staff Whereon the weak may rest,-- That so what health and strength I have May serve my neighbor best.

God make my life a little hymn Of tenderness and praise,-- Of faith, that never waxeth dim, In all His wondrous ways. _Matilda B. Edwards._

JACK FROST

The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So, through the valley, and over the height, In silence I'll take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make such a bustle and noise in vain, But I'll be as busy as they!"

So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast Of the quivering lake he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The downward point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy, crept; Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the morn were seen Most beautiful things; there were flowers and trees; There were bevies of birds and swarms of bees; There were cities with temples and towers; and these All pictured in silvery sheen!

But he did one thing that was hardly fair-- He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare-- "Now, just to set them a-thinking,

I'll bite this basket of fruit," said he, "This costly pitcher I'll burst in three; And the glass of water they've left for me Shall 'tchick' to tell them I'm drinking!" _Hannah F. Gould._

FAIRY SONG

Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! oh, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core. Dry your eyes! oh, dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my breast of melodies,-- Shed no tear.

Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red-- Look up, look up! I flutter now On this fresh pomegranate bough. See me! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill. Shed no tear! oh, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu--I fly--adieu! I vanish in the heaven's blue,-- Adieu, adieu! _John Keats._

THE DOVE

I had a dove, and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: Oh, what could it grieve for? its feet were tied With a silken thread of my own hands' weaving. Sweet little red feet! Why should you die-- Why would you leave me, sweet bird! why? You lived alone in the forest tree; Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees? _John Keats._

THE WIND IN A FROLIC

The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a madcap, galloping chase! I'll make a commotion in every place!" So it swept with a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down The shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. There never was heard a much lustier shout As the apples and oranges tumbled about; And urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize.

Then away to the fields it went blustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming. It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till offended at such a familiar salute, They all turned their backs and stood silently mute.

So on it went, capering and playing its pranks; Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks; Puffing the birds, as they sat on a spray, Or the travelers grave on the king's highway. It was not too nice to bustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags. 'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps. The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool and his shoe in the mud. _William Howitt._

A DAY

I'll tell you how the sun rose,-- A ribbon at a time. The steeples swam in amethyst, The news like squirrels ran.

The hills untied their bonnets, The bobolinks begun. Then said I softly to myself, "That must have been the sun!"

But how he set I know not; There seemed a purple stile Which little yellow boys and girls Were climbing all the while.

Till when they reached the other side, A dominie in gray Put gently up the evening bars, And led the flock away. _Emily Dickinson._

THE GRASS

The grass so little has to do,-- A sphere of simple green, With only butterflies to brood, And bees to entertain,

And stir all day to pretty tunes The breezes fetch along, And hold the sunshine in its lap And bow to everything;

And thread the dews all night, like pearls, And make itself so fine,-- A duchess were too common For such a noticing.

And even when it dies, to pass In odors so divine, As lowly spices gone to sleep, Or amulets of pine.

And then to dwell in sovereign barns, And dream the days away,-- The grass so little has to do, I wish I were the hay. _Emily Dickinson._

WHITE SEAL

Oh! hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, And black are the waters that sparkled so green. The moon, o'er the combers, looks downward to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between.

Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; Ah, weary, wee flipperling, curl at thy ease! The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas. _Rudyard Kipling._

THE CAMEL'S HUMP

The Camel's hump is an ugly lump Which well you may see at the Zoo; But uglier yet is the hump we get From having too little to do.

Kiddies and grown-ups too-oo-oo, If we haven't enough to do-oo-oo, We get the hump-- Cameelious hump-- The hump that is black and blue!

We climb out of bed with a frouzly head And a snarly-yarly voice. We shiver and scowl and we grunt and we growl At our bath and our boots and our toys!