The boots are a mystery:How and whereJohn got such a shabby lot,Such a shocking pair,I do declareThough he may know, I do not.
The boots are a mystery:
How and where
John got such a shabby lot,
Such a shocking pair,
I do declare
Though he may know, I do not.
But the hat that he wearsIs the worst of all;I wonder that John keeps it on.It once was tall,But now it is small—Like a closed accordeon.
But the hat that he wears
Is the worst of all;
I wonder that John keeps it on.
It once was tall,
But now it is small—
Like a closed accordeon.
scarecrow in a field of cornTHE FAITHFUL WATCHMAN, JOHN S. CROW.
THUMBPAGE
But a steady old chapIs John S. Crow,And for months has stood at his post;For corn you knowTakes time to grow,And ’tis long between seed and roast.seated manGRANDFATHER.And it had to be watchedAnd guarded with careFrom the time it was put in theground,For over there,And everywhere,Sad thieves were waiting around.Sad thieves in black,A cowardly set,Who waited for John to be gone,That they might getA chance to upsetThe plans of the planter of corn.
But a steady old chapIs John S. Crow,And for months has stood at his post;For corn you knowTakes time to grow,And ’tis long between seed and roast.
But a steady old chap
Is John S. Crow,
And for months has stood at his post;
For corn you know
Takes time to grow,
And ’tis long between seed and roast.
seated manGRANDFATHER.
And it had to be watchedAnd guarded with careFrom the time it was put in theground,For over there,And everywhere,Sad thieves were waiting around.Sad thieves in black,A cowardly set,Who waited for John to be gone,That they might getA chance to upsetThe plans of the planter of corn.
And it had to be watched
And guarded with care
From the time it was put in theground,
For over there,
And everywhere,
Sad thieves were waiting around.
Sad thieves in black,
A cowardly set,
Who waited for John to be gone,
That they might get
A chance to upset
The plans of the planter of corn.
They were no kin to John,Though they bore his nameAnd belonged to the family Crow;He’d scorn to claimAny part of the fameThat is theirs wherever you go.
They were no kin to John,
Though they bore his name
And belonged to the family Crow;
He’d scorn to claim
Any part of the fame
That is theirs wherever you go.
So he has stuck to the fieldAnd watched the corn,And been watched by the crows from the hill;Till at length they’re gone,And so is the corn—They away, and it to the mill.Now the work is done,And it’s time for play,For which John is glad I know;For though made of hay,If he could he would say,“It’s stupid to be a scarecrow.”But though it is stupid,And though it is slow,To fill such an humble position;To be agoodscarecrowIs better I knowThan to scorn a lowly condition.
So he has stuck to the field
And watched the corn,
And been watched by the crows from the hill;
Till at length they’re gone,
And so is the corn—
They away, and it to the mill.
Now the work is done,
And it’s time for play,
For which John is glad I know;
For though made of hay,
If he could he would say,
“It’s stupid to be a scarecrow.”
But though it is stupid,
And though it is slow,
To fill such an humble position;
To be agoodscarecrow
Is better I know
Than to scorn a lowly condition.
NO KIN TO JOHN.
THUMBPAGESILVER LOCKS AND THE BEARS.SILVER LOCKS AND THE BEARS.VERSIFIED BY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.the bears' cottageSilverLocks was a little girl,Lovely and good;She strayed out one dayAnd got lost in the wood,And was lonely and sad,Till she came where there stoodThe house which belonged to the Bears.She pulled the latch string,And the door opened wide;She peeped softly first,And at last stepped inside;So tired her little feetWere that she cried,And so hungry she,sobbed to herself.She did not knowWhether to stay or to go;But there were three chairsStanding all in a row,And there were three bowlsFull of milk white as snow,And there were three beds by the wall.three chairs at a tablelittle bear's chair breaksBut the Father Bear’s chairWas too hard to sit in it,And the Mother Bear’s chairWas too hard to sit in it;But the Baby Bear’s chairWas so soft in a minuteShe had broken it all into pieces.And the Father Bear’s milkWas too sour to drink,And the Mother Bear’s milkWas too sour to drink;But the Baby Bear’s milkWas so sweet, only think,When she tasted she drank it all up.THUMBPAGEAnd the Father Bear’s bedWas as hard as a stone,And the Mother Bear’s bedWas as hard as a stone;But the Baby Bear’s bedWas so soft she lay down,And before she could wink was asleep.By and by came the scratchOf old Father Bear’s claw,And the fumbling knockOf old Mother Bear’s paw,And the latch string flew up,And the Baby Bear sawThat a stranger had surely been there.the bears see the damagethe bears see their bowlsThen Father Bear cried,“Who’s been sitting in my chair?”And Mother Bear cried,“Who’s been sitting inmychair?”And Baby Bear smiled,“Who’s been sitting in my chair,And broken it all into pieces?”Then Father Bear growled,“Who’s been tasting of my milk?”And Mother Bear growled,“Who’s been tasting ofmymilk?”And Baby Bear wondered,“Who’s tasted of my milk,And tasting has drank it all up?”And Father Bear roared,“Who’s been lying on my bed?”And Mother Bear roared,“Who’s been lying onmybed?”And Baby Bear laughed,“Who’s been lying on my bed?O, here she is, fast asleep!”The savage old Father Bear cried,“Let us eat her!”The savage old Mother Bear cried,“Let us eat her!”But the Baby Bear said,“Nothing ever was sweeter.Let’s kiss her, and send her home!”the bears find Silver Locks asleep
THUMBPAGE
SilverLocks was a little girl,Lovely and good;She strayed out one dayAnd got lost in the wood,And was lonely and sad,Till she came where there stoodThe house which belonged to the Bears.
SilverLocks was a little girl,
Lovely and good;
She strayed out one day
And got lost in the wood,
And was lonely and sad,
Till she came where there stood
The house which belonged to the Bears.
She pulled the latch string,
And the door opened wide;
She peeped softly first,
And at last stepped inside;
So tired her little feet
Were that she cried,
And so hungry she,sobbed to herself.
She did not know
Whether to stay or to go;
But there were three chairs
Standing all in a row,
And there were three bowls
Full of milk white as snow,
And there were three beds by the wall.
But the Father Bear’s chair
Was too hard to sit in it,
And the Mother Bear’s chair
Was too hard to sit in it;
But the Baby Bear’s chair
Was so soft in a minute
She had broken it all into pieces.
