Part 5

The birds were singing in the blue, A song that was like a hymn; While the baby ducklings, two by two, Strayed into the water to swim.

"Heigho!" sighed Willy, "I cannot fly, Nor even so much as float; And as for singing like robins, why, I never could raise a note.

"But I can play on my pipe," said he; And soon the music came-- So clear and sweet, so blithesome free, That it put the birds to shame.

The baby ducklings softly splashed, The robins yet harder tried, The sprinkled grass in sunlight flashed, As it nodded by Willy's side.

And, before he knew, he was floating free On a sparkling river of thought; While the birds in the air came down to see What wonder the pipe had wrought.

And still the music softly rose, Still Willy was floating free; And the little ducks with their funny toes, Were happy as happy could be.

I HAD a little Scotchman, Who reached to my chin; He was swift as an arrow, And neat as a pin.

He ran on my errands, And sang me a song; Oh, he was as happy As summer is long!

TROTTERY, trottery, out of breath, Nurse trots the baby 'most to death: Sick or well, or cold or hot, It's trottery, trottery, trottery-trot!

LAZY LOU.

LAZY LOU, Lazy Lou, What's the matter, child, with you? Can't you work? Can't you play?

Can't you tuck your hair away? If I were you, my Lazy Lou, I'd change my ways. That's what I'd do.

UP in the morning early-- Hi for my baby sweet! Here's a gown for his body, Here are shoes for his feet. And here is his snowy tucker Tied with ribbons fair, And here is his little mammy To curl his bonny hair. Here is his little bath-tub, And here is his little sponge, Before the gown and the curling My baby shall have a plunge.

PINS in the carpet, tacks in the floor, Needles in the drugget, wind through the door, Fire in the fender! Oh, it beats all! There isn't a place where our baby can crawl.

IF Pussy were made of leather, And Doggie were made of lead, I'd tumble them both together, And hammer them on the head.

But Pussy is warm and tender, And Doggie is good and true; So I'd rather far defend her, And Doggie, too, wouldn't you?

BE CAREFUL.

NEVER in a fool's mouth Thrust your careless finger; If you do, there's danger It may chance to linger.

Never to the foolish Tell your dearest thought; Or you'll find your confidence, Like your finger, "caught."

Never with the silly Banter, sport, or jest; Even for your frolics Wise friends are the best.

FARM LESSONS.

"HO! plowman Kelly! How does it feel To get in a wagon by climbing the wheel?" "Nay, nay, little master, don't try it, I beg, For that is the way that I broke my leg."

"Kelly, Kelly! Come, show me the way They turn this machine when they cut the hay!" "No, no, little master, just let it be-- That hay-cutter cut off my thumb for me."

"Ho, Kelly! The well-curb is rimmed with moss. Now look at me while I jump across!" "Hold, hold, young master! 'T would be a sin! I tried it once, and I tumbled in."

"Kelly, Kelly! Send me to jail, But I'll pluck a hair from yon pony's tail." "Oh, master, master! Come back! Don't try-- That's the very way that I lost my eye."

"Why, Kelly, man, how under the sun Can you be so frisky and full of fun?-- With all your mishaps, you are never a spoon-- You're as brave as a lion and wise as a coon."

"Well, well, young master, maybe it's so, And maybe it isn't. But this I know: It just brings trouble and mischief and slaughter, To be fussin' around where one hadn't ought ter."

OUT OF THE GROUND.

A GLOW in the sunshine, A pulse in the air, A something of gladness-- We cannot tell where; Blue, born of heaven, Filling the sky; A laugh in the brooklet Hastening by; A stirring of insects Waking the wood; Prayer breathed in secret: "God, thou art good!" Little birds humming; Joy all around-- The flowers must be coming Out of the ground!

They're coming! They're coming! Daffodils sweet-- Hear the grass whisper Under our feet! Telling of daisies, Telling of clover, Telling of beauty All the world over! Looking up brightly Where the sun shines, Sending a message Up to the vines: "Wake from your slumbers, Summon your powers, Put forth your tendrils: They're coming--the flowers!"

They're coming! They're coming! 'Tis writ on the air, In incense and harmony Breathed everywhere! Winds murmur no longer Their woe to the pines-- But spiders are spinning Their gossamer lines. Blue-birds are darting The branches among, Wild with a pleasure Only half sung. Herd-bells are tinkling-- Moonie, the cow, Crops the young grasslets Emerald now. High on the roof-top Sparrows look forth, Watching for travellers Flying to north-- Twittering sparrows! Blithesome and true, _You_ never left us All winter through. Brave little sparrows! No tempest lowers-- Blest is your waiting: They're coming--the flowers!

