AFTER NURSERY RHYMES

WHEN like a bud my Julia blowsIn lattice-work of silken hose,Pleasant I deem it is to noteHow, 'neath the nimble petticoat,Above her fairy shoe is setThe circumvolving zonulet.And soothly for the lover's earA perfect bliss it is to hearAbout her limb so lithe and lankMy Julia's ankle-bangle clank.Not rudely tight, for 'twere a sinTo corrugate her dainty skin;Nor yet so large that it might fareOver her foot at unaware;But fashioned nicely with a viewTo let her airy stocking through:So as, when Julia goes to bed,Of all her gear disburdenèd,This ring at least she shall not doffBecause she cannot take it off.And since thereof I hold the key,She may not taste of liberty,Not though she suffer from the gout,Unless I choose to let her out.Owen Seaman.

WHEN like a bud my Julia blows

In lattice-work of silken hose,

Pleasant I deem it is to note

How, 'neath the nimble petticoat,

Above her fairy shoe is set

The circumvolving zonulet.

And soothly for the lover's ear

A perfect bliss it is to hear

About her limb so lithe and lank

My Julia's ankle-bangle clank.

Not rudely tight, for 'twere a sin

To corrugate her dainty skin;

Nor yet so large that it might fare

Over her foot at unaware;

But fashioned nicely with a view

To let her airy stocking through:

So as, when Julia goes to bed,

Of all her gear disburdenèd,

This ring at least she shall not doff

Because she cannot take it off.

And since thereof I hold the key,

She may not taste of liberty,

Not though she suffer from the gout,

Unless I choose to let her out.

Owen Seaman.

THE hale John Sprat—oft called for shortness, Jack—Had married—had, in fact, a wife—and sheDid worship him with wifely reverence.He, who had loved her when she was a girl,Compass'd her, too, with sweet observances;E'en at the dinner table did it shine.For he—liking no fat himself—he never did,With jealous care piled up her plate with lean,Not knowing that all lean was hateful to her.And day by day she thought to tell him o 't,And watched the fat go out with envious eye,But could not speak for bashful delicacy.At last it chanced that on a winter day,The beef—a prize joint!—little was but fat;So fat, that John had all his work cut out,To snip out lean fragments for his wife,Leaving, in very sooth, none for himself;Which seeing, she spoke courage to her soul,Took up her fork, and, pointing to the jointWhere 'twas the fattest, piteously she said;“Oh, husband! full of love and tenderness!What is the cause that you so jealouslyPick out the lean for me. I like it not!Nay, loathe it—'tis on the fat that I would feast;O me, I fear you do not like my taste!"Then he, dropping his horny-handled carving knife,Sprinkling therewith the gravy o'er her gown,Answer'd, amazed: “What! you like fat, my wife!And never told me. Oh, this is not kind!Think what your reticence has wrought for us;How all the fat sent down unto the maid—Who likes not fat—for such maids never do—Has been put in the waste-tub, sold for grease,And pocketed as servant's perquisite!Oh, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,A joint must be not fat nor lean, but both;Our different tastes will serve our purpose well;For, while you eat the fat—the lean to meFalls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"So henceforth—he that tells the tale relates—In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;For he the lean did eat, and she the fat,And thus the dinner-platter was all cleared.Anonymous.

THE hale John Sprat—oft called for shortness, Jack—

Had married—had, in fact, a wife—and she

Did worship him with wifely reverence.

He, who had loved her when she was a girl,

Compass'd her, too, with sweet observances;

E'en at the dinner table did it shine.

For he—liking no fat himself—he never did,

With jealous care piled up her plate with lean,

Not knowing that all lean was hateful to her.

And day by day she thought to tell him o 't,

And watched the fat go out with envious eye,

But could not speak for bashful delicacy.

At last it chanced that on a winter day,The beef—a prize joint!—little was but fat;So fat, that John had all his work cut out,To snip out lean fragments for his wife,Leaving, in very sooth, none for himself;Which seeing, she spoke courage to her soul,Took up her fork, and, pointing to the jointWhere 'twas the fattest, piteously she said;“Oh, husband! full of love and tenderness!What is the cause that you so jealouslyPick out the lean for me. I like it not!Nay, loathe it—'tis on the fat that I would feast;O me, I fear you do not like my taste!"

At last it chanced that on a winter day,

The beef—a prize joint!—little was but fat;

So fat, that John had all his work cut out,

To snip out lean fragments for his wife,

Leaving, in very sooth, none for himself;

Which seeing, she spoke courage to her soul,

Took up her fork, and, pointing to the joint

Where 'twas the fattest, piteously she said;

“Oh, husband! full of love and tenderness!

What is the cause that you so jealously

Pick out the lean for me. I like it not!

Nay, loathe it—'tis on the fat that I would feast;

O me, I fear you do not like my taste!"

Then he, dropping his horny-handled carving knife,Sprinkling therewith the gravy o'er her gown,Answer'd, amazed: “What! you like fat, my wife!And never told me. Oh, this is not kind!Think what your reticence has wrought for us;How all the fat sent down unto the maid—Who likes not fat—for such maids never do—Has been put in the waste-tub, sold for grease,And pocketed as servant's perquisite!Oh, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,A joint must be not fat nor lean, but both;Our different tastes will serve our purpose well;For, while you eat the fat—the lean to meFalls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"So henceforth—he that tells the tale relates—In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;For he the lean did eat, and she the fat,And thus the dinner-platter was all cleared.Anonymous.

Then he, dropping his horny-handled carving knife,

Sprinkling therewith the gravy o'er her gown,

Answer'd, amazed: “What! you like fat, my wife!

And never told me. Oh, this is not kind!

Think what your reticence has wrought for us;

How all the fat sent down unto the maid—

Who likes not fat—for such maids never do—

Has been put in the waste-tub, sold for grease,

And pocketed as servant's perquisite!

Oh, wife! this news is good; for since, perforce,

A joint must be not fat nor lean, but both;

Our different tastes will serve our purpose well;

For, while you eat the fat—the lean to me

Falls as my cherished portion. Lo! 'tis good!"