And the Father Bear’s milk
Was too sour to drink,
And the Mother Bear’s milk
Was too sour to drink;
But the Baby Bear’s milk
Was so sweet, only think,
When she tasted she drank it all up.
THUMBPAGE
And the Father Bear’s bed
Was as hard as a stone,
And the Mother Bear’s bed
Was as hard as a stone;
But the Baby Bear’s bed
Was so soft she lay down,
And before she could wink was asleep.
By and by came the scratch
Of old Father Bear’s claw,
And the fumbling knock
Of old Mother Bear’s paw,
And the latch string flew up,
And the Baby Bear saw
That a stranger had surely been there.
Then Father Bear cried,
“Who’s been sitting in my chair?”
And Mother Bear cried,
“Who’s been sitting inmychair?”
And Baby Bear smiled,
“Who’s been sitting in my chair,
And broken it all into pieces?”
Then Father Bear growled,
“Who’s been tasting of my milk?”
And Mother Bear growled,
“Who’s been tasting ofmymilk?”
And Baby Bear wondered,
“Who’s tasted of my milk,
And tasting has drank it all up?”
And Father Bear roared,
“Who’s been lying on my bed?”
And Mother Bear roared,
“Who’s been lying onmybed?”
And Baby Bear laughed,
“Who’s been lying on my bed?
O, here she is, fast asleep!”
The savage old Father Bear cried,
“Let us eat her!”
The savage old Mother Bear cried,
“Let us eat her!”
But the Baby Bear said,
“Nothing ever was sweeter.
Let’s kiss her, and send her home!”
THUMBPAGEJACK AND THE BEAN-STALK.Alazyand careless boy was Jack,—He would not work, and he would not play;And so poor, that the jacket on his backHung in a ragged fringe alway;But ’twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally,From day to day.At last his mother was almost wild,And to get them food she knew not how;And she told her good-for-nothing childTo drive to market the brindle cow.So he strolled along, with whistle and song,And drove the cow.A man was under the wayside trees,Who carried some beans in his hand—all white.He said, “My boy, I’ll give you theseFor the brindle cow.” Jack said, “All right.”And, without any gold for the cow he had sold,Went home at night.Bitter tears did the mother weep;Out of the window the beans were thrown,And Jack went supperless to sleep;But, when the morning sunlight shone,High, and high, to the very sky,The beans had grown.They made a ladder all green and bright,They twined and crossed and twisted so;And Jack sprang up it with all his might,And called to his mother down below:“Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,And up I go!”High as a tree, then high as a steeple,Then high as a kite, and high as the moon,Far out of sight of cities and people,He toiled and tugged and climbed till noon;And began to pant: “I guess I shan’tGet down very soon!”At last he came to a path that ledTo a house he had never seen before;And he begged of a woman there some bread;But she heard her husband, the Giant, roar,And she gave him a shove in the old brick oven,And shut the door.high as a treeTHUMBPAGEAnd the Giant sniffed, and beat his breast,And grumbled low, “Fe, fi, fo, fum!”His poor wife prayed he would sit and rest,—“I smell fresh meat! I will have some!”He cried the louder, “Fe, fi, fo, fum!I will have some.”He ate as much as would feed ten men,And drank a barrel of beer to the dregs;Then he called for his little favorite hen,As under the table he stretched his legs,—And he roared “Ho! ho!”—like a buffalo—“Lay your gold eggs!”She laid a beautiful egg of gold;And at last the Giant began to snore;Jack waited a minute, then, growing bold,He crept from the oven along the floor,And caught the hen in his arms, and thenFled through the door.But the Giant heard him leave the house,And followed him out, and bellowed “Oh-oh!”But Jack was as nimble as a mouse,And sang as he rapidly slipped below:“Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,And down I go!”And the Giant howled, and gnashed his teeth.Jack got down first, and, in a flash,Cut the ladder from underneath;And Giant and Bean-stalk, in one dash,—No shilly-shally, no dilly-dally,—Fell with a crash.This brought Jack fame, and riches, too;For the little gold-egg hen would layAn egg whenever he told her to,If he asked one fifty times a day.And he and his mother lived with each otherIn peace alway.Jack steals hen
THUMBPAGE
Alazyand careless boy was Jack,—
He would not work, and he would not play;
And so poor, that the jacket on his back
Hung in a ragged fringe alway;
But ’twas shilly-shally, dilly-dally,
From day to day.
At last his mother was almost wild,
And to get them food she knew not how;
And she told her good-for-nothing child
To drive to market the brindle cow.
So he strolled along, with whistle and song,
And drove the cow.
A man was under the wayside trees,
Who carried some beans in his hand—all white.
He said, “My boy, I’ll give you these
For the brindle cow.” Jack said, “All right.”
And, without any gold for the cow he had sold,
Went home at night.
Bitter tears did the mother weep;
Out of the window the beans were thrown,
And Jack went supperless to sleep;
But, when the morning sunlight shone,
High, and high, to the very sky,
The beans had grown.
They made a ladder all green and bright,
They twined and crossed and twisted so;
And Jack sprang up it with all his might,
And called to his mother down below:
“Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,
And up I go!”
High as a tree, then high as a steeple,
Then high as a kite, and high as the moon,
Far out of sight of cities and people,
He toiled and tugged and climbed till noon;
And began to pant: “I guess I shan’t
Get down very soon!”
At last he came to a path that led
To a house he had never seen before;
And he begged of a woman there some bread;
But she heard her husband, the Giant, roar,
And she gave him a shove in the old brick oven,
And shut the door.
THUMBPAGE
And the Giant sniffed, and beat his breast,
And grumbled low, “Fe, fi, fo, fum!”
His poor wife prayed he would sit and rest,—
“I smell fresh meat! I will have some!”
He cried the louder, “Fe, fi, fo, fum!
I will have some.”
He ate as much as would feed ten men,And drank a barrel of beer to the dregs;Then he called for his little favorite hen,As under the table he stretched his legs,—And he roared “Ho! ho!”—like a buffalo—“Lay your gold eggs!”She laid a beautiful egg of gold;And at last the Giant began to snore;Jack waited a minute, then, growing bold,He crept from the oven along the floor,And caught the hen in his arms, and thenFled through the door.