They're coming! They're coming! The beautiful throng, To sooth us and cheer us The whole summer long. By brook and in meadow, Woodland and glade, Through moonlight and starlight, Sunshine and shade, They're creeping, they're springing, They're climbing the hill, They're twining and clinging-- Though under ground still. The blue-birds have called them-- (Praise God for it all!) They have heard, and already They answer the call!

O Snow-white and Purple, Pink, Yellow, and Blue! Lie close to their hearts Till the day they come through. O spirit of Beauty! Spirit of Grace! Still bide ye above them Watching the place. Fragrance and Loveliness! Still hover near, Soon shall your hosts In their glory appear. Surely the Spring-time Is crowning its hours-- They're coming! They're coming! The beautiful flowers!

POOR CROW!

GIVE me something to eat, Good people, I pray; I have really not had One mouthful to-day!

I am hungry and cold, And last night I dreamed A scarecrow had caught me-- Good land, how I screamed!

Of one little children And six ailing wives (No, one wife and six children), Not one of them thrives.

So pity my case, Dear people, I pray; I'm honest, and really I've come a long way.

THE WOODEN HORSE.

A REAL horse is good, But a horse made of wood Is a much better horsey for me; For he needn't be tied, And he's steady beside, And never gets lazy, you see.

When pulled, he will go; And he stops when you "whoa!" For he always is willing to please; And though you may stay By the water all day, Not once for a drink will he tease.

Not a handful of feed, All his life, does he need; And he never wants brushing or combing: And after a race All over the place, He never stands panting and foaming.

He doesn't heed flies, Though they light on his eyes; Mosquitoes and gnats he won't mind: And he never will shy, Though a train whizzes by, But always is gentle and kind.

A real horse, some day, Will be running away; A donkey is _so_ apt to kick; A goat will upset you, A doggie will fret you-- Your wooden horse hasn't a trick!

No chance of a crash, Or a runaway smash, Though never so playful and free. Oh! I like when I drive To be brought home alive-- So a fine wooden horsey for me!

TINKER, come bring your solder, And mend this watch for me. Haymaker, get some fodder, And give my cat his tea. Cobbler, my horse is limping, He'll have to be shod anew; While the smith brings forge and hammer To make my daughter a shoe. Bestir yourselves, my lazies! I give you all fair warning: You must do your work 'twixt twelve at night, And an hour before one in the morning.

THERE was a rare boy who fell ill, And begged them to give him a pill; "For my kind parents' sake, The dose I will take," Said this rare little boy who fell ill.

TAKING TIME TO GROW.

"MAMMA! mamma!" two eaglets cried, "To let us fly you've never tried. We want to go outside and play; We'll promise not to go away." The mother wisely shook her head: "No, no, my dears. Not yet," she said.

"But, mother dear," they called again, "We want to see those things called men, And all the world so grand and gay, Papa described the other day. And--don't you know?--he told you then About a little tiny wren, That flew about so brave and bold, When it was scarcely four weeks old?"

But still the mother shook her head; "No, no, my dears, not yet," she said. "Before you see the world below, Far bigger you will have to grow. There's time enough to look for men; And as for wrens--a wren's a wren. What if your freedom does come late? An eaglet can afford to wait."

THE NAUGHTY BOY.

"OCH, save us!" cried Betty, "I'm 'most driven wild; Would you shtep here a moment, ma'am, please? For the sowl of me, ma'am, I can't ready the child While he keeps up such doin's as these.

"I might better be curlin' a porkerpine quill, Or washin' the face of a eel, Than be dressin' of him--for he never keeps still 'Less I howld him by neck an' by heel.

"It's three blissed times since I put on his clothes That he's wriggled stret off o' the chair; Not a moment ago he attack-ted me nose, And it's twice he's been into me hair.

"If ye'll credit me, ma'am, wid his cryin' an' kickin', He's brought tears to my eyes, ma'am, like rain-- If he wasn't so bad, ma'am, I wouldn't be speakin', For I niver was one to complain."

Thus summoned, I went to the nursery-door, There sat master Johnny, a-pout. And I said, as I lifted him up from the floor, "Why, Johnny, what's all this about?"

A scream was his answer. His flushed little face Looked angrily up into mine; "Oo hurt!" "Do I, Johnny? Where?--show me the place!" But his cry only changed to a whine.

In a moment, I found out the cause of the trouble-- 'Twas a pin, pricking deep in his side; And she, in her roughness, had bent the thing double-- No wonder my darling had cried!

Poor Johnny! He sobbed on my shoulder awhile, Then held up his face to be kissed; (If Betty went back to the Emerald Isle, I know where she wouldn't be missed.)

Soon, meek as a lamb when the tempest is whirling, And the shepherd is deaf to his bleat, Our Johnny submitted to washing and curling, Till Betty proclaimed him "complete."

In "righting" each other, (As Betty would say), If we find there's a bother That stands in the way--

Perhaps 'twould be well, Before crying, "Sin," And running to tell, To look for the pin!