So henceforth—he that tells the tale relates—

In John Sprat's household waste was quite unknown;

For he the lean did eat, and she the fat,

And thus the dinner-platter was all cleared.

Anonymous.

SINGEE a songee sick a pence,Pockee muchee lye;Dozen two time blackee birdCookee in e pie.When him cutee topsideBirdee bobbery sing;Himee tinkee nicey dishSetee foree King!Kingee in a talkee loomCountee muchee money;Queeny in e kitchee,Chew-chee breadee honey.Servant galo shakee,Hangee washee clothes;Cho-chop comee blackie bird,Nipee off her nose!Anonymous.

SINGEE a songee sick a pence,

Pockee muchee lye;

Dozen two time blackee bird

Cookee in e pie.

When him cutee topside

Birdee bobbery sing;

Himee tinkee nicey dish

Setee foree King!

Kingee in a talkee loom

Countee muchee money;

Queeny in e kitchee,

Chew-chee breadee honey.

Servant galo shakee,

Hangee washee clothes;

Cho-chop comee blackie bird,

Nipee off her nose!

Anonymous.

AND this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled.Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did he not see her gleaming through the glade!Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milked no cow with crumpled horn,Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she strayed:And aye before her stalks her amorous knight!Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And through those brogues, still tattered and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white.Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

AND this reft house is that the which he built,Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled.Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,

AND this reft house is that the which he built,

Lamented Jack! and here his malt he piled.

Cautious in vain! these rats that squeak so wild,

Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt.Did he not see her gleaming through the glade!Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.What though she milked no cow with crumpled horn,

Squeak not unconscious of their father's guilt.

Did he not see her gleaming through the glade!

Belike 'twas she, the maiden all forlorn.

What though she milked no cow with crumpled horn,

Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she strayed:And aye before her stalks her amorous knight!Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,And through those brogues, still tattered and betorn,His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white.Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Yet, aye she haunts the dale where erst she strayed:

And aye before her stalks her amorous knight!

Still on his thighs their wonted brogues are worn,

And through those brogues, still tattered and betorn,

His hindward charms gleam an unearthly white.

Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

TRILOBITE, Graptolite, Nautilus pie;Seas were calcareous, oceans were dry.Eocene, miocene, pliocene Tuff,Lias and Trias and that is enough.

TRILOBITE, Graptolite, Nautilus pie;

Seas were calcareous, oceans were dry.

Eocene, miocene, pliocene Tuff,

Lias and Trias and that is enough.

BYE Baby Bunting,Father's gone star-hunting;Mother's at the telescopeCasting baby's horoscope.Bye Baby Buntoid,Father's found an asteroid;Mother takes by calculationThe angle of its inclination.

BYE Baby Bunting,

Father's gone star-hunting;

Mother's at the telescope

Casting baby's horoscope.

Bye Baby Buntoid,

Father's found an asteroid;

Mother takes by calculation

The angle of its inclination.

LITTLE bo-peepalsHas lost her sepals,And can't tell where to find them;In the involucreBy hook or by crook orShe'll make up her mind not to mind them.

LITTLE bo-peepals

Has lost her sepals,

And can't tell where to find them;

In the involucre

By hook or by crook or

She'll make up her mind not to mind them.

OH, sing a song of phosphates,Fibrine in a line,Four-and-twenty folliclesIn the van of time.When the phosphorescenceEvoluted brain,Superstition ended,Men began to reign.Rev. Joseph Cook.

OH, sing a song of phosphates,Fibrine in a line,Four-and-twenty folliclesIn the van of time.

OH, sing a song of phosphates,

Fibrine in a line,

Four-and-twenty follicles

In the van of time.

When the phosphorescenceEvoluted brain,Superstition ended,Men began to reign.Rev. Joseph Cook.

When the phosphorescence

Evoluted brain,

Superstition ended,

Men began to reign.

Rev. Joseph Cook.

UPON a time I had a Heart,And it was bright and gay;And I gave it to a Lady fairTo have and keep alway.She soothed it and she smoothed itAnd she stabbed it till it bled;She brightened it and lightened itAnd she weighed it down with lead.She flattered it and battered itAnd she filled it full of gall;Yet had I Twenty Hundred Hearts,Still should she have them all.Oliver Herford.

UPON a time I had a Heart,And it was bright and gay;And I gave it to a Lady fairTo have and keep alway.

UPON a time I had a Heart,

And it was bright and gay;

And I gave it to a Lady fair

To have and keep alway.

She soothed it and she smoothed itAnd she stabbed it till it bled;She brightened it and lightened itAnd she weighed it down with lead.

She soothed it and she smoothed it

And she stabbed it till it bled;

She brightened it and lightened it

And she weighed it down with lead.

She flattered it and battered itAnd she filled it full of gall;Yet had I Twenty Hundred Hearts,Still should she have them all.Oliver Herford.

She flattered it and battered it

And she filled it full of gall;

Yet had I Twenty Hundred Hearts,

Still should she have them all.

Oliver Herford.