He ate as much as would feed ten men,
And drank a barrel of beer to the dregs;
Then he called for his little favorite hen,
As under the table he stretched his legs,—
And he roared “Ho! ho!”—like a buffalo—
“Lay your gold eggs!”
She laid a beautiful egg of gold;
And at last the Giant began to snore;
Jack waited a minute, then, growing bold,
He crept from the oven along the floor,
And caught the hen in his arms, and then
Fled through the door.
But the Giant heard him leave the house,
And followed him out, and bellowed “Oh-oh!”
But Jack was as nimble as a mouse,
And sang as he rapidly slipped below:
“Hitchity-hatchet, my little red jacket,
And down I go!”
And the Giant howled, and gnashed his teeth.
Jack got down first, and, in a flash,
Cut the ladder from underneath;
And Giant and Bean-stalk, in one dash,—
No shilly-shally, no dilly-dally,—
Fell with a crash.
This brought Jack fame, and riches, too;
For the little gold-egg hen would lay
An egg whenever he told her to,
If he asked one fifty times a day.
And he and his mother lived with each other
In peace alway.
THUMBPAGELITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD.VERSIFIED BY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.Ifyou listen, children, I will tellThe story of little Red Riding-hood:Such wonderful, wonderful things befellHer and her grandmother, old and good(So old she was never very well),Who lived in a cottage in a wood.Little Red Riding-hood, every day,Whatever the weather, shine or storm,To see her grandmother tripped away,With a scarlet hood to keep her warm,And a little mantle, soft and gay,And a basket of goodies on her arm.mother and Red Riding HoodRed Riding Hood with wolf in the forestA pat of butter, and cakes of cheese,Were stored in the napkin, nice and neat;As she danced along beneath the trees,As light as a shadow were her feet;And she hummed such tunes as the bumble-beesHum when the clover-tops are sweet.But an ugly wolf by chance espiedThe child, and marked her for his prize.“What are you carrying there?” he cried;“Is it some fresh-baked cakes and pies?”And he walked along close by her side,And sniffed and rolled his hungry eyes.“A basket of things for granny, it is,”She answered brightly, without fear.“Oh, I know her very well, sweet miss!Two roads branch towards her cottage here;You go that way, and I’ll go this.See which will get there first, my dear!”THUMBPAGEHe fled to the cottage, swift and sly;Rapped softly, with a dreadful grin.“Who’s there?” asked granny. “Only I!”Piping his voice up high and thin.“Pull the string, and the latch will fly!”Old granny said; and he went in.wolf at the doorwolf putting on Granny's clothesHe glared her over from foot to head;In a second more the thing was done!He gobbled her up, and merely said,“She wasn’t a very tender one!”And then he jumped into the bed,And put her sack and night-cap on.And he heard soft footsteps presently,And then on the door a timid rap;He knew Red Riding-hood was shy,So he answered faintly to the tap:“Pull the string and the latch will fly!”She did: and granny, in her night-cap,Lay covered almost up to her nose.“Oh, granny dear!” she cried, “are you worse?”“I’m all of a shiver, even to my toes!Please won’t you be my little nurse,And snug up tight here under the clothes?”Red Riding-hood answered, “Yes,” of course.Her innocent head on the pillow laid,She spied great pricked-up, hairy ears,And a fierce great mouth, wide open spread,And green eyes, filled with wicked leers;And all of a sudden she grew afraid;Yet she softly asked, in spite of her fears:“Oh, granny! what makes your ears so big?”“To hear you with! to hear you with!”“Oh, granny! what make your eyes so big?”“To see you with! to see you with!”“Oh, granny! what makes your teeth so big?”“To eat you with! to eat you with!”Red Riding Hood in bed with wolfwoodcutter to the rescueAnd he sprang to swallow her up alive;But it chanced a woodman from the wood,Hearing her shriek, rushed, with his knife,And drenched the wolf in his own blood.And in that way he saved the lifeOf pretty little Red Riding-hood.
THUMBPAGE
Ifyou listen, children, I will tell
The story of little Red Riding-hood:
Such wonderful, wonderful things befell
Her and her grandmother, old and good
(So old she was never very well),
Who lived in a cottage in a wood.
Little Red Riding-hood, every day,
Whatever the weather, shine or storm,
To see her grandmother tripped away,
With a scarlet hood to keep her warm,
And a little mantle, soft and gay,
And a basket of goodies on her arm.
A pat of butter, and cakes of cheese,
Were stored in the napkin, nice and neat;
As she danced along beneath the trees,
As light as a shadow were her feet;
And she hummed such tunes as the bumble-bees
Hum when the clover-tops are sweet.
But an ugly wolf by chance espied
The child, and marked her for his prize.
“What are you carrying there?” he cried;
“Is it some fresh-baked cakes and pies?”
And he walked along close by her side,
And sniffed and rolled his hungry eyes.
“A basket of things for granny, it is,”
She answered brightly, without fear.
“Oh, I know her very well, sweet miss!
Two roads branch towards her cottage here;
You go that way, and I’ll go this.
See which will get there first, my dear!”
He fled to the cottage, swift and sly;
Rapped softly, with a dreadful grin.
“Who’s there?” asked granny. “Only I!”
Piping his voice up high and thin.
“Pull the string, and the latch will fly!”
Old granny said; and he went in.
He glared her over from foot to head;
In a second more the thing was done!
He gobbled her up, and merely said,
“She wasn’t a very tender one!”
And then he jumped into the bed,
And put her sack and night-cap on.
And he heard soft footsteps presently,
And then on the door a timid rap;
He knew Red Riding-hood was shy,
So he answered faintly to the tap:
“Pull the string and the latch will fly!”
She did: and granny, in her night-cap,
Lay covered almost up to her nose.
“Oh, granny dear!” she cried, “are you worse?”
“I’m all of a shiver, even to my toes!
Please won’t you be my little nurse,
And snug up tight here under the clothes?”
Red Riding-hood answered, “Yes,” of course.
Her innocent head on the pillow laid,
She spied great pricked-up, hairy ears,
And a fierce great mouth, wide open spread,
And green eyes, filled with wicked leers;
And all of a sudden she grew afraid;
Yet she softly asked, in spite of her fears:
“Oh, granny! what makes your ears so big?”
“To hear you with! to hear you with!”
“Oh, granny! what make your eyes so big?”
“To see you with! to see you with!”
“Oh, granny! what makes your teeth so big?”
“To eat you with! to eat you with!”