LITTLE MISS LIMBERKIN.

LITTLE Miss Limberkin, Dreadful to say, Found a mouse in the cupboard Sleeping away. Little Miss Limberkin Gave such a scream, She frightened the little mouse Out of its dream.

THE FROG WHO WOULDN'T A-WOOING GO.

YE gentlemen far, and gentlemen near, And ladies fair, and children dear, Come, list to the mournful tale--heigho!-- Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

I.

Once on a time, when nations were few, And whether the world stood still or flew, Nobody cared and nobody knew, A respectable pair, By name of Gluck, Lived in a pool On the Isle of Muck. Oh! very blest were this pair of frogs, Their lot was cast in the softest of bogs. Mrs. Gluck had an exquisite voice, Their sky was serenest, Their puddle the greenest That ever bade heart of a froggy rejoice.

II.

But of all the blessings that came to this pair, Most precious of all was a son and heir, With the widest of mouths and the loveliest stare-- Their brisk little polliwog, Hearty and hale; Their own little frisky one, All head and tail! Ah! never were parents so happy as these, Though their child, to be sure, wouldn't sit on their knees. And this, let me say, was a very bad sign, Though they didn't perceive it And couldn't conceive it, For it proved that he didn't to duty incline.

III.

Well, the days flew along, and their child grew apace, Till at last a fine form came to balance his face; And his legs grew so fast they seemed running a race. Completed at last, With his garment of green, Just the handsomest froggy That ever was seen, He said to his mother: "Now, madam, I'm blown If--ahem! I _should_ say, I am perfectly grown; So in future I'd wish my own master to be, Though I thank you most kindly For loving me blindly." (Such airs in a youngster were dreadful to see!)

IV.

"O son," quoth his mother, "you fill me with pain!" And she sobbed and she sighed with her whole might and main, And called to her husband in desperate strain. "Pooh, pooh!" said old Gluck, "The youngster is right, So let him alone, ma'am, Or you and I'll fight. And, hark ye, my son, I have noticed of late Yon puddle attracts you. Tis well. Find your mate. The Gungs, as a family, seem to adore you. Select your own waters, Take one of the daughters, And leap into life like your father before you."

V.

Alas for young puddledum! Proudly he scouted The sire's good advice. He sulked and he pouted, And the Gung girls, in turn, every one of them, flouted. "What, choose me a wife! Does he think I'm a fool? No, my motto for life Is: _one_ frog to a pool. Shall I yield up my freedom--be tied to a log? Not I, by my jumps!" quoth this prig of a frog. "Miss Gung, sir, for all _I_'ll prevent, gug-a-loo! May sing till they carry me, 'No one will marry me, Nobody, nobody's coming to woo!'"

VI.

I must tell you; old Gluck, with his puddle so fair, Was known by the banks as mud-millionaire. So, young Gluck (who you know, was his first son and heir),

Soon set up a team Of sleek water-rats, And covered his head With the brightest of hats; Then, with a phaeton and footman or two, He drove forth to dazzle, to awe and subdue. Oh! glum was his face, his heart icy cold! And the seat of his car, Though too wide by far For one single frog, not another would hold.

VII.

But when did the heartless, disdainful, and flat Live on, unrebuked by this world's tit for tat? And why did our frog trust his fate to a rat? One day, as he drove, There came forth to stare-- Kingfisher and Duck-- A most comical pair. The first was the proudest that ever was seen, For the rod in his hand was the gift of his queen; But the other--ah! never did duck so expand; Yet strut as he could, And strain as he would, Poor Quack, for the life of him, couldn't look grand.

VIII.

Yet he took it amiss that his efforts were lost To thaw with his splendor that armor of frost (For our frog quite disdained any duck to accost), And loudly he shouted, "Come back, sir, come back! You're spoiling our road With your zig-zagging track, Come back, or yon man, with his cat-o'-nine tails, Will be after your team, till you whistle like quails-- Great Neptune! If there ain't the mischief to pay! Just as sure as I waddle, Or swim, dive, or paddle, Those rats of young Gluck's are a-running away!"

IX.

Too true. They had heard the duck's dreadful appeal-- A cat with nine tails! why, the thought made them squeal. And they ran for their holes, with poor Gluck, neck and heel. But whether he lived, Or whether he died, Or whether the rats Managed safely to hide, Or whether his parents e'er saw him again, Or whether Miss Gung always waited in vain, 'Neath her lily-pads green, for a lover, or no, Are things that belong To the rest of my song Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

PART SECOND.

I.

Oh! moan, ye winds, by the green pool's brink! And quickly, ye Glucks, in the deep mud sink; Prepare all the dregs of affliction to drink! The pride of the puddle, Breath of thy breath, Lies low in the marshes, Fainting to death. Oh! weep, poor Miss Gung! for there never shall be In thy home of the lilies a lover for thee. Thy sun goeth down with never a glow, He hath frowned on thy fate, On thy maiden estate, And the one whom thou lovest is lying all low!

