SELECTIONS FOR MEMORIZING
I
Hark, hark,The dogs do bark,The beggars are coming to town;Some in tags,Some in rags,And some in velvet gowns.
II
Pease porridge hot,Pease porridge cold,Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old.Some like it hot,Some like it cold,Some like it in the pot, nine days old.
III
"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?""I've been to London to look at the Queen.""Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?""I frightened a little mouse under a chair."
IV
Three mice went into a hole to spin;Puss passed by and Puss looked in:"What are you doing, my little men?""Weaving coats for gentlemen.""Please let me help you to wind off your threads.""Ah, no, Mistress Pussy, you'd bite off our heads."
V
Little Boy Blue, come blow your horn,The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn.Where's the boy that looks after the sheep?He's under the haycock, fast asleep."Will you wake him?" "No, not I;For if I do, he'll be sure to cry."
VI
Sleep, baby, sleep!Our cottage vale is deep:The little lamb is on the green,With snowy fleece so soft and clean.Sleep, baby, sleep!Sleep, baby, sleep!Thy rest shall angels keep:While on the grass the lamb shall feed,And never suffer want or need.Sleep, baby, sleep!
VII
Hush thee, my babby,Lie still with thy daddy,Thy mammy has gone to the mill,To grind thee some wheatTo get thee some meat,And so, my dear babby, lie still.
VIII
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,Upstairs and downstairs, in his nightgown,Rapping at the window, crying through the lock,"Are the children in their beds? now it's eight o'clock."
Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep,And can't tell where to find them;Leave them alone and they'll come home,And bring their tails behind them.Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep,And dreamt she heard them bleating;But when she awoke she found it a joke,For still they all were fleeting.Then up she took her little crook,Determined for to find them;She found them indeed, but it made her heart bleed,For they'd left all their tails behind 'em.—Mother Goose.
—Mother Goose.
I saw a ship a-sailing,A-sailing on the sea;And, oh! it was all ladenWith pretty things for thee.There were comfits in the cabin,And apples in the hold;The sails were made of silk,And the masts were made of gold.The four-and-twenty sailorsThat stood between the decksWere four-and-twenty white mice,With chains about their necks.The captain was a duck,With a packet on his back;And when the ship began to move,The captain said, "Quack! quack!"—Mother Goose.
—Mother Goose.
I
The world is so full of a number of things,I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
II
The rain is raining all around,It falls on field and tree,It rains on the umbrellas here,And on the ships at sea.
III
Of speckled eggs the birdie singsAnd nests among the trees;The sailor sings of ropes and thingsIn ships upon the seas.The children sing in far Japan,The children sing in Spain;The organ with the organ manIs singing in the rain.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
Boats sail on the rivers,And ships sail on the seas;But clouds that sail across the skyAre prettier far than these.There are bridges on the rivers,As pretty as you please;But the bow that bridges heavenAnd overtops the trees,And builds a road from earth to sky,Is prettier far than these.—Christina G. Rossetti.
—Christina G. Rossetti.
Who has seen the wind?Neither I nor you;But when the leaves hang tremblingThe wind is passing through.Who has seen the wind?Neither you nor I;But when the trees bow down their headsThe wind is passing by.—Christina G. Rossetti.
—Christina G. Rossetti.
