Rocks and castles towering high;

Hills and dales, and streams and fields; And knights in armor riding by,

With nodding plumes and shining shields.

And here are little boats, and there

Big ships with sails spread to the breeze; And yonder, palm trees waving fair On islands set in silver seas.

And butterflies with gauzy wings;

And herds of cows and flocks of sheep; And fruit and flowers and all the things You see when you are sound asleep.

For creeping softly underneath

The door when all the lights are out, Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe, And knows the things you think about.

He paints them on the window pane
In fairy lines with frozen steam;

And when you wake you see again
The lovely things you saw in dream.
Gabriel Setoun [1861-

OCTOBER'S PARTY

OCTOBER gave a party;

The leaves by hundreds came---
The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples,
And leaves of every name.
The Sunshine spread a carpet,
And everything was grand,
Miss Weather led the dancing,
Professor Wind the band.

The Chestnuts came in yellow,
The Oaks in crimson dressed;

The lovely Misses Maple

In scarlet looked their best;

Nikolina

All balanced to their partners,
And gaily fluttered by;

The sight was like a rainbow
New fallen from the sky,

Then, in the rustic hollow,
At hide-and-seek they played,
The party closed at sundown,
And everybody stayed.
Professor Wind played louder;
They flew along the ground;
And then the party ended

In jolly "hands around."

George Cooper [1840

THE SHEPHERD

How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.
For he hears the lamb's innocent call,
And he hears the ewe's tender reply;
He is watchful, while they are in peace,

145

For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. William Blake [1757-1827]

NIKOLINA

O TELL me, little children, have you seen her
The tiny maid from Norway, Nikolina?

O, her eyes are blue as cornflowers, mid the corn,
And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn!

Nikolina! swift she turns if any call her,

As she stands among the poppies, hardly taller,
Breaking off their scarlet cups for you,
With spikes of slender larkspur, burning blue.

In her little garden many a flower is growing-
Red, gold, and purple in the soft wind blowing,
But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay
Is sweeter, quainter, brighter e'en than they.

Celia Thaxter [1835-1894]

LITTLE GUSTAVA

LITTLE Gustava sits in the sun,

Safe in the porch, and the little drops run
From the icicles under the eaves so fast,
For the bright spring sun shines warm at last,
And glad is little Gustava.

She wears a quaint little scarlet cap,
And a little green bowl she holds in her lap,
Filled with bread and milk to the brim,
And a wreath of marigolds round the rim:
"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.

Up comes her little gray coaxing cat

With her little pink nose, and she mews, "What's that?" Gustava feeds her, she begs for more;

And a little brown hen walks in at the door:
"Good day!" cries little Gustava.

She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.
There comes a rush and a flutter, and then
Down fly her little white doves so sweet,
With their snowy wings and crimson feet:
"Welcome!" cries little Gustava.

So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.
But who is this through the doorway comes?
Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags,
Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags:
"Ha! ha!" laughs little Gustava.

"You want some breakfast too?" and down
She sets her bowl on the brick floor brown;
And little dog Rags drinks up her milk,
While she strokes his shaggy locks like silk:
"Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.

Waiting without stood sparrow and crow,
Cooling their feet in the melting snow:
"Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.
But they were too bashful, and stood outside
Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.

Prince Tatters

So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat
With doves and biddy and dog and cat.
And her mother came to the open house-door:
"Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.
My merry little Gustava!”

Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves,
All things harmless Gustava loves.
The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed,
And oh, her breakfast is sweet indeed
To happy little Gustava!

147

Celia Thaxter [1835-1894]

PRINCE TATTERS

LITTLE Prince Tatters has lost his cap!

Over the hedge he threw it;

Into the river it fell "kerslap!"

Stupid old thing to do it!

Now Mother may sigh and Nurse may fume
For the gay little cap with its eagle plume.

"One cannot be thinking all day of such matters!

Trifles are trifles!" says little Prince Tatters.

Little Prince Tatters has lost his coat!

Playing, he did not need it;

"Left it right there, by the nanny-goat,

And nobody never seed it!”

Now Mother and Nurse may search till night

For the little new coat with its buttons bright;

But-"Coat-sleeves or shirt-sleeves, how little it matters!

Trifles are trifles!" says little Prince Tatters.

Little Prince Tatters has LOST HIS BALL!
Rolled away down the street!
Somebody'll have to find it, that's all,

Before he can sleep or eat.

Now raise the neighborhood, quickly, do!
And send for the crier and constable too!

"Trifles are trifles; but serious matters,

They must be seen to," says little Prince Tatters.

Laura E. Richards [1850

THE LITTLE BLACK BOY

My mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but oh, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,

But I am black, as if bereaved of light.

My mother taught me underneath a tree,
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kissed me,

And, pointing to the East, began to say:

"Look on the rising sun,-there God does live,
And gives His light, and gives His heat away;
And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive
Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday.

"And we are put on earth a little space,

That we may learn to bear the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove.

"For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice, Saying: 'Come out from the grove, My love and care, And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice.""

Thus did my mother say, and kissèd me;

And thus I say to little English boy.

When I from black, and he from white cloud free,
And round the tent of God like lambs we joy,

I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear
To lean in joy upon our Father's knee;
And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair,
And be like him, and he will then love me.

William Blake [1757-1827]