BEHOLD the mansion reared by Daedal Jack!See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack,In the proud cirque of Ivan's Bivouac!Mark how the rat's felonious fangs invadeThe golden stores in John's pavilion laid!Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides,Subtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides;Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent,Whose tooth insidious Johann's sackcloth rent!Lo! Now the deep-mouthed canine foe's assault!That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt,Stored in the hallowed precincts of that hall,That rose complete at Jack's creative call.Here stalks the impetuous cow with the crumpled horn,Whereon the exacerbating hound was tornWho bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slewThe rat predaceous, whose keen fangs ran throughThe textile fibres that involved the grainThat lay in Hans' inviolate domain.Here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue,Lactiferous spoils from vaccine dugs who drewOf that corniculate beast whose tortuous hornTossed to the clouds, in fierce vindictive scorn,The baying hound whose braggart bark and stirArched the lithe spine and reared the indignant furOf puss, that, with verminicidal claw,Struck the weird rat, in whose insatiate mawLay reeking malt, that erst in Juan's courts we saw.Robed in senescent garb, that seems, in sooth,Too long a prey to Chronos' iron tooth,Behold the man whose amorous lips inclineFull with young Eros' osculative sign,To the lorn maiden whose lactalbic handsDrew albulactic wealth from lacteal glandsOf that immortal bovine, by whose hornDistort, to realms ethereal was borneThe beast catulean, vexer of that slyUlysses quadrupedal, who made dieThe old mordaceous rat that dared devourAntecedaneous ale in John's domestic bower.Lo! Here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinctOf saponaceous locks, the priest who linkedIn Hymen's golden bands the man unthriftWhose means exiguous stared from many a rift,E'en as he kissed the virgin all forlornWho milked the cow with implicated horn,Who in fierce wrath the canine torturer skied,That dared to vex the insidious muricide,Who let auroral effluence through the peltOf that sly rat that robbed the palace that Jack built.The loud cantankerous Shanghai comes at last,Whose shouts aroused the shorn ecclesiast,Who sealed the vows of Hymen's sacramentTo him who, robed in garments indigent,Exosculates the damsel lachrymose,The emulgator of the horned brute moroseThat on gyrated horn, to heaven's high vaultHurled up, with many a tortuous somersault,The low bone-cruncher, whose hot wrath pursuedThe scratching sneak, that waged eternal feudWith long-tailed burglar, who his lips would smackOn farinaceous wealth, that filled the halls of Jack.Vast limbed and broad the farmer comes at length,Whose cereal care supplied the vital strengthOf chanticleer, whose matutinal cryRoused the quiescent form and ope'd the eyeOf razor-loving cleric, who in bandsConnubial linked the intermixed handsOf him, whose rent apparel gaped apart,And the lorn maiden with lugubrious heart,Her who extraught the exuberant lactic flowOf nutriment from that cornigerent cow,Eumenidal executor of fate,That to sidereal altitudes elateCerberus, who erst with fang lethiferousLeft lacerate Grimalkin latebrose—That killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.A. Pope.

BEHOLD the mansion reared by Daedal Jack!See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack,In the proud cirque of Ivan's Bivouac!

BEHOLD the mansion reared by Daedal Jack!

See the malt stored in many a plethoric sack,

In the proud cirque of Ivan's Bivouac!

Mark how the rat's felonious fangs invadeThe golden stores in John's pavilion laid!

Mark how the rat's felonious fangs invade

The golden stores in John's pavilion laid!

Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides,Subtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides;Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent,Whose tooth insidious Johann's sackcloth rent!

Anon, with velvet foot and Tarquin strides,

Subtle Grimalkin to his quarry glides;

Grimalkin grim, that slew the fierce rodent,

Whose tooth insidious Johann's sackcloth rent!

Lo! Now the deep-mouthed canine foe's assault!That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt,Stored in the hallowed precincts of that hall,That rose complete at Jack's creative call.

Lo! Now the deep-mouthed canine foe's assault!

That vexed the avenger of the stolen malt,

Stored in the hallowed precincts of that hall,

That rose complete at Jack's creative call.

Here stalks the impetuous cow with the crumpled horn,Whereon the exacerbating hound was tornWho bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slewThe rat predaceous, whose keen fangs ran throughThe textile fibres that involved the grainThat lay in Hans' inviolate domain.

Here stalks the impetuous cow with the crumpled horn,

Whereon the exacerbating hound was torn

Who bayed the feline slaughter-beast that slew

The rat predaceous, whose keen fangs ran through

The textile fibres that involved the grain

That lay in Hans' inviolate domain.

Here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue,Lactiferous spoils from vaccine dugs who drewOf that corniculate beast whose tortuous hornTossed to the clouds, in fierce vindictive scorn,The baying hound whose braggart bark and stirArched the lithe spine and reared the indignant furOf puss, that, with verminicidal claw,Struck the weird rat, in whose insatiate mawLay reeking malt, that erst in Juan's courts we saw.

Here walks forlorn the damsel crowned with rue,

Lactiferous spoils from vaccine dugs who drew

Of that corniculate beast whose tortuous horn

Tossed to the clouds, in fierce vindictive scorn,

The baying hound whose braggart bark and stir

Arched the lithe spine and reared the indignant fur

Of puss, that, with verminicidal claw,

Struck the weird rat, in whose insatiate maw

Lay reeking malt, that erst in Juan's courts we saw.

Robed in senescent garb, that seems, in sooth,Too long a prey to Chronos' iron tooth,Behold the man whose amorous lips inclineFull with young Eros' osculative sign,To the lorn maiden whose lactalbic handsDrew albulactic wealth from lacteal glandsOf that immortal bovine, by whose hornDistort, to realms ethereal was borneThe beast catulean, vexer of that slyUlysses quadrupedal, who made dieThe old mordaceous rat that dared devourAntecedaneous ale in John's domestic bower.

Robed in senescent garb, that seems, in sooth,

Too long a prey to Chronos' iron tooth,

Behold the man whose amorous lips incline

Full with young Eros' osculative sign,

To the lorn maiden whose lactalbic hands

Drew albulactic wealth from lacteal glands

Of that immortal bovine, by whose horn

Distort, to realms ethereal was borne

The beast catulean, vexer of that sly

Ulysses quadrupedal, who made die

The old mordaceous rat that dared devour

Antecedaneous ale in John's domestic bower.

Lo! Here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinctOf saponaceous locks, the priest who linkedIn Hymen's golden bands the man unthriftWhose means exiguous stared from many a rift,E'en as he kissed the virgin all forlornWho milked the cow with implicated horn,Who in fierce wrath the canine torturer skied,That dared to vex the insidious muricide,Who let auroral effluence through the peltOf that sly rat that robbed the palace that Jack built.

