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"The children all shall lack for food,
And the lords and ladies pine;
For we will eat your dainties sweet,
And drink your red old wine!
"Now, what say'st thou, O emperor?—
Wed thou mv daughter dear,
To-morrow day, by dawning gray,
Thy borders shall be clear."
The emperor looked upon the maid:
She shyly dropped her head;
Her apple-flowers fell down in showers,
Her soft white cheeks grew red.
The emperor loved her at the sight:
"I take your terms!" cried he;
"Nor wilt thou fear, O maiden dear!
To wed to-night with me?"
Her long, dark lashes swept her cheek;
A word she could not find,
For to and fro her thoughts did blow,
Like lilies in a wind.
She toward him reached her little hand,
Then—drew it back again;
She smiled and sighed—all satisfied,
He grasped her bridle-rein.
Then clattered courtiers thro' the street,
Fast ran the folk, I ween,
And under feet strewed roses sweet,
And boughs of apple-green.
The emperor, on his gold-shod horse,
Came pacing thro' the town,
And by his side his timid bride
Rode in her tattered gown.
A crocus-broidered petticoat,
Robes stiff with threads of gold,
The maids found soon, and satin shoon,
And lace in spices rolled.
They led the trembling beggar-maid
All gently up the stair,
Thro' golden doors with sills of flowers,
Into a chamber fair.
They loosed from her her faded gear;
They kissed her gentle face;
From head to feet clad her so sweet
In linen fine and lace;
They clasped her golden-threaded robe—
"Darling, thou art so fair!"
With strings of pearls, amid the curls,
They dressed her flowing hair.
"Now, pardy!" cried the emperor,
"The rose-tree is in flower!
In the world green was never seen
Queen half so sweet before!"
The people, dressed as for a feast,
Thronged round the palace doors;
0165m
The minstrels sung, the joy-bells rung,
The roses fell in showers.
The Beggar King looked toward the town:
"Farewell, my daughter dear!"
The east was gray—he rode away,
And swallowed down a tear.
WAKE from your sleep, sweet Christians,
now, and listen:
A little song
We have, so sweet it like a star doth glisten,
And dance along.
Now wake and hark: all brightly it is glowing
With yule-flames merry,
And o'er it many a holly sprig is growing,
And scarlet berry.
A bough of evergreen, with wax-lights gleaming,
It bravely graces;
And o'er its lines the star that's eastward
beaming
Leaves golden traces.
Also our little song, it sweetly praiseth,
Like birds in flocks
When morning from her bed of roses raiseth
Her golden locks.
0168m
But this it is that makes most sweet our story,
When all is said:
It holds a little Child, with rays of glory
Around His head.
ANOTHER map, an please you, sir!
For why, we cannot understand,
In all your great geography
There is no map of Fairyland.
Another map, an please you, sir!
And, afterward, describe in full
How Fairyland is famed for pearls,
And fleeces made from golden wool,
And prancing, gold-shod, milk-white steeds
With bridles set with jewel-eyes:
Tell how the Fairy rivers run,
And where the Fairy mountains rise,
And of the Fairy-folk, their ways
And customs—if it please you, sir;
Then, of the journey there, how long
For any speedy traveller.
Another map, an please you, sir!
And would you kindly not delay;
Sister and I would dearly like
To learn our lesson there, to-day!
HIE to the meadow, my dearies three,
And hunt for some sweet, pretty
thing for me!
There's a cake in the oven with almonds
and spice,
And raisins and citron, and all that's nice,
To pay for the sweetest, my dearies three!"
When home from the field came the dearies
three,
One brought to her mother a wild rose-tree;
And another brought her a blue jay's feather
And one of a gray goose, tied together,
And she was sure of the prize, was she.
But the last little girl of the dearies three
Had sucked a clover-bell like a bee,
And tasted a columbine's honeyed tips
To sweeten a kiss for her mother's lips;
And she got the beautiful cake for tea.
PUSSY, pussy, pussy!" there she stood
a-calling,
"Pussy, pussy, pussy!" Her voice rang sweet,
and shrill-o.
Yet still her pussy lingered; but, on a bush
beside her,
Crept softly out in answer, a little pussy-
willow.
LITTLE white clouds flew east thro' the sky,
The bee, with his honey-sacks, scur-
ried by
En routeto his hive with his stolen sweet,
With the gold of roses caught round his feet;
And the farmer's dear little daughter, too,
Came tripping along in her ribbons blue;
And the sweet little girl had a silver tongue,
And she sang, as she came, a sweet little song:
"At Whitehall waited the Prince's boat;
The lark unravelled his silver note
As the river and garden he soared above;
The brave knight thought of his absent love.