And he sprang to swallow her up alive;
But it chanced a woodman from the wood,
Hearing her shriek, rushed, with his knife,
And drenched the wolf in his own blood.
And in that way he saved the life
Of pretty little Red Riding-hood.
THUMB
Hark, hark / The dogs do bark / Beggars are coming to town; / Some in jags, / Some in rags, / And some in velvet gowns.
THUMBPAGECINDERELLA.Poor, pretty little thing she was,The sweetest-faced of girls,With eyes as blue as larkspurs,And a mass of tossing curls;But her step-mother had for herOnly blows and bitter words,While she thought her own two ugly crows,The whitest of all birds.She was the little household drudge,And wore a cotton gown,While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,Flaunted through the town.When her work was done, her only placeWas the chimney-corner bench.For which one called her “Cinderella,”The other, “Cinder-wench.”But years went on, and CinderellaBloomed like a wild-wood rose,In spite of all her kitchen-work,And her common, dingy clothes;While the two step-sisters, year by year,Grew scrawnier and plainer;Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,Were never any vainer.One day they got a note, a pink,Sweet-scented, crested one,Which was an invitationTo a ball, from the king’s son.Oh, then poor CinderellaHad to starch, and iron, and plait,And run of errands, frill and crimp,And ruffle, early and late.And when the ball-night came at last,She helped to paint their faces,To lace their satin shoes, and deckThem up with flowers and laces;Then watched their coach roll grandlyOut of sight; and, after that,She sat down by the chimney,In the cinders, with the cat,THUMBPAGEAnd sobbed as if her heart would break.Hot tears were on her lashes,Her little hands got black with soot,Her feet begrimed with ashes,When right before her, on the hearth,She knew not how nor why,A little odd old woman stood,And said, “Why do you cry?”“It is so very lonely here,”Poor Cinderella said,And sobbed again. The little oddOld woman bobbed her head,And laughed a merry kind of laugh,And whispered, “Is that all?Wouldn’t my little CinderellaLike to go to the ball?“Run to the garden, then, and fetchA pumpkin, large and nice;Go to the pantry shelf, and fromThe mouse-traps get the mice;Rats you will find in the rat-trap;And, from the watering-pot,Or from under the big, flat garden stone,Six lizards must be got.”Nimble as crickets in the grassShe ran, till it was done,And then God-mother stretched her wandAnd touched them every one.The pumpkin changed into a coach,Which glittered as it rolled,And the mice became six horses,With harnesses of gold.Cinderella in gownOne rat a herald was, to blowA trumpet in advance,And the first blast that he soundedMade the horses plunge and prance;And the lizards were made footmen,Because they were so spry;And the old rat-coachman on the boxWore jeweled livery.And then on Cinderella’s dressThe magic wand was laid,And straight the dingy gown becameA glistening gold brocade.The gems that shone upon her fingersNothing could surpass;And on her dainty little feetWere slippers made of glass.THUMBPAGE“Be sure you get back here, my dear,At twelve o’clock at night,”Godmother said, and in a twinklingShe was out of sight.When Cinderella reached the ball,And entered at the door,So beautiful a ladyNone had ever seen before.The Prince his admiration showedIn every word and glance;He led her out to supper,And he chose her for the dance;But she kept in mind the warningThat her Godmother had given,And left the ball, with all its charm.At just half after eleven.Next night there was another ball;She helped her sisters twainTo pinch their waists, and curl their hair,And paint their cheeks again.Then came the fairy Godmother,And, with her wand, once moreArrayed her out in greater splendorEven than before.The coach and six, with gay outriders,Bore her through the street,And a crowd was gathered round to look,The lady was so sweet,—So light of heart, and face, and mien,As happy children are;And when her foot stepped down,Her slipper twinkled like a star.Again the Prince chose only herFor waltz ortete-a-tete;So swift the minutes flew she did notDream it could be late,But all at once, rememberingWhat her Godmother had said,And hearing twelve begin to strikeUpon the clock, she fled.Swift as a swallow on the wingShe darted, but, alas!Dropped from one flying foot the tinySlipper made of glass;But she got away, and well it wasShe did, for in a triceHer coach changed to a pumpkin,And her horses became mice;THUMBPAGEAnd back into the cinder dressWas changed the gold brocade!The prince secured the slipper,And this proclamation made:That the country should be searched,And any lady, far or wide,Who could get the slipper on her foot,Should straightway be his bride.So every lady tried it,With her “Mys!” and “Ahs!” and “Ohs!”And Cinderella’s sisters paredTheir heels, and pared their toes,—But all in vain! Nobody’s footWas small enough for it,Till Cinderella tried it,And it was a perfect fit.Then the royal heralds hardlyKnew what it was best to do,When from out her tattered pocketForth she drew the other shoe,While the eyelids on the larkspur eyesDropped down a snowy vail,And the sisters turned from pale to red,And then from red to pale,And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,And scolded, and all that,And a courtier, without thinking,Tittered out behind his hat.For here was all the evidenceThe Prince had asked, complete,Two little slippers made of glass,Fitting two little feet.So the Prince, with all his retinue,Came there to claim his wife;And he promised he would love herWith devotion all his life.At the marriage there was splendidMusic, dancing, wedding cake;And he kept the slipper as a treasureEver, for her sake.
THUMBPAGE
Poor, pretty little thing she was,
The sweetest-faced of girls,
With eyes as blue as larkspurs,
And a mass of tossing curls;
But her step-mother had for her
Only blows and bitter words,
While she thought her own two ugly crows,
The whitest of all birds.
She was the little household drudge,
And wore a cotton gown,
While the sisters, clad in silk and satin,
Flaunted through the town.
When her work was done, her only place
Was the chimney-corner bench.
For which one called her “Cinderella,”
The other, “Cinder-wench.”
But years went on, and CinderellaBloomed like a wild-wood rose,In spite of all her kitchen-work,And her common, dingy clothes;While the two step-sisters, year by year,Grew scrawnier and plainer;Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,Were never any vainer.
But years went on, and Cinderella
Bloomed like a wild-wood rose,
In spite of all her kitchen-work,
And her common, dingy clothes;
While the two step-sisters, year by year,
Grew scrawnier and plainer;
Two peacocks, with their tails outspread,
Were never any vainer.
One day they got a note, a pink,
Sweet-scented, crested one,
Which was an invitation
To a ball, from the king’s son.