Lo! Here, with hirsute honors doffed, succinct

Of saponaceous locks, the priest who linked

In Hymen's golden bands the man unthrift

Whose means exiguous stared from many a rift,

E'en as he kissed the virgin all forlorn

Who milked the cow with implicated horn,

Who in fierce wrath the canine torturer skied,

That dared to vex the insidious muricide,

Who let auroral effluence through the pelt

Of that sly rat that robbed the palace that Jack built.

The loud cantankerous Shanghai comes at last,Whose shouts aroused the shorn ecclesiast,Who sealed the vows of Hymen's sacramentTo him who, robed in garments indigent,Exosculates the damsel lachrymose,The emulgator of the horned brute moroseThat on gyrated horn, to heaven's high vaultHurled up, with many a tortuous somersault,The low bone-cruncher, whose hot wrath pursuedThe scratching sneak, that waged eternal feudWith long-tailed burglar, who his lips would smackOn farinaceous wealth, that filled the halls of Jack.

The loud cantankerous Shanghai comes at last,

Whose shouts aroused the shorn ecclesiast,

Who sealed the vows of Hymen's sacrament

To him who, robed in garments indigent,

Exosculates the damsel lachrymose,

The emulgator of the horned brute morose

That on gyrated horn, to heaven's high vault

Hurled up, with many a tortuous somersault,

The low bone-cruncher, whose hot wrath pursued

The scratching sneak, that waged eternal feud

With long-tailed burglar, who his lips would smack

On farinaceous wealth, that filled the halls of Jack.

Vast limbed and broad the farmer comes at length,Whose cereal care supplied the vital strengthOf chanticleer, whose matutinal cryRoused the quiescent form and ope'd the eyeOf razor-loving cleric, who in bandsConnubial linked the intermixed handsOf him, whose rent apparel gaped apart,And the lorn maiden with lugubrious heart,Her who extraught the exuberant lactic flowOf nutriment from that cornigerent cow,Eumenidal executor of fate,That to sidereal altitudes elateCerberus, who erst with fang lethiferousLeft lacerate Grimalkin latebrose—That killed the ratThat ate the maltThat lay in the house that Jack built.A. Pope.

Vast limbed and broad the farmer comes at length,

Whose cereal care supplied the vital strength

Of chanticleer, whose matutinal cry

Roused the quiescent form and ope'd the eye

Of razor-loving cleric, who in bands

Connubial linked the intermixed hands

Of him, whose rent apparel gaped apart,

And the lorn maiden with lugubrious heart,

Her who extraught the exuberant lactic flow

Of nutriment from that cornigerent cow,

Eumenidal executor of fate,

That to sidereal altitudes elate

Cerberus, who erst with fang lethiferous

Left lacerate Grimalkin latebrose—

That killed the rat

That ate the malt

That lay in the house that Jack built.

A. Pope.

MARY,—what melodies mingleTo murmur her musical name!It makes all one's finger-tips tingleLike fagots, the food of the flame;About her an ancient traditionA romance delightfully deepHas woven in juxtapositionWith one little sheep,—One dear little lamb that would followHer footsteps, unwearily fain.Down dale, over hill, over hollow,To school and to hamlet again;A gentle companion, whose beautyConsisted in snow-driven fleece,And whose most imperative dutyWas keeping the peace.His eyes were as beads made of glassware,His lips were coquettishly curled,His capers made many a lass swearHis caper-sauce baffled the world;His tail had a wag when it relishedA sip of the milk in the pail,—And this fact has largely embellishedThe wag of this tale.One calm summer day when the sun wasA great golden globe in the sky,One mild summer morn when the fun wasUnspeakably clear in his eye,He tagged after exquisite Mary,And over the threshold of schoolHe tripped in a temper contrary,And splintered the rule.A great consternation was kindledAmong all the scholars, and someConfessed their affection had dwindledFor lamby, and looked rather glum;But Mary's schoolmistress quick beckonedThe children away from the jam,And said,sotto voce, she reckonedThat Mame loved the lamb.Then all up the spine of the rafterThere ran a most risible shock,And sorrow was sweetened with laughterAt this little lamb of the flock;And out spoke the schoolmistress Yankee,With rather a New Hampshire whine,“Dear pupils, sing Moody and Sankey,Hymn 'Ninety and Nine.'"Now after this music had finished,And silence again was restored,The ardor of lamby diminished,His quips for a moment were flooredThen cried he, “Bah-ed children, you blunderedWhen singing that psalmistry, quite.I'm labelled by Mary, 'Old Hundred,'And I'm labelled right."Then vanished the lambkin in glory,A halo of books round his head:What furthermore happened the story,Alackaday! cannot be said.And Mary, the musical maid, isTo-day but a shadow in time;Her epitaph, too, I'm afraid isWrit only in rhyme.She's sung by the cook at her ladleThat stirs up the capering sauce;She's sung by the nurse at the cradleWhen ba-ba is restless and cross;And lamby, whose virtues were legion,Dwells ever in songs that we sing,He makes a nice dish in this regionTo eat in the spring!Frank Dempster Sherman.

MARY,—what melodies mingle

To murmur her musical name!

It makes all one's finger-tips tingle

Like fagots, the food of the flame;

About her an ancient tradition

A romance delightfully deep

Has woven in juxtaposition

With one little sheep,—

One dear little lamb that would followHer footsteps, unwearily fain.Down dale, over hill, over hollow,To school and to hamlet again;A gentle companion, whose beautyConsisted in snow-driven fleece,And whose most imperative dutyWas keeping the peace.

One dear little lamb that would follow

Her footsteps, unwearily fain.

Down dale, over hill, over hollow,

To school and to hamlet again;

A gentle companion, whose beauty

Consisted in snow-driven fleece,

And whose most imperative duty

Was keeping the peace.

His eyes were as beads made of glassware,His lips were coquettishly curled,His capers made many a lass swearHis caper-sauce baffled the world;His tail had a wag when it relishedA sip of the milk in the pail,—And this fact has largely embellishedThe wag of this tale.

His eyes were as beads made of glassware,

His lips were coquettishly curled,

His capers made many a lass swear

His caper-sauce baffled the world;

His tail had a wag when it relished

A sip of the milk in the pail,—

And this fact has largely embellished

The wag of this tale.

