Phrase Exercise.

Phrase Exercise.1. Large of heart.—2. Small estate.—3.Draina glass.—4. Children’searly words.—5. False pretence.—6. Common sense.—7.—Open face without guile.—8. Selfish knave.—9. Contented slave.—10. Simple song.—11. Awakes emotions strong.—12. Constant whine.—13.Surveythe world.—14. Excuse the faults.—15.Scornmy health.—16. Sell my soul for wealth.—17. Sunny side.—18. Conscienceclear.—19. Manage to exist.

1. Large of heart.—2. Small estate.—3.Draina glass.—4. Children’searly words.—5. False pretence.—6. Common sense.—7.—Open face without guile.—8. Selfish knave.—9. Contented slave.—10. Simple song.—11. Awakes emotions strong.—12. Constant whine.—13.Surveythe world.—14. Excuse the faults.—15.Scornmy health.—16. Sell my soul for wealth.—17. Sunny side.—18. Conscienceclear.—19. Manage to exist.

Two otters on rocks by the riverside

The otter resembles land animals in shape, hair, and general conformation, and the aquatic tribes in its manner of living and in its webbed toes, which assist it in swimming. It swims even faster than it runs, and can overtake fishes in their own element.

It is found in all parts of the world,—on tropical islands, in America, and on the bleak coasts of Alaska and Siberia. It is one of the great weasel family, as active and cunning in the water, as its land relations are in the field, or in the farm-yard.

The fish-otter—which is found around lakes and rivers in Canada, in the United States, in South America, and in wild parts of Europe—is a famous fisher. Its home is in the water, but it can travel over the land with wonderful swiftness, although its paws are webbed.

It is very fond of sliding down hill. On the slopes by ponds and rivers, it enjoys itself in a very odd fashion. It lies with its fore-feet bent backward, and pushes itself forward with its hind-feet, going down the snowy or muddy slope with as much pleasure as if it were a schoolboy “coasting.” A number of fish-otters thus amusing themselves must present a very ludicrous sight.

These furry little quadrupeds can stay a long time under water, swimming swiftly and without noise; so that the fish they follow seldom escape them. If the prey is small, the otters do not trouble themselves to go far with it, but bite off the most delicate morsels and throw the rest away. When they catch a large fish, however, they drag it ashore and feed upon it at their leisure. When fish are not plentiful enough, the otters, grown bold from necessity, will attack ducks or any other waterfowl within reach. They are so strong, and bite so fiercely, that the animals they pursue may well regard them with terror.

Their habitations are really safe hiding-places. They burrow under the ground, and make the entrance of their “nest” under water; so that no land-enemies can pursue them: certainly, no water-foe can follow them into the hollow made by them in the bank. This proves that the crafty nature of the weasel is not wanting in the otter.

They dig upward four or five feet, or even more; and at the end of the tunnel they make a little room, which theyline with moss and grass, for the comfort of the baby-otters. This underground room has no need of windows; but it does need ventilation, and a minute air-hole, leading, like a chimney, to the surface of the earth, is an important part of otter house-building.

When taken young, otters can be tamed and taught to catch fish for their masters, being trained to hunt as dogs are trained for the chase. “I have seen one,” says Goldsmith, “go to a gentleman’s pond at the word of command, drive up the fish into a corner, and, having seized upon the largest, bring it off in its mouth to its master.”

Otters differ very much in size and color. Fish-otters are from two to three feet long, and sea-otters—the largest of the family—are somewhat longer. These sea-otters are very much prized for their soft, glossy, black fur. Some of the species, however are white, with a yellow tinge; others are dark-brown, with yellow spots under the throat. No doubt all of you have seen caps, and gloves, and other coverings made of the soft, warm fur of the otter.

Word Exercise.weasel (wē´zl)leisure (lē´zhur)trŏp’i-calresembles (re-zĕm´bls)Sī-bē-ri-arē´al-lyburrow (bŭr´rō)A-mĕr´i-capar-tĭc´-ū-larA-las´kalū´di-croŭsvĕn-ti-lā´tion

weasel (wē´zl)leisure (lē´zhur)trŏp’i-calresembles (re-zĕm´bls)Sī-bē-ri-arē´al-lyburrow (bŭr´rō)A-mĕr´i-capar-tĭc´-ū-larA-las´kalū´di-croŭsvĕn-ti-lā´tion

Phrase Exercise.1. General conformation.—2. Aquatic tribes.—3. Bleak coast.—4.Wildparts.—5. Odd fashion.—6. Ludicrous sight.—7. Furry quadrupeds.—8. Delicate morsels.—9. Crafty nature.—10. Minute air-hole.—11. Differ in size.—12. Much prized.

1. General conformation.—2. Aquatic tribes.—3. Bleak coast.—4.Wildparts.—5. Odd fashion.—6. Ludicrous sight.—7. Furry quadrupeds.—8. Delicate morsels.—9. Crafty nature.—10. Minute air-hole.—11. Differ in size.—12. Much prized.

Charles Dickens.

Ivy-covered ruins

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green,That creepeth o’er ruins old!Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,In his cell so lone and cold.The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,To pleasure his dainty whim;And the mouldering dust that years have madeIs a merry meal for him.Creeping where no life is seen,A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,And a staunch old heart has he;How closely he twineth, how tight he clingsTo his friend, the huge Oak-tree!And slyly he traileth along the ground,And his leaves he gently waves,As he joyously hugs and crawleth aroundThe rich mould of dead men’s graves.Creeping where grim death has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,And nations have scattered been,But the stout old Ivy shall never fadeFrom its hale and hearty green.The brave old plant, in its lonely days,Shall fatten upon the past,For the stateliest building man can raiseIs the Ivy’s food at last.Creeping on, where time has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy Green,

That creepeth o’er ruins old!

Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,

In his cell so lone and cold.

The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,

To pleasure his dainty whim;

And the mouldering dust that years have made

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,

A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,And a staunch old heart has he;How closely he twineth, how tight he clingsTo his friend, the huge Oak-tree!And slyly he traileth along the ground,And his leaves he gently waves,As he joyously hugs and crawleth aroundThe rich mould of dead men’s graves.Creeping where grim death has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,

And a staunch old heart has he;

How closely he twineth, how tight he clings

To his friend, the huge Oak-tree!

And slyly he traileth along the ground,

And his leaves he gently waves,

As he joyously hugs and crawleth around

The rich mould of dead men’s graves.

Creeping where grim death has been,

A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,And nations have scattered been,But the stout old Ivy shall never fadeFrom its hale and hearty green.The brave old plant, in its lonely days,Shall fatten upon the past,For the stateliest building man can raiseIs the Ivy’s food at last.Creeping on, where time has been,A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Whole ages have fled, and their works decayed,

And nations have scattered been,

But the stout old Ivy shall never fade

From its hale and hearty green.

The brave old plant, in its lonely days,

Shall fatten upon the past,

For the stateliest building man can raise

Is the Ivy’s food at last.

Creeping on, where time has been,

A rare old plant is the Ivy Green.

Bryan Waller Procter.

The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!The blue, the fresh, the ever free!Without a mark, without a bound,It runneth the earth’s wide regions round;It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;Or like a cradled creature lies.I’m on the Sea! I’m on the Sea!I am where I would ever be,With the blue above, and the blue below,And silence whereso’er I go:If a storm should come, and awake the deep,What matter? I shall ride and sleep.I love, oh how I love, to rideOn the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,When every mad wave drowns the moon,Or whistles aloft its tempest tune,And tells how goeth the world below,And why the south-west blasts do blow!I never was on the dull, tame shore,But I loved the great Sea more and more,