II.

Ha! what is this coming? what wreck do they spy? What driverless rat-steeds are these rushing by? "Our child!" cried the mother; "oh! fly to him, fly!" These words to old Gluck, And that mother fell dead; She had burst with her grief, And the vital spark fled. Then madly in search leaped that father bereft, And wildly those goggle-eyes peered right and left; Till at last, where the bank lay a little aslant, He saw his son lying, Apparently dying, For all he could do was to quiver and pant.

III.

"Oh! leap, little Eng" (this, Gluck said to his latest, A froggy half-grown), "bring of doctors the greatest, And look to thy speed, that thou never abatest. Bring Tightskin, or Squatt, Or my cousin Paff-Puff; But don't bring them all-- One doctor's enough. O horror! he fails! Be quick, Eng, be quick! His eye-balls are sinking! his breath's growing thick. Either Tightskin or Squatt will be better than Paff--" But Eng never heard, He had left at the word, Bound, of course, for the third of that medical staff.

IV.

"Oh! look at me, son! Oh! lift up your head! And don't lie so limp, for you fill me with dread For pity's sake, hear me. Your mother is dead!" "Dead!" gasped Master Gluck, "And I lying here? Oh! why will these mothers Step out of their sphere? If ever I needed good nursing 'tis now, And your masculine paw, sir, it scratches my brow. I need some one gentle--more gentle than air-- O father! I fear I am injured in here." And our frog pressed his heart in the deepest despair.

V.

"Now, bear up, my son," cried the sorrowing Gluck. "See! the doctor is coming. He'll bring us good luck. By my croak! but it's Paff, the conceited old buck." Then, quick to the doctor, "My child! Is he killed? Oh! save me my son From the phaeton spilled. Haste! give me the lotion! I'll pour it on here." "No, no," moaned the patient, "I can't have him near, His rubbing is torture. I'd rather be hung. Dear doctor, he's rough-- He's nursed me enough-- Oh! send little Eng for that oldest Miss Gung."

VI.

Then outspake the uncle, with wrath in his face, And a grunt of denial that filled all the place, "No, no, Master Gluck, _I'll_ attend to your case, Humph! nursing indeed! You've called me too late. In less than an hour, sir, We'll lay you out straight. No Miss Gung shall you have. Her father's my friend. If you'd done as you ought--Never mind. I intend To have all my sons, cousin Gluck, marry early. Had my patient seen fit To wed, I'll admit He might have been saved," said this doctor so surly.

VII.

And then, while our hero lay moaning with pain, And his father kept rubbing and fussing in vain, The doctor continued, in furious strain, "This accident--humph! Cousin Gluck, on my word, With a family team, sir, Would not have occurred. This thinking and plotting for self all the while, And frisking about, sir, in bachelor style, With no one to nurse you when hurt, sir, don't pay." "Good doctor," moaned froggy, "It isn't too late, Even now she'd consent To soften my fate. Oh Eng! dear, run off for Miss Gung, right away."

VIII.

These words were his last. He never moved more, But lay through the starlight, all fainting and sore (And those weary night-watchers, how rasping their snore)! In the morning they found him Stretched out stiff and stark-- He had died all alone In the cold and the dark. The chord of existence had snapt, they averred, In trying to utter one sweet little word. And, as over his body his weeping sire hung, 'Twas plain to be seen, From that mouth's very mien, That the last mournful sound of his life had been--Gung!

Oh! gentlemen far, and gentlemen near, And striplings fair, and children dear, Be warned by the mournful tale, heigho! Of the frog who wouldn't a-wooing go.

THE STUBBORN BOOT.

BOTHER! was all John Clatterby said. His breath came quick, and his cheek was red, He flourished his elbows, and looked absurd, While, over and over, his "Bother!" I heard.

Harder and harder the fellow worked, Vainly and savagely still he jerked; The boot, half on, _would_ dangle and flap-- "Oh bother!" and then he broke the strap.

Redder than ever his hot cheek flamed; Harder than ever he fumed and blamed; He wriggled his heel, and tugged at the leather Till knees and chin came bumping together.

"My boy!" said I, in a voice like a flute, "Why not--ahem!--try the mate of that boot; Or the other foot?"--"I'm a goose," laughed John, As he stood, in a flash, with his two boots on.

In half the affairs Of this busy life (As that same day I said to my wife), Our troubles come From trying to put The left-hand shoe On the right-hand foot, Or _vice versa_ (Meaning, reverse, sir). To try to force, As quite of course, Any wrong foot In the right shoe, Is the silliest thing A man can do.

THE LITTLE DUTCHMAN.