One calm summer day when the sun wasA great golden globe in the sky,One mild summer morn when the fun wasUnspeakably clear in his eye,He tagged after exquisite Mary,And over the threshold of schoolHe tripped in a temper contrary,And splintered the rule.

One calm summer day when the sun was

A great golden globe in the sky,

One mild summer morn when the fun was

Unspeakably clear in his eye,

He tagged after exquisite Mary,

And over the threshold of school

He tripped in a temper contrary,

And splintered the rule.

A great consternation was kindledAmong all the scholars, and someConfessed their affection had dwindledFor lamby, and looked rather glum;But Mary's schoolmistress quick beckonedThe children away from the jam,And said,sotto voce, she reckonedThat Mame loved the lamb.

A great consternation was kindled

Among all the scholars, and some

Confessed their affection had dwindled

For lamby, and looked rather glum;

But Mary's schoolmistress quick beckoned

The children away from the jam,

And said,sotto voce, she reckoned

That Mame loved the lamb.

Then all up the spine of the rafterThere ran a most risible shock,And sorrow was sweetened with laughterAt this little lamb of the flock;And out spoke the schoolmistress Yankee,With rather a New Hampshire whine,“Dear pupils, sing Moody and Sankey,Hymn 'Ninety and Nine.'"

Then all up the spine of the rafter

There ran a most risible shock,

And sorrow was sweetened with laughter

At this little lamb of the flock;

And out spoke the schoolmistress Yankee,

With rather a New Hampshire whine,

“Dear pupils, sing Moody and Sankey,

Hymn 'Ninety and Nine.'"

Now after this music had finished,And silence again was restored,The ardor of lamby diminished,His quips for a moment were flooredThen cried he, “Bah-ed children, you blunderedWhen singing that psalmistry, quite.I'm labelled by Mary, 'Old Hundred,'And I'm labelled right."

Now after this music had finished,

And silence again was restored,

The ardor of lamby diminished,

His quips for a moment were floored

Then cried he, “Bah-ed children, you blundered

When singing that psalmistry, quite.

I'm labelled by Mary, 'Old Hundred,'

And I'm labelled right."

Then vanished the lambkin in glory,A halo of books round his head:What furthermore happened the story,Alackaday! cannot be said.And Mary, the musical maid, isTo-day but a shadow in time;Her epitaph, too, I'm afraid isWrit only in rhyme.

Then vanished the lambkin in glory,

A halo of books round his head:

What furthermore happened the story,

Alackaday! cannot be said.

And Mary, the musical maid, is

To-day but a shadow in time;

Her epitaph, too, I'm afraid is

Writ only in rhyme.

She's sung by the cook at her ladleThat stirs up the capering sauce;She's sung by the nurse at the cradleWhen ba-ba is restless and cross;And lamby, whose virtues were legion,Dwells ever in songs that we sing,He makes a nice dish in this regionTo eat in the spring!Frank Dempster Sherman.

She's sung by the cook at her ladle

That stirs up the capering sauce;

She's sung by the nurse at the cradle

When ba-ba is restless and cross;

And lamby, whose virtues were legion,

Dwells ever in songs that we sing,

He makes a nice dish in this region

To eat in the spring!

Frank Dempster Sherman.

Go, flaunting Rose!Tell her that wastes her love on thee,That she nought knowsOf the New Cult, Intensity,If sweet and fair to her you be.Tell her that's young,Or who in health and bloom takes pride,That bards have sungOf a new youth—at whose sad sideSickness and pallor aye abide.Small is the worthOf Beauty in crude charms attired.She must shun mirth,Have suffered, fruitlessly desired,And wear no flush by hope inspired.Then die, that sheMay learn that Death is passing fair;May read in theeHow little of Art's praise they share,Who are not sallow, sick, and spare!Punch.

Go, flaunting Rose!Tell her that wastes her love on thee,That she nought knowsOf the New Cult, Intensity,If sweet and fair to her you be.

Go, flaunting Rose!

Tell her that wastes her love on thee,

That she nought knows

Of the New Cult, Intensity,

If sweet and fair to her you be.

Tell her that's young,Or who in health and bloom takes pride,That bards have sungOf a new youth—at whose sad sideSickness and pallor aye abide.

Tell her that's young,

Or who in health and bloom takes pride,

That bards have sung

Of a new youth—at whose sad side

Sickness and pallor aye abide.

Small is the worthOf Beauty in crude charms attired.She must shun mirth,Have suffered, fruitlessly desired,And wear no flush by hope inspired.

Small is the worth

Of Beauty in crude charms attired.

She must shun mirth,

Have suffered, fruitlessly desired,

And wear no flush by hope inspired.

Then die, that sheMay learn that Death is passing fair;May read in theeHow little of Art's praise they share,Who are not sallow, sick, and spare!Punch.

Then die, that she

May learn that Death is passing fair;

May read in thee

How little of Art's praise they share,

Who are not sallow, sick, and spare!

Punch.

THREE brightest blessings of this thirsty race,(Whence sprung and when I don't propose to trace);Pale brandy, potent spirit of the night,Brisk soda, welcome when the morn is bright;To make the third, combine the other two,The force of nature can no further go.Anonymous.

THREE brightest blessings of this thirsty race,

(Whence sprung and when I don't propose to trace);

Pale brandy, potent spirit of the night,

Brisk soda, welcome when the morn is bright;

To make the third, combine the other two,

The force of nature can no further go.

Anonymous.

THREE viands in three different courses served,Received the commendation they deserved.The first in succulence all else surpassed;The next in flavor; and in both, the last.For Nature's forces could no further go;To make the third, she joined the other two.Carolyn Wells.

THREE viands in three different courses served,

Received the commendation they deserved.

The first in succulence all else surpassed;

The next in flavor; and in both, the last.

For Nature's forces could no further go;

To make the third, she joined the other two.

Carolyn Wells.