The friendly cow all red and whiteI love with all my heart;She gives me milk with all her might,To eat with apple tart.She wanders lowing here and there,And yet she cannot stray,All in the pleasant open air,The pleasant light of day.And blown by all the winds that pass,And wet with all the showers,She walks among the meadow grassAnd eats the meadow flowers.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
Whenever the moon and stars are set,Whenever the wind is high,All night long in the dark and wet,A man goes riding by.Late in the night when the fires are out,Why does he gallop and gallop about?Whenever the trees are crying aloud,And ships are tossed at sea,By, on the highway, low and loud,By at the gallop goes he.By at the gallop he goes, and thenBy he comes back at the gallop again.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
In winter I get up at nightAnd dress by yellow candle light;In summer, quite the other way,I have to go to bed by day.I have to go to bed and seeThe birds still hopping on the tree;Or hear the grown-up people's feetStill going past me in the street.And does it not seem hard to you,When all the sky is clear and blue,And I should like so much to play,To have to go to bed by day?—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
What does little birdie say,In her nest at peep of day?Let me fly, says little birdie,Mother, let me fly away.Birdie, rest a little longer,Till the little wings are stronger.So she rests a little longer,Then she flies away.What does little baby say,In her bed at peep of day?Baby says, like little birdie,Let me rise and fly away.Baby, sleep a little longer,Till the little limbs are stronger.If she sleeps a little longer,Baby too shall fly away.—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Sleep, baby, sleep.Thy father is tending the sheep:Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree,And down comes a little dream on thee.Sleep, baby, sleep.Sleep, baby, sleep.The large stars are the sheep:The little stars are the lambs, I guess,And the bright moon is the shepherdess.Sleep, baby, sleep.Sleep, baby, sleep.Our Saviour loves His sheep:He is the Lamb of God on high,Who for our sakes came down to die.Sleep, baby, sleep.—From the German byCaroline Southey.
—From the German byCaroline Southey.
The Lord is my shepherd;I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil:For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before meIn the presence of mine enemies:Thou anointest my head with oil;My cup runneth over.Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life:And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.—King David.
—King David.
Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!As the light-hearted fairy? heigh ho,Heigh ho!He dances and singsTo the sound of his wingsWith a hey and a heigh and a ho.Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh ho!As the light-headed fairy? heigh ho,Heigh ho!His nectar he sipsFrom the primroses' lipsWith a hey and a heigh and a ho.Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho!As the light-footed fairy? heigh ho,Heigh ho!The night is his noonAnd his sun is the moon,With a hey and a heigh and a ho.—Unknown.
—Unknown.
When I was sick and lay a-bed,I had two pillows for my head,And all my toys beside me layTo keep me happy all the day.And sometimes for an hour or soI watched my leaden soldiers go,With different uniforms and drills,Among the bed-clothes through the hills;And sometimes sent my ships in fleetsAll up and down among the sheets;Or brought my trees and houses out,And planted cities all about.I was the giant great and stillThat sits upon the pillow-hill,And sees before him, dale and plain,The pleasant land of counterpane.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;And I see him jump before me when I jump into my bed.The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me.One morning, very early, before the sun was up,I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea;Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea.Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon, and blow,Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,Father will come to thee soon;Rest, rest on mother's breast,Father will come to thee soon;Father will come to his babe in the nest,Silver sails all out of the westUnder the silver moon;Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
First Fairy
You spotted snakes with double tongue,Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong;Come not near our fairy queen.
Chorus
Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby:Never harm,Nor spell, nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good night, with lullaby.
Second Fairy
Weaving spiders, come not here;Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence;Beetles black, approach not near;Worm nor snail, do no offence.
Chorus
Philomel, with melodySing in our sweet lullaby;Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby:Never harm,Nor spell, nor charm,Come our lovely lady nigh;So, good night, with lullaby.—William Shakespeare.
—William Shakespeare.
Hush! the waves are rolling in,White with foam, white with foam!Father toils amid the din;But baby sleeps at home.Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep.On they come, on they come!Brother seeks the lazy sheep;But baby sleeps at home.Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes,Where they roam, where they roam;Sister goes to seek the cows;But baby sleeps at home.—Unknown.
—Unknown.
IThe City Child
Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?"Far, and far away," said the dainty little maiden,"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells."Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,Daisies and kingcups, and honeysuckle-flowers."