"The world wags merrily on, 'tis said,
And the prince and the knight and the lark
dead.
0174m
Then the little girl stopped to take a breath,
With never a thought of love or death.
Green apple-boughs met o'er the country lane:
She sang her sweet little song again;
In the meadow beside her red clover grew,
And yellow-winged butterflies o'er it flew;
And here and there moved a woolly back,
For there were the farmer's sheep, alack!
And the bluè-eyed boy, who was told to keep
Out of the clover the frolic sheep,
Under the hay-stack sleeping lay,
The golden noon of that summer day.
"Alack, alack!" cried the little girl,
"See Rosie and Lily and Star and Pearl,
"And all the lambs in the clover-patch!
The five-barred gate he did not latch.
Oh, where are you wand'ring, little Boy Blue?
How my father would scold if he ever knew!
"Ho, Rosie! Rosie! out of the clover!
Lily! Lily! you naughty rover,
Out of the clover! out, I say!
Violet! Violet! Lady May! "
Here and there, with her shrill, sweet shout,
At last she had driven the sheep all out;
Then she carefully shut the five-barred gate;
And little Boy Blue, with his curly pate,
Still untroubled by aught like sheep,
Lay 'neath the hay-stack fast asleep.
Oh, what is that rustling amongst the corn?
Oh! little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!
"The cows are eating the golden grain!"
The little boy stirred—then slept again.
"Ho! Buttercup! Buttercup! out of the corn!
Daisy! Clover-leaf! Silver-horn!"
She drove them all out and shut the gate;
Then little Boy Blue, with his curly pate,
Still troubled by nothing like cows or sheep,
She spied, 'neath the hay-stack, fast asleep.
0177m
The dear little girl, with artless joy,
Stood looking down at the sleeping boy,
"I have saved him a whipping, I know,"
she said,—
"H ow the little curls shine on his pretty head!
"He ought to remember my father's sheep,
But he looks so lovely there, fast asleep—
Good-by, little Boy Blue, sleep well,
The sheep are all safe, and I'll never tell! "
Then she kept on her way thro' the fragrant
lane,
And she sang her sweet little song again.
Little Boy Blue woke by and by,
When the sun was scarcely a half-hour high,
And rubbing his blue eyes, dim with sleep,
Slowly home he drove the cows and sheep;
Then he ate his supper and went to bed
With never a thought in his pretty head;
And he lived till his bonny gold hair was gray.
But the little maiden—ah, well-a-day!
"Here lieth a sweet maid, aged ten,
Robins and violets come again."
SHE, a little serious lassie still believing all
she sees,
Now consults a dandelion as an Oracle of
Greece:
"Dandelion, tell me true! is my mother
wanting me? "—
Blowing, every feathered seedlet floats out
like a boat to sea—
"I must go now; mother wants me." Rude-
ness of this latter day!
She has gayly trotted home, and—flung the
oracle away.
IWILL sing for you, dearie, a song that I
know
Of a ruby-eyed thrush, of a silver-tailed
thrush,
Who sat on a spray of a dry willow-bush,
And sang to a queen in a palace of snow.
The thrush's wing-feathers were jewel and
blue,
And he spread them alway on a Christmas
Day,
When he sang to the queen on his willow
spray—
O dearie, the honey-sweet song he knew!
At her palace window the queen would stay
So pinky and fair with her curly gold hair;
She merrily rocked in a crystal chair,
And never a queen was half so gay.
You want the queen in her palace of snow,
And the ruby-eyed thrush, the silver-tailed
thrush,
Who sat on a spray of a dry willow-bush?
Why, dearie, it's only a song, you know!
I'LL hold the buttercup under your chin
so, you fair little baby-o!
Ah, you will love butter, day out and in, for
there's a gold light on your dimple-o:
And you shall have butter so good and sweet.
Ho! Silverhorn, feed on the clover and
grass,
For the buttercup says my love will love but-
ter, and the buttercup's saying will come
to pass!
0183m
HO, Willie Winkie, and hey, Willie
Winkie!
Now through the window there floats,
All laden with cargoes of beautiful dreams,
A fleet of poppy-boats.
"The stars, they are swimming like golden
swans,
And the moon, she has climbed the steep,
And now through her silver ocean rides
A thousand fathoms deep.
"Like an arrow of light down the milky way,
Straight over the moonlit sea,
With its crimson sails puffed out with wind,
The fleet it sails to thee.