“'TIS the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his noseTrims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie;The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon;While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,And concluded the banquet by ——"Lewis Carroll.

“'TIS the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare

'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'

As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose

Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.

When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,

And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:

But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,

His voice has a timid and tremulous sound.

“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie;The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon;While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,And concluded the banquet by ——"Lewis Carroll.

“I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,

How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie;

The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,

While the Owl had the dish as its share of the treat.

When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,

Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon;

While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,

And concluded the banquet by ——"

Lewis Carroll.

HOW doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spreads his claws,And welcomes little fishes in,With gently smiling jaws!Lewis Carroll.

HOW doth the little crocodileImprove his shining tail,And pour the waters of the NileOn every golden scale!

HOW doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,How neatly spreads his claws,And welcomes little fishes in,With gently smiling jaws!Lewis Carroll.

How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spreads his claws,

And welcomes little fishes in,

With gently smiling jaws!

Lewis Carroll.

WHEN lovely woman wants a favor,And finds, too late, that man won't bend,What earthly circumstance can save herFrom disappointment in the end?The only way to bring him over,The last experiment to try,Whether a husband or a lover,If he have feeling is—to cry.Phœbe Cary.

WHEN lovely woman wants a favor,And finds, too late, that man won't bend,What earthly circumstance can save herFrom disappointment in the end?

WHEN lovely woman wants a favor,

And finds, too late, that man won't bend,

What earthly circumstance can save her

From disappointment in the end?

The only way to bring him over,The last experiment to try,Whether a husband or a lover,If he have feeling is—to cry.Phœbe Cary.

The only way to bring him over,

The last experiment to try,

Whether a husband or a lover,

If he have feeling is—to cry.

Phœbe Cary.

SHOULD Gaelic speech be e'er forgot,And never brocht to min',For she'll be spoke in ParadiseIn the days of auld lang syne.When Eve, all fresh in beauty's charms,First met fond Adam's view,The first word that he'll spoke till herWas, “cumar achum dhu."And Adam in his garden fair,Whene'er the day did close,The dish that he'll to supper teukWas always Athole brose.When Adam from his leafy bowerCam oot at broke o' day,He'll always for his morning teukA quaich o' usquebae.An' when wi' Eve he'll had a crack,He'll teuk his sneeshin' horn,An' on the tap ye'll well mitch markA pony praw Cairngorm.The sneeshin' mull is fine, my friens—The sneeshin' mull is gran';We'll teukta hearty sneesh, my friens,And pass frae han' to han'.When man first fan the want o' claes,The wind an' cauld to fleg.He twisted roon' about his waistThe tartan philabeg.An' music first on earth was heardIn Gaelic accents deep,When Jubal in his oxter squeezedThe blether o' a sheep.The praw bagpipes is gran', my friens,The praw bagpipes is fine;We'll teukta nother pibroch yet,For the days o' auld lang syne!Anonymous.

SHOULD Gaelic speech be e'er forgot,

And never brocht to min',

For she'll be spoke in Paradise

In the days of auld lang syne.

When Eve, all fresh in beauty's charms,

First met fond Adam's view,

The first word that he'll spoke till her

Was, “cumar achum dhu."

And Adam in his garden fair,Whene'er the day did close,The dish that he'll to supper teukWas always Athole brose.When Adam from his leafy bowerCam oot at broke o' day,He'll always for his morning teukA quaich o' usquebae.

And Adam in his garden fair,

Whene'er the day did close,

The dish that he'll to supper teuk

Was always Athole brose.

When Adam from his leafy bower

Cam oot at broke o' day,

He'll always for his morning teuk

A quaich o' usquebae.

An' when wi' Eve he'll had a crack,He'll teuk his sneeshin' horn,An' on the tap ye'll well mitch markA pony praw Cairngorm.The sneeshin' mull is fine, my friens—The sneeshin' mull is gran';We'll teukta hearty sneesh, my friens,And pass frae han' to han'.

An' when wi' Eve he'll had a crack,

He'll teuk his sneeshin' horn,

An' on the tap ye'll well mitch mark

A pony praw Cairngorm.

The sneeshin' mull is fine, my friens—

The sneeshin' mull is gran';

We'll teukta hearty sneesh, my friens,

And pass frae han' to han'.

When man first fan the want o' claes,The wind an' cauld to fleg.He twisted roon' about his waistThe tartan philabeg.An' music first on earth was heardIn Gaelic accents deep,When Jubal in his oxter squeezedThe blether o' a sheep.

When man first fan the want o' claes,

The wind an' cauld to fleg.

He twisted roon' about his waist

The tartan philabeg.

An' music first on earth was heard

In Gaelic accents deep,

When Jubal in his oxter squeezed

The blether o' a sheep.

The praw bagpipes is gran', my friens,The praw bagpipes is fine;We'll teukta nother pibroch yet,For the days o' auld lang syne!Anonymous.

The praw bagpipes is gran', my friens,

The praw bagpipes is fine;

We'll teukta nother pibroch yet,

For the days o' auld lang syne!

Anonymous.

JOHN ALCOHOL, my foe, John,When we were first acquaint,I'd siller in my pockets, John,Which noo, ye ken, I want;I spent it all in treating, John,Because I loved you so;But mark ye, how you've treated me,John Alcohol, my foe.John Alcohol, my foe, John,We've been ower lang together,Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John,And I will take anither;Foe we maun tumble down, John,If hand in hand we go;And I shall hae the bill to pay,John Alcohol, my foe.John Alcohol, my foe, John,Ye've blear'd out a' my een,And lighted up my nose, John,A fiery sign atween!My hands wi' palsy shake, John,My locks are like the snow;Ye'll surely be the death of me,John Alcohol, my foe.John Alcohol, my foe, John,'Twas love to you, I ween,That gart me rise sae ear', John,And sit sae late at e'en;The best o' friens maun part, John,It grieves me sair, ye know;But “we'll nae mair to yon town,"John Alcohol, my foe.John Alcohol, my foe, John,Ye've wrought me muckle skaith,And yet to part wi' you, John,I own I'm unko' laith;But I'll join the temperance ranks, John,Ye needna say me no;It's better late than ne'er do weel,John Alcohol, my foe.Anonymous.