Oh, then poor Cinderella
Had to starch, and iron, and plait,
And run of errands, frill and crimp,
And ruffle, early and late.
And when the ball-night came at last,
She helped to paint their faces,
To lace their satin shoes, and deck
Them up with flowers and laces;
Then watched their coach roll grandly
Out of sight; and, after that,
She sat down by the chimney,
In the cinders, with the cat,
THUMBPAGE
And sobbed as if her heart would break.
Hot tears were on her lashes,
Her little hands got black with soot,
Her feet begrimed with ashes,
When right before her, on the hearth,
She knew not how nor why,
A little odd old woman stood,
And said, “Why do you cry?”
“It is so very lonely here,”
Poor Cinderella said,
And sobbed again. The little odd
Old woman bobbed her head,
And laughed a merry kind of laugh,
And whispered, “Is that all?
Wouldn’t my little Cinderella
Like to go to the ball?
“Run to the garden, then, and fetch
A pumpkin, large and nice;
Go to the pantry shelf, and from
The mouse-traps get the mice;
Rats you will find in the rat-trap;
And, from the watering-pot,
Or from under the big, flat garden stone,
Six lizards must be got.”
Nimble as crickets in the grass
She ran, till it was done,
And then God-mother stretched her wand
And touched them every one.
The pumpkin changed into a coach,
Which glittered as it rolled,
And the mice became six horses,
With harnesses of gold.
One rat a herald was, to blow
A trumpet in advance,
And the first blast that he sounded
Made the horses plunge and prance;
And the lizards were made footmen,
Because they were so spry;
And the old rat-coachman on the box
Wore jeweled livery.
And then on Cinderella’s dress
The magic wand was laid,
And straight the dingy gown became
A glistening gold brocade.
The gems that shone upon her fingers
Nothing could surpass;
And on her dainty little feet
Were slippers made of glass.
“Be sure you get back here, my dear,
At twelve o’clock at night,”
Godmother said, and in a twinkling
She was out of sight.
When Cinderella reached the ball,
And entered at the door,
So beautiful a lady
None had ever seen before.
The Prince his admiration showedIn every word and glance;He led her out to supper,And he chose her for the dance;But she kept in mind the warningThat her Godmother had given,And left the ball, with all its charm.At just half after eleven.Next night there was another ball;She helped her sisters twainTo pinch their waists, and curl their hair,And paint their cheeks again.Then came the fairy Godmother,And, with her wand, once moreArrayed her out in greater splendorEven than before.
The Prince his admiration showed
In every word and glance;
He led her out to supper,
And he chose her for the dance;
But she kept in mind the warning
That her Godmother had given,
And left the ball, with all its charm.
At just half after eleven.
Next night there was another ball;
She helped her sisters twain
To pinch their waists, and curl their hair,
And paint their cheeks again.
Then came the fairy Godmother,
And, with her wand, once more
Arrayed her out in greater splendor
Even than before.
The coach and six, with gay outriders,Bore her through the street,And a crowd was gathered round to look,The lady was so sweet,—So light of heart, and face, and mien,As happy children are;And when her foot stepped down,Her slipper twinkled like a star.
The coach and six, with gay outriders,
Bore her through the street,
And a crowd was gathered round to look,
The lady was so sweet,—
So light of heart, and face, and mien,
As happy children are;
And when her foot stepped down,
Her slipper twinkled like a star.
Again the Prince chose only her
For waltz ortete-a-tete;
So swift the minutes flew she did not
Dream it could be late,
But all at once, remembering
What her Godmother had said,
And hearing twelve begin to strike
Upon the clock, she fled.
Swift as a swallow on the wing
She darted, but, alas!
Dropped from one flying foot the tiny
Slipper made of glass;
But she got away, and well it was
She did, for in a trice
Her coach changed to a pumpkin,
And her horses became mice;
THUMBPAGE
And back into the cinder dress
Was changed the gold brocade!
The prince secured the slipper,
And this proclamation made:
That the country should be searched,
And any lady, far or wide,
Who could get the slipper on her foot,
Should straightway be his bride.
So every lady tried it,
With her “Mys!” and “Ahs!” and “Ohs!”
And Cinderella’s sisters pared
Their heels, and pared their toes,—
But all in vain! Nobody’s foot
Was small enough for it,
Till Cinderella tried it,
And it was a perfect fit.
Then the royal heralds hardlyKnew what it was best to do,When from out her tattered pocketForth she drew the other shoe,While the eyelids on the larkspur eyesDropped down a snowy vail,And the sisters turned from pale to red,And then from red to pale,And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,And scolded, and all that,And a courtier, without thinking,Tittered out behind his hat.For here was all the evidenceThe Prince had asked, complete,Two little slippers made of glass,Fitting two little feet.
Then the royal heralds hardly
Knew what it was best to do,
When from out her tattered pocket
Forth she drew the other shoe,
While the eyelids on the larkspur eyes
Dropped down a snowy vail,
And the sisters turned from pale to red,
And then from red to pale,
And in hateful anger cried, and stormed,
And scolded, and all that,
And a courtier, without thinking,
Tittered out behind his hat.
For here was all the evidence
The Prince had asked, complete,
Two little slippers made of glass,
Fitting two little feet.
So the Prince, with all his retinue,Came there to claim his wife;And he promised he would love herWith devotion all his life.
So the Prince, with all his retinue,
Came there to claim his wife;
And he promised he would love her
With devotion all his life.
At the marriage there was splendidMusic, dancing, wedding cake;And he kept the slipper as a treasureEver, for her sake.
At the marriage there was splendid
Music, dancing, wedding cake;
And he kept the slipper as a treasure
Ever, for her sake.
THUMBPAGEDICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT.VERSIFIED BY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.Dick Whittington dreamingDick, as a little lad, was toldThat the London streets were paved with gold.He never, in all his life, had seenA place more grand than the village green;So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night,Pictured this city of delight,Till whatever he did, wherever he went,His mind was filled with discontent.Dick coming up the area stepsThere was bitter taste to the peasant bread,And a restless hardness to his bed;So, after a while, one summer day,Little Dick Whittington ran away.Yes—ran away to London city!Poor little lad! he needs your pity;For there, instead of a golden street,The hot, sharp stones abused his feet.So tired he was he was fit to fall,—Yet nobody cared for him at all;He wandered here, and he wandered there,With a heavy heart, for many a square.And at last, when he could walk no more,He sank down faint at a merchant’s door.And the cook—for once compassionate—Took him in at the area-gate.And she gave him bits of broken meat,And scattered crusts, and crumbs, to eat;And kept him there for her commandsTo pare potatoes, and scour pans,To wash the kettles and sweep the room;And she beat him dreadfully with the broom;And he staid as long as he could stay,And again, in despair, he ran away.Out towards the famous Highgate HillHe fled, in the morning gray and chill;And there he sat on a wayside stone,And the bells of Bow, with merry tone,THUMBPAGEJangled a musical chime together,Over the miles of blooming heather:“Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!”Dick sitting outsideDick buys a catAnd he turned—so cheered he was at that—And, meeting a boy who carried a cat,He bought the cat with his only penny,—For where he had slept the mice were many.Back to the merchant’s his way he took,To the pans and potatoes and cruel cook,And he found Miss Puss a fine device,For she kept his garret clear of mice.The merchant was sending his ship abroad,And he let each servant share her load;One sent this thing, and one sent that,And little Dick Whittington sent his cat.The ship sailed out and over the sea,Till she touched at last at a far country;And while she waited to sell her store,The captain and officers went ashore.They dined with the king; the tables fineGroaned with the meat and fruit and wine;But, as soon as the guests were ranged about,Millions of rats and mice came out.They swarmed on the table, and on the floor,Up from the crevices, in at the door,They swept the food away in a breath,And the guests were frightened almost to death!To lose their dinners they thought a shame.The captain sent for the cat. She came!And right and left, in a wonderful way,She threw, and slew, and spread dismay.Dick brings his cat to shore in a rowboatThen the Moorish king spoke up so bold:“I will give you eighteen bags of gold,If you will sell me the little thing.”“I will!” and the cat belonged to the king.the cat catches ratsWhen the good ship’s homeward voyage was done,The money was paid to Dick Whittington;At his master’s wish ’twas put in trade;Each dollar another dollar made.Richer he grew each month and year,Honored by all both far and near;With his master’s daughter for a wife,He lived a prosperous, noble life.And the tune the Bow-bells sang that day,When to Highgate Hill he ran away,—“Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,Thrice Lord Mayor of London town,”—In the course of time came true and right,He was Mayor of London, and Sir Knight;And in English history he is known,By the name of Sir Richard Whittington!
THUMBPAGE
Dick Whittington dreamingDick, as a little lad, was toldThat the London streets were paved with gold.He never, in all his life, had seenA place more grand than the village green;So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night,Pictured this city of delight,Till whatever he did, wherever he went,His mind was filled with discontent.
Dick, as a little lad, was told
That the London streets were paved with gold.
He never, in all his life, had seen
A place more grand than the village green;
So his thoughts by day, and his dreams by night,
Pictured this city of delight,
Till whatever he did, wherever he went,
His mind was filled with discontent.
There was bitter taste to the peasant bread,
And a restless hardness to his bed;
So, after a while, one summer day,
Little Dick Whittington ran away.
Yes—ran away to London city!
Poor little lad! he needs your pity;
For there, instead of a golden street,
The hot, sharp stones abused his feet.
So tired he was he was fit to fall,—
Yet nobody cared for him at all;
He wandered here, and he wandered there,
With a heavy heart, for many a square.
And at last, when he could walk no more,
He sank down faint at a merchant’s door.
And the cook—for once compassionate—
Took him in at the area-gate.
And she gave him bits of broken meat,
And scattered crusts, and crumbs, to eat;
And kept him there for her commands
To pare potatoes, and scour pans,
To wash the kettles and sweep the room;
And she beat him dreadfully with the broom;
And he staid as long as he could stay,
And again, in despair, he ran away.
Out towards the famous Highgate Hill
He fled, in the morning gray and chill;
And there he sat on a wayside stone,
And the bells of Bow, with merry tone,
Jangled a musical chime together,
Over the miles of blooming heather:
“Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London town!”
And he turned—so cheered he was at that—
And, meeting a boy who carried a cat,
He bought the cat with his only penny,—
For where he had slept the mice were many.
Back to the merchant’s his way he took,
To the pans and potatoes and cruel cook,
And he found Miss Puss a fine device,
For she kept his garret clear of mice.
The merchant was sending his ship abroad,
And he let each servant share her load;
One sent this thing, and one sent that,
And little Dick Whittington sent his cat.
The ship sailed out and over the sea,
Till she touched at last at a far country;
And while she waited to sell her store,
The captain and officers went ashore.
They dined with the king; the tables fine
Groaned with the meat and fruit and wine;
But, as soon as the guests were ranged about,
Millions of rats and mice came out.
They swarmed on the table, and on the floor,
Up from the crevices, in at the door,
They swept the food away in a breath,
And the guests were frightened almost to death!
To lose their dinners they thought a shame.
The captain sent for the cat. She came!
And right and left, in a wonderful way,
She threw, and slew, and spread dismay.
Then the Moorish king spoke up so bold:
“I will give you eighteen bags of gold,
If you will sell me the little thing.”
“I will!” and the cat belonged to the king.
When the good ship’s homeward voyage was done,
The money was paid to Dick Whittington;
At his master’s wish ’twas put in trade;
Each dollar another dollar made.
Richer he grew each month and year,
Honored by all both far and near;
With his master’s daughter for a wife,
He lived a prosperous, noble life.
And the tune the Bow-bells sang that day,
When to Highgate Hill he ran away,—
“Turn, turn, turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London town,”—
In the course of time came true and right,
He was Mayor of London, and Sir Knight;
And in English history he is known,
By the name of Sir Richard Whittington!