IIMinnie and Winnie
Minnie and WinnieSlept in a shell.Sleep, little ladies!And they slept well.Pink was the shell within,Silver without;Sounds of the great seaWander'd about.Sleep, little ladies!Wake not soon!Echo on echoDies to the moon.Two bright starsPeep'd into the shell."What are they dreaming of?Who can tell?"Started a green linnetOut of the croft;Wake, little ladies,The sun is aloft!—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Little Lamb, who made thee?Dost thou know who made thee?Gave thee life, and bade thee feedBy the stream and o'er the mead;Softest clothing, woolly, bright;Gave thee such a tender voice,Making all the vales rejoice;Little Lamb, who made thee?Dost thou know who made thee?Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.He is calléd by thy name,For He calls Himself a Lamb:—He is meek, and He is mild;He became a little child:I, a child, and thou, a lamb,We are calléd by His name.Little Lamb, God bless thee;Little Lamb, God bless thee.—William Blake.
—William Blake.
Up the airy mountain,Down the rushy glen,We daren't go a-huntingFor fear of little men;Wee folk, good folk,Trooping all together;Green jacket, red cap,And white owl's feather!Down along the rocky shoreSome make their home:They live on crispy pancakesOf yellow tide-foam;Some in the reedsOf the black mountain lake,With frogs for their watch-dogs,All night awake.By the craggy hill-side,Through the mosses bare,They have planted thorn-treesFor pleasure here and there.Is any man so daringAs dig them up in spite,He shall find their sharpest thornsIn his bed at night.Up the airy mountain,Down the rushy glen,We daren't go a-huntingFor fear of little men;Wee folk, good folk,Trooping all together;Green jacket, red cap,And white owl's feather!—William Allingham.
—William Allingham.
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king;Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!The palm and may make country houses gay,Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,In every street these tunes our ears do greet,Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!Spring, the sweet Spring!—Thomas Nash.
—Thomas Nash.
"I love the moon and the moon loves me;God bless the moon and God bless me."—Old Song."Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?""Over the sea.""Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?""All that love me.""Are you not tired with rolling, and neverResting to sleep?Why look so pale and so sad as foreverWishing to weep?""Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;You are too bold.I must obey the great Father above me,And do as I'm told."—Lord Houghton.
—Lord Houghton.
Entreat me not to leave thee,Or to return from following after thee;For whither thou goest, I will go;And where thou lodgest, I will lodge;Thy people shall be my people,And thy God my God;Where thou diest, will I die,And there will I be buried;The Lord do so to me,And more also,If aught but death part thee and me.—Ruth the Moabitess.
—Ruth the Moabitess.
I saw you toss the kites on highAnd blow the birds about the sky;And all around I heard you pass,Like ladies' skirts across the grass;O wind, a-blowing all day long,O wind, that sings so loud a song!I saw the different things you did,But always you yourself you hid.I felt you push, I heard you call,I could not see yourself at all:O wind, a-blowing all day long,O wind, that sings so loud a song!O you that are so strong and cold,O blower, are you young or old?Are you a beast of field and tree,Or just a stronger child than me?O wind, a-blowing all day long,O wind, that sings so loud a song!—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
I
Where the bee sucks, there suck I:In a cowslip's bell I lie;There I couch when owls do cry.On the bat's back I do flyAfter summer merrily.Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
II
Come unto these yellow sands,And then take hands:Court'sied when you have, and kiss'dThe wild waves whist,—Foot it featly here and there;And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.Hark, hark!Bow-wow.The watch-dogs bark:Bow-wow.Hark, hark! I hearThe strain of strutting chanticleerCry, Cock-a-diddle-dow!—William Shakespeare.
—William Shakespeare.
I
When daffodils begin to peer,With heigh the doxy over the dale,Why then comes in the sweet o' the year:For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
II
Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way,And merrily hent the stile-a:A merry heart goes all the day,Your sad tires in a mile-a.
III
A great while ago the world began,With heigh-ho the wind and the rain:But that's all one, our play is done,And we'll strive to please you every day.—William Shakespeare.
—William Shakespeare.