JOHN ALCOHOL, my foe, John,

When we were first acquaint,

I'd siller in my pockets, John,

Which noo, ye ken, I want;

I spent it all in treating, John,

Because I loved you so;

But mark ye, how you've treated me,

John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,We've been ower lang together,Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John,And I will take anither;Foe we maun tumble down, John,If hand in hand we go;And I shall hae the bill to pay,John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,

We've been ower lang together,

Sae ye maun tak' ae road, John,

And I will take anither;

Foe we maun tumble down, John,

If hand in hand we go;

And I shall hae the bill to pay,

John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,Ye've blear'd out a' my een,And lighted up my nose, John,A fiery sign atween!My hands wi' palsy shake, John,My locks are like the snow;Ye'll surely be the death of me,John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,

Ye've blear'd out a' my een,

And lighted up my nose, John,

A fiery sign atween!

My hands wi' palsy shake, John,

My locks are like the snow;

Ye'll surely be the death of me,

John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,'Twas love to you, I ween,That gart me rise sae ear', John,And sit sae late at e'en;The best o' friens maun part, John,It grieves me sair, ye know;But “we'll nae mair to yon town,"John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,

'Twas love to you, I ween,

That gart me rise sae ear', John,

And sit sae late at e'en;

The best o' friens maun part, John,

It grieves me sair, ye know;

But “we'll nae mair to yon town,"

John Alcohol, my foe.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,Ye've wrought me muckle skaith,And yet to part wi' you, John,I own I'm unko' laith;But I'll join the temperance ranks, John,Ye needna say me no;It's better late than ne'er do weel,John Alcohol, my foe.Anonymous.

John Alcohol, my foe, John,

Ye've wrought me muckle skaith,

And yet to part wi' you, John,

I own I'm unko' laith;

But I'll join the temperance ranks, John,

Ye needna say me no;

It's better late than ne'er do weel,

John Alcohol, my foe.

Anonymous.

GIN a body meet a bodyFlyin' through the air,Gin a body hit a body,Will it fly? and where?Ilka impact has its measure,Ne'er a' ane hae I,Yet a' the lads they measure me,Or, at least, they try.Gin a body meet a bodyAltogether free,How they travel afterwardsWe do not always see.Ilka problem has its methodBy analytics high;For me, I ken na ane o' them,But what the waur am I?J. C. Maxwell.

GIN a body meet a bodyFlyin' through the air,Gin a body hit a body,Will it fly? and where?Ilka impact has its measure,Ne'er a' ane hae I,Yet a' the lads they measure me,Or, at least, they try.

GIN a body meet a body

Flyin' through the air,

Gin a body hit a body,

Will it fly? and where?

Ilka impact has its measure,

Ne'er a' ane hae I,

Yet a' the lads they measure me,

Or, at least, they try.

Gin a body meet a bodyAltogether free,How they travel afterwardsWe do not always see.Ilka problem has its methodBy analytics high;For me, I ken na ane o' them,But what the waur am I?J. C. Maxwell.

Gin a body meet a body

Altogether free,

How they travel afterwards

We do not always see.

Ilka problem has its method

By analytics high;

For me, I ken na ane o' them,

But what the waur am I?

J. C. Maxwell.

IDWELLS in the Herth and I breathes in the Hair;If you searches the Hocean you'll find that I'm there;The first of all Hangels in Holympus am Hi,Yet I'm banished from 'Eaven, expelled from on 'Igh.But tho' on this Horb I am destined to grovel,I'm ne'er seen in an 'Ouse, in an 'Ut, nor an 'Ovel;Not an 'Oss nor an 'Unter e'er bears me, alas!But often I'm found on the top of a Hass.I resides in a Hattic and loves not to roam,And yet I'm invariably habsent from 'Ome.Tho' 'ushed in the 'Urricane, of the Hatmosphere part,I enters no 'Ed, I creeps into no 'Art,But look and you'll see in the Heye I appear.Only 'ark and you'll 'ear me just breathe in the Hear;Tho' in sex not an 'E, I am (strange paradox!),Not a bit of an 'Effer, but partly a Hox.Of Heternity Hi'm the beginning! and mark,Tho' I goes not with Noar, I'm the first in the Hark.I'm never in 'Elth—have with Fysic no power;I dies in a Month, but comes back in a Hour.Horace Mayhew.

IDWELLS in the Herth and I breathes in the Hair;

If you searches the Hocean you'll find that I'm there;

The first of all Hangels in Holympus am Hi,

Yet I'm banished from 'Eaven, expelled from on 'Igh.

But tho' on this Horb I am destined to grovel,

I'm ne'er seen in an 'Ouse, in an 'Ut, nor an 'Ovel;

Not an 'Oss nor an 'Unter e'er bears me, alas!

But often I'm found on the top of a Hass.

I resides in a Hattic and loves not to roam,

And yet I'm invariably habsent from 'Ome.

Tho' 'ushed in the 'Urricane, of the Hatmosphere part,

I enters no 'Ed, I creeps into no 'Art,

But look and you'll see in the Heye I appear.

Only 'ark and you'll 'ear me just breathe in the Hear;

Tho' in sex not an 'E, I am (strange paradox!),

Not a bit of an 'Effer, but partly a Hox.

Of Heternity Hi'm the beginning! and mark,

Tho' I goes not with Noar, I'm the first in the Hark.

I'm never in 'Elth—have with Fysic no power;

I dies in a Month, but comes back in a Hour.

Horace Mayhew.

HE lived amidst th' untrodden waysTo Rydal Lake that lead;A bard whom there was none to praiseAnd very few to read.Behind a cloud his mystic sense,Deep hidden, who can spy?Bright as the night when not a starIs shining in the sky.Unread his works—his “Milk White Doe"With dust is dark and dim;It's still in Longmans' shop, and oh!The difference to him.Anonymous.