THUMBPAGEPUSS IN BOOTS.PUSS IN BOOTS.VERSIFIED BY MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES.cat listens to boy shoutingAmillerhad three sons,And, on his dying day,He willed that all he owned should beShared by them in this way:The mill to this, and the donkey to that,And to the youngest only the cat.This last, poor fellow, of courseThought it a bitter fate;With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed,Of hunger, sooner or late.And he stormed, with many a bitter word,Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.Puss in Boots in the forestShe stretched, and began to purr,Then came to her master’s knee,And, looking slyly up, began:“Pray be content with me!Get me a pair of boots ere night,And a bag, and it will be all right!”The youth sighed heavy sighs,And laughed a scornful laugh:“Of all the silly things I know,You’re the silliest, by half!”Still, after a space of doubt and thought,The pair of boots and the bag were bought.And Puss, at the peep of dawn,Was out upon the street,With shreds of parsley in her bag,And the boots upon her feet.She was on her way to the woods, for game,And soon to the rabbit-warren came.And the simple rabbits cried,“The parsley smells like spring!”And into the bag their noses slipped,And Pussy pulled the string.Only a kick, and a gasp for breath,And, one by one, they were choked to death.So Sly Boots bagged her game,And gave it an easy swingOver her shoulder; and, starting offFor the palace of the king,She found him upon his throne, in state,While near him his lovely daughter sate.Puss in Boots presents a rabbit to the kingPuss made a graceful bowNo courtier could surpass,And said, “I come to your Highness fromThe Marquis of Carabas.His loyal love he sends to you,With a tender rabbit for a stew.”THUMBPAGEking and his daughter riding see Puss in BootsAnd the pretty princess smiled,And the king said, “Many thanks.”And Puss strode off to her master’s home,Purring, and full of pranks.And cried, “I’ve a splendid plan for you!Say nothing, but do as I tell you to!“To-morrow, at noon, the kingAnd his beautiful daughter ride;And you must go, as they draw near,And bathe at the river side.”The youth said “Pooh!” but still, next day,Bathed, when the king went by that way.Puss hid his dingy clothesIn the marshy river-grass.And screamed, when the king came into sight,“The Marquis of Carabas—My master—is drowning close by!Help! help! good king, or he will die!”Then servants galloped fast,And dragged him from the water.“’Tis the knight who sent the rabbit stew,”The king said, to his daughter.And a suit of clothes was brought with speed,And he rode in their midst, on a royal steed.Meanwhile Puss, in advance,To the Ogre’s palace fled,Where he sat, with a great club in his hand,And a monstrous ugly head.She mewed politely as she went in,But he only grinned, with a dreadful grin.Puss in Boots threatens the lion“I have heard it said,” she purred,“That, with the greatest ease,You change, in the twinkling of an eye,Into any shape you please!”“Of course I can!” the Ogre cried,And a roaring lion stood at her side.Puss at the kitchen counter having creamPuss shook like a leaf, in her boots,But said, “It is very droll!Now, please, if you can, change into a mouse!”He did. And she swallowed him whole!Then, as the king and his suite appeared,She stood on the palace porch and cheered.’Twas a grand old palace indeed,Builded of stone and brass.“Welcome, most noble ladies and lords,To the Castle of Carabas!”Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy;And they entered, and feasted royally.And the Marquis lost his heartAt the beautiful princess’ smile;And the very next day the two were wed,In wonderful state and style.And Puss in Boots was their favorite page,And lived with them to a good old age.
THUMBPAGE
cat listens to boy shoutingAmillerhad three sons,And, on his dying day,He willed that all he owned should beShared by them in this way:The mill to this, and the donkey to that,And to the youngest only the cat.This last, poor fellow, of courseThought it a bitter fate;With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed,Of hunger, sooner or late.And he stormed, with many a bitter word,Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.
Amillerhad three sons,
And, on his dying day,
He willed that all he owned should be
Shared by them in this way:
The mill to this, and the donkey to that,
And to the youngest only the cat.
This last, poor fellow, of course
Thought it a bitter fate;
With a cat to feed, he should die, indeed,
Of hunger, sooner or late.
And he stormed, with many a bitter word,
Which Puss, who lay in the cupboard, heard.
She stretched, and began to purr,
Then came to her master’s knee,
And, looking slyly up, began:
“Pray be content with me!
Get me a pair of boots ere night,
And a bag, and it will be all right!”
The youth sighed heavy sighs,And laughed a scornful laugh:“Of all the silly things I know,You’re the silliest, by half!”Still, after a space of doubt and thought,The pair of boots and the bag were bought.And Puss, at the peep of dawn,Was out upon the street,With shreds of parsley in her bag,And the boots upon her feet.She was on her way to the woods, for game,And soon to the rabbit-warren came.
The youth sighed heavy sighs,
And laughed a scornful laugh:
“Of all the silly things I know,
You’re the silliest, by half!”
Still, after a space of doubt and thought,
The pair of boots and the bag were bought.
And Puss, at the peep of dawn,
Was out upon the street,
With shreds of parsley in her bag,
And the boots upon her feet.
She was on her way to the woods, for game,
And soon to the rabbit-warren came.
And the simple rabbits cried,
“The parsley smells like spring!”
And into the bag their noses slipped,
And Pussy pulled the string.
Only a kick, and a gasp for breath,
And, one by one, they were choked to death.
So Sly Boots bagged her game,
And gave it an easy swing
Over her shoulder; and, starting off
For the palace of the king,
She found him upon his throne, in state,
While near him his lovely daughter sate.
Puss made a graceful bowNo courtier could surpass,And said, “I come to your Highness fromThe Marquis of Carabas.His loyal love he sends to you,With a tender rabbit for a stew.”
Puss made a graceful bow
No courtier could surpass,
And said, “I come to your Highness from
The Marquis of Carabas.
His loyal love he sends to you,
With a tender rabbit for a stew.”
THUMBPAGE
And the pretty princess smiled,
And the king said, “Many thanks.”
And Puss strode off to her master’s home,
Purring, and full of pranks.
And cried, “I’ve a splendid plan for you!
Say nothing, but do as I tell you to!
“To-morrow, at noon, the king
And his beautiful daughter ride;
And you must go, as they draw near,
And bathe at the river side.”
The youth said “Pooh!” but still, next day,
Bathed, when the king went by that way.
Puss hid his dingy clothesIn the marshy river-grass.And screamed, when the king came into sight,“The Marquis of Carabas—My master—is drowning close by!Help! help! good king, or he will die!”
Puss hid his dingy clothes
In the marshy river-grass.
And screamed, when the king came into sight,
“The Marquis of Carabas—
My master—is drowning close by!
Help! help! good king, or he will die!”
Then servants galloped fast,
And dragged him from the water.
“’Tis the knight who sent the rabbit stew,”
The king said, to his daughter.
And a suit of clothes was brought with speed,
And he rode in their midst, on a royal steed.
Meanwhile Puss, in advance,
To the Ogre’s palace fled,
Where he sat, with a great club in his hand,
And a monstrous ugly head.