When cats run home and light is come,And dew is cold upon the ground,And the far-off stream is dumb,And the whirring sail goes round,And the whirring sail goes round;Alone and warming his five wits,The white owl in the belfry sits.When merry milkmaids click the latch,And rarely smells the new-mown hay,And the cock hath sung beneath the thatchTwice or thrice his roundelay,Twice or thrice his roundelay;Alone and warming his five wits,The white owl in the belfry sits.—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,The linnet, and thrush, say, "I love and I love!"In the winter they're silent—the wind is so strong.What it says I don't know, but it sings a loud song.But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,And singing, and loving,—all come back together.But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,The green fields below him, the blue sky above,That he sings, and he sings; and forever sings he—"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"—Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
—Samuel Taylor Coleridge.
Good-bye, good-bye to Summer!For Summer's nearly done;The garden smiling faintly,Cool breezes in the sun;Our thrushes now are silent,Our swallows flown away,—But Robin's here with coat of brown,And ruddy breast-knot gay.Robin, Robin Redbreast,O Robin dear!Robin sings so sweetlyIn the falling of the year.Bright yellow, red, and orange,The leaves come down in hosts;The trees are Indian princes,But soon they'll turn to ghosts;The scanty pears and applesHang russet on the bough;It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late,'Twill soon be Winter now.Robin, Robin Redbreast,O Robin dear!And what will this poor Robin do?For pinching days are near.The fire-side for the cricket,The wheat-stack for the mouse,When trembling night-winds whistleAnd moan all round the house.The frosty ways like iron,The branches plumed with snow,—Alas! in winter dead and dark,Where can poor Robin go?Robin, Robin Redbreast,O Robin dear!And a crumb of bread for Robin,His little heart to cheer!—William Allingham.
—William Allingham.
When children are playing alone on the green,In comes the playmate that never was seen.When children are happy and lonely and good,The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood.Nobody heard him and nobody saw,His is a picture you never could draw,But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home,When children are happy and playing alone.He lies in the laurel, he runs on the grass,He sings when you tinkle the musical glass;Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why,The Friend of the Children is sure to be by!He loves to be little, he hates to be big,'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig;'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tinThat sides with the Frenchmen and never can win.'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed,Bids you go to your sleep and not trouble your head;For wherever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf,'Tis he will take care of your playthings himself!—Robert Louis Stevenson.
—Robert Louis Stevenson.
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 meTo sing the sweet chorus of "Ha, ha, he!"—William Blake.
—William Blake.
Oh, hush thee, my babie! thy sire was a knight,Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,Ere the step of a foeman draw near to thy bed.Oh, hush thee, my babie! the time soon will come,When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;Then hush thee, my darling! take rest while you may;For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.—Sir Walter Scott.
—Sir Walter Scott.
(An Old Song)
Come follow, follow me,You fairy elves that be,Which circle on the green;Come, follow Mab your queen.Hand in hand let's dance around,For this place is fairy ground.The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,Serve for our minstrelsy;Grace said, we dance a whileAnd so the time beguile:And if the moon doth hide her head,The glowworm lights us home to bed.On tops of dewy grassSo nimbly do we pass,The young and tender stalkNe'er bends when we do walk;Yet in the morning may be seenWhere we the night before have been.—Unknown.
—Unknown.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light:The year is dying in the night;Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new,Ring, happy bells, across the snow:The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land,Ring in the Christ that is to be.—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
—Alfred Lord Tennyson.
The voice of my beloved! behold, he cometh,Leaping upon the mountains,Skipping upon the hills.My beloved is like a roe or a young hart:Behold, he standeth behind our wall,He looketh forth at the windows,Showing himself through the lattice.My beloved spake and said unto me:Rise up, my love, my fair one,And come away.For, lo, the winter is past,The rain is over and gone;The flowers appear on the earth;The time of the singing of birds is come,And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land;The fig tree putteth forth her green figs,And the vines with the tender grapeGive a good smell.Arise, my love, my fair one,And come away.—King Solomon.
—King Solomon.
The year's at the springAnd day's at the morn;Morning's at seven;The hill-side's dew-pearled;The lark's on the wing;The snail's on the thorn:God's in his heaven—All's right with the world!—Robert Browning.
—Robert Browning.
Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fade,But doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them,—Ding, dong, bell.—William Shakespeare.
—William Shakespeare.