HE lived amidst th' untrodden waysTo Rydal Lake that lead;A bard whom there was none to praiseAnd very few to read.

HE lived amidst th' untrodden ways

To Rydal Lake that lead;

A bard whom there was none to praise

And very few to read.

Behind a cloud his mystic sense,Deep hidden, who can spy?Bright as the night when not a starIs shining in the sky.

Behind a cloud his mystic sense,

Deep hidden, who can spy?

Bright as the night when not a star

Is shining in the sky.

Unread his works—his “Milk White Doe"With dust is dark and dim;It's still in Longmans' shop, and oh!The difference to him.Anonymous.

Unread his works—his “Milk White Doe"

With dust is dark and dim;

It's still in Longmans' shop, and oh!

The difference to him.

Anonymous.

HE dwelt among “Apartments let,"About five stories high;A man, I thought, that none would get,And very few would try.A boulder, by a larger stoneHalf hidden in the mud,Fair as a man when only oneIs in the neighborhood.He lived unknown, and few could tellWhen Jacob was not free;But he has got a wife—and O!The difference to me!Phœbe Cary.

HE dwelt among “Apartments let,"About five stories high;A man, I thought, that none would get,And very few would try.

HE dwelt among “Apartments let,"

About five stories high;

A man, I thought, that none would get,

And very few would try.

A boulder, by a larger stoneHalf hidden in the mud,Fair as a man when only oneIs in the neighborhood.

A boulder, by a larger stone

Half hidden in the mud,

Fair as a man when only one

Is in the neighborhood.

He lived unknown, and few could tellWhen Jacob was not free;But he has got a wife—and O!The difference to me!Phœbe Cary.

He lived unknown, and few could tell

When Jacob was not free;

But he has got a wife—and O!

The difference to me!

Phœbe Cary.

THERE is a river clear and fair,'Tis neither broad nor narrow;It winds a little here and there—It winds about like any hare;And then it holds as straight a courseAs, on the turnpike road, a horse,Or, through the air, an arrow.The trees that grow upon the shoreHave grown a hundred years or more;So long there is no knowing:Old Daniel Dobson does not knowWhen first those trees began to grow;But still they grew, and grew, and grew,As if they'd nothing else to do,But ever must be growing.The impulses of air and skyHave reared their stately heads so high,And clothed their boughs with green;Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,—And when the wind blows loud and keen,I've seen the jolly timbers laugh,And shake their sides with merry glee—Wagging their heads in mockery.Fixed are their feet in solid earthWhere winds can never blow;But visitings of deeper birthHave reached their roots below.For they have gained the river's brink,And of the living waters drink.There's little Will, a five years' child—He is my youngest boy;To look on eyes so fair and wild,It is a very joy.He hath conversed with sun and shower,And dwelt with every idle flower,As fresh and gay as them.He loiters with the briar-rose,—The blue-bells are his play-fellows,That dance upon their slender stem.And I have said, my little Will,Why should he not continue stillA thing of Nature's rearing?A thing beyond the world's control—A living vegetable soul,—No human sorrow fearing.It were a blessed sight to seeThat child become a willow-tree,His brother trees among.He'd be four times as tall as me,And live three times as long.Catherine M. Fanshawe.

THERE is a river clear and fair,

'Tis neither broad nor narrow;

It winds a little here and there—

It winds about like any hare;

And then it holds as straight a course

As, on the turnpike road, a horse,

Or, through the air, an arrow.

The trees that grow upon the shoreHave grown a hundred years or more;So long there is no knowing:Old Daniel Dobson does not knowWhen first those trees began to grow;But still they grew, and grew, and grew,As if they'd nothing else to do,But ever must be growing.

The trees that grow upon the shore

Have grown a hundred years or more;

So long there is no knowing:

Old Daniel Dobson does not know

When first those trees began to grow;

But still they grew, and grew, and grew,

As if they'd nothing else to do,

But ever must be growing.

The impulses of air and skyHave reared their stately heads so high,And clothed their boughs with green;Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,—And when the wind blows loud and keen,I've seen the jolly timbers laugh,And shake their sides with merry glee—Wagging their heads in mockery.

The impulses of air and sky

Have reared their stately heads so high,

And clothed their boughs with green;

Their leaves the dews of evening quaff,—

And when the wind blows loud and keen,

I've seen the jolly timbers laugh,

And shake their sides with merry glee—

Wagging their heads in mockery.

Fixed are their feet in solid earthWhere winds can never blow;But visitings of deeper birthHave reached their roots below.For they have gained the river's brink,And of the living waters drink.

Fixed are their feet in solid earth

Where winds can never blow;

But visitings of deeper birth

Have reached their roots below.

For they have gained the river's brink,

And of the living waters drink.

There's little Will, a five years' child—He is my youngest boy;To look on eyes so fair and wild,It is a very joy.He hath conversed with sun and shower,And dwelt with every idle flower,As fresh and gay as them.He loiters with the briar-rose,—The blue-bells are his play-fellows,That dance upon their slender stem.

There's little Will, a five years' child—

He is my youngest boy;

To look on eyes so fair and wild,

It is a very joy.

He hath conversed with sun and shower,

And dwelt with every idle flower,

As fresh and gay as them.

He loiters with the briar-rose,—

The blue-bells are his play-fellows,

That dance upon their slender stem.

And I have said, my little Will,Why should he not continue stillA thing of Nature's rearing?A thing beyond the world's control—A living vegetable soul,—No human sorrow fearing.It were a blessed sight to seeThat child become a willow-tree,His brother trees among.He'd be four times as tall as me,And live three times as long.Catherine M. Fanshawe.

And I have said, my little Will,

Why should he not continue still

A thing of Nature's rearing?

A thing beyond the world's control—

A living vegetable soul,—

No human sorrow fearing.

It were a blessed sight to see

That child become a willow-tree,

His brother trees among.

He'd be four times as tall as me,

And live three times as long.

Catherine M. Fanshawe.

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