"And the child whom his mother has kissed
good-night,
And the soonest shall fall asleep,
The loveliest dream in the poppy-boats
Will get for his own to keep.
"But ho, Willie Winkie; and hey, Willie
Winkie!
The child that will keep awake,
The worst and the ugliest dream in the fleet
Is the dream he will have to take.
"Rose-leaves round the window, they rustle
so soft;
All things that are little and sweet—
The rose-bud babies and all the flowers—
They wait for the poppy fleet.
"Grass waves o'er the sparrow asleep in her
nest;
The robins are sleeping all;
And the echoes have died from the clouds
away
Of the skylark's silver call.
"White doves are asleep in the tall bell-tower;
The sky-lark sleeps in his nest;
And the baby-prince has gone to sleep
Up on the fair Queen's breast.
"Oho, Willie Winkie; and hey, Willie
Winkie!
The moonbeams they sleep on the sea:
Catch the loveliest dreams in the poppy-fleet,
And here is a kiss for thee."
Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,
Stubbornly shaking his curly head,
When his mother had shut the door:
"Is the Prince asleep? I would like to see;
Is the robin asleep in the cherry-tree,
And every little flower?
"The flowers are awake and play with the
bees,
The robins, they sing in the cherry-trees,
And the Prince is the gladdest of all;
For he's merry and wide awake, of course,
He is prancing about on his rocking-horse,
Or else he is playing at ball."
Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,
Stubbornly shaking his curly head—
The moon shone bright as day;
"I'll run through the town myself," said he,
"And see if they all asleep can be—
I think they are all at play!"
Wee Willie Winkie—no shoes on his feet,
No hat on his head—ran down the street,
And he called at every lock:
"Are your babies asleep in their cradles now?
Do your lilies asleep in the night-wind blow?
For 'tis now ten o'clock!"
Wee Willie Winkie in his nightgown,
Little fat, rosy boy, ran thro' the town,
His curly head damp with dew:
0188m
"Are the robins and babies and rosies all
Abed and asleep?" he loud would call—
"If they are, I'll go too!"
To Wee Willie Winkie, who loudly tapped
At the window-panes where the babies napped,
A strange thing did befall;
For the white-haired babies, the birds and
flowers
Who had slept and dreamed through the eve-
ning hours,
He awoke from their slumbers all.
And everything that was little and sweet
Came trooping out on the moonlit street,
All crying out with glee;
And through the streets of the silent town
With Wee Willie Winkie ran up and down,
As merry as they could be.
Wee Willie Winkie marched at the head,
Poor little wight, quite pale with dread,
A long line after him:
Twittering larks and murmuring bees,
Dandelions blown on the evening breeze,
And tiger-lilies grim;
0190m
Cooing babies, and bleating lambs
Stealing away from their sleeping dams,
Behind him ambled and crept;
Singing treetoads and katydids,
Robin red-breasts and frolicsome kids,
Flew and hopped and leaped;
And the gay little Prince was there, of
course,
Prancing along on his rocking-horse,
In his white silk nightgown fine.
Wee Willie Winkie, he shook with fear:
"Oh, what would I give, my mamma dear,
To sleep in that bed of mine! "
Quite over the town the tumult spread:
From many a window a nightcapped head
Came cautiously popping out;
The King awoke and began to frown;
"The foe, they are riding upon the town!"
The courtiers all did shout.
Wee Willie Winkie came up the street,
Crying aloud, on his little bare feet,
With his train to the palace door;
"Queer sights I have seen," quoth slowly the
Ring,
"But I never have seen, by my signet-ring,
A sight like this before!
"And what do you mean, I pray, wee sir,
That the whole of the town you wake and stir
At ten o'clock of the night?
That the babies, and birds, and lambs, and all,
From their cradles into the street you call,
And give folks such a fright?
"And you've waked the Prince," halloed the
King,
"And now will I, by my signet-ring"—
Wee Willie, he screamed aloud,
And lo! in his crib he was lying alone,
And in at his window the great moon shone
Through a silver and amber cloud.
"Now ho, Willie Winkie; and hey, Willie
Winkie!
And what is the matter, my dear?
And weep not, my rose and my lily and dove,
For thy mother is with thee here!"
Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,
Soberly shaking his curly head,
With a sob in his pretty throat:
"I went to sleep the last," said he,
"And the worst of the dreams has come to me
In any poppy-boat!
"But after this, I'll be first of all!
I'll go to bed when the shadows fall,
And the stars begin to peep!
Then the loveliest dream in the poppy fleet,
That will fill the room like a rose with sweet,
I will get for my own to keep!"