She mewed politely as she went in,
But he only grinned, with a dreadful grin.
“I have heard it said,” she purred,“That, with the greatest ease,You change, in the twinkling of an eye,Into any shape you please!”“Of course I can!” the Ogre cried,And a roaring lion stood at her side.
“I have heard it said,” she purred,
“That, with the greatest ease,
You change, in the twinkling of an eye,
Into any shape you please!”
“Of course I can!” the Ogre cried,
And a roaring lion stood at her side.
Puss shook like a leaf, in her boots,
But said, “It is very droll!
Now, please, if you can, change into a mouse!”
He did. And she swallowed him whole!
Then, as the king and his suite appeared,
She stood on the palace porch and cheered.
’Twas a grand old palace indeed,Builded of stone and brass.“Welcome, most noble ladies and lords,To the Castle of Carabas!”Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy;And they entered, and feasted royally.And the Marquis lost his heartAt the beautiful princess’ smile;And the very next day the two were wed,In wonderful state and style.And Puss in Boots was their favorite page,And lived with them to a good old age.
’Twas a grand old palace indeed,
Builded of stone and brass.
“Welcome, most noble ladies and lords,
To the Castle of Carabas!”
Puss said, with a sweeping courtesy;
And they entered, and feasted royally.
And the Marquis lost his heart
At the beautiful princess’ smile;
And the very next day the two were wed,
In wonderful state and style.
And Puss in Boots was their favorite page,
And lived with them to a good old age.
THUMBPAGEGOLD-LOCKS’ DREAM OF PUSSIE WILLOW.BY CLARA DOTY BATES.Onesunny day, in the early spring,Before a bluebird dared to sing,Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,—Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,—Forth with a piping song,Went Gold-Locks “after flowers.”“Tired of waiting so long,”Said this little girl of ours.She searched the bare brown meadow over,And found not even a leaf of clover;Nor where the sod was chill and wetCould she spy one tint of violet;But where the brooklet ranA noisy swollen billow,She picked in her little handA branch of pussie-willow.She shouted out, in a happy way,At the catkins’ fur, so soft and gray;She smoothed them down with loving pats,And called them her little pussie-cats.She played at scratch and bite;She played at feeding cream;And when she went to bed that night,Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.Curled in a little cosy heap,Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,She heard, although she scarce knew how,A score of voices “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”And right before her bed,Upon a branching tree,Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,As thick as they could be.Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;White, with both ears lined with pink;Striped, like a royal tiger’s skin;Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;And each one wailed aloud,Once, and twice, and thrice:“We are the willow-pussies;O, where are the willow-mice!”Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,The March wind wailed, “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”’Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,And softly to her mother spoke:“If they were fed, mamma,It would be very nice;But Ihopethe willow-pussiesWon’t find the willow-mice!”
THUMBPAGE
Onesunny day, in the early spring,Before a bluebird dared to sing,Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,—Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,—Forth with a piping song,Went Gold-Locks “after flowers.”“Tired of waiting so long,”Said this little girl of ours.She searched the bare brown meadow over,And found not even a leaf of clover;Nor where the sod was chill and wetCould she spy one tint of violet;But where the brooklet ranA noisy swollen billow,She picked in her little handA branch of pussie-willow.She shouted out, in a happy way,At the catkins’ fur, so soft and gray;She smoothed them down with loving pats,And called them her little pussie-cats.She played at scratch and bite;She played at feeding cream;And when she went to bed that night,Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.Curled in a little cosy heap,Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,She heard, although she scarce knew how,A score of voices “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”And right before her bed,Upon a branching tree,Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,As thick as they could be.Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;White, with both ears lined with pink;Striped, like a royal tiger’s skin;Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;And each one wailed aloud,Once, and twice, and thrice:“We are the willow-pussies;O, where are the willow-mice!”Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,The March wind wailed, “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”’Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,And softly to her mother spoke:“If they were fed, mamma,It would be very nice;But Ihopethe willow-pussiesWon’t find the willow-mice!”
Onesunny day, in the early spring,
Before a bluebird dared to sing,
Cloaked and furred as in winter weather,—
Seal-brown hat and cardinal feather,—
Forth with a piping song,
Went Gold-Locks “after flowers.”
“Tired of waiting so long,”
Said this little girl of ours.
She searched the bare brown meadow over,
And found not even a leaf of clover;
Nor where the sod was chill and wet
Could she spy one tint of violet;
But where the brooklet ran
A noisy swollen billow,
She picked in her little hand
A branch of pussie-willow.
She shouted out, in a happy way,
At the catkins’ fur, so soft and gray;
She smoothed them down with loving pats,
And called them her little pussie-cats.
She played at scratch and bite;
She played at feeding cream;
And when she went to bed that night,
Gold-Locks dreamed a dream.
Curled in a little cosy heap,
Under the bed-clothes, fast asleep,
She heard, although she scarce knew how,
A score of voices “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”
And right before her bed,
Upon a branching tree,
Were kittens, and kittens, and kittens,
As thick as they could be.
Maltese, yellow, and black as ink;
White, with both ears lined with pink;
Striped, like a royal tiger’s skin;
Yet all were hollow-eyed, and thin;
And each one wailed aloud,
Once, and twice, and thrice:
“We are the willow-pussies;
O, where are the willow-mice!”
Meanwhile, outside, through branch and bough,
The March wind wailed, “M-e-o-w! m-e-o-w!”
’Twas dark, and yet Gold-Locks awoke,
And softly to her mother spoke:
“If they were fed, mamma,
It would be very nice;
But Ihopethe willow-pussies
Won’t find the willow-mice!”
THUMB
Little girl, / Little girl, / Where have you been? / Gathering roses to give to the queen.
THUMBPAGE
Whisk!—away in the sun
His little flying feet
Scamper as softly fleet
As ever the rabbits run.
He is gone like a flash, and then
In a breath is back again.
The silky flosses shine
Down to his very toes:
Tipped with white is his nose:
And his ears are fleeces fine,
Blowing a shadow-grace
Breeze-like about his face.
Quick to a whistled call
Hearkens his ready ear,
Scarcely waiting to hear;
Silk locks, white feet, all
Rush, like a furry elf
Tumbling over himself.
How does he sleep? He winks
Twice with his mischief eyes;
Dozes a bit; then lies
Down with a sigh; then thinks
Over some roguish play,
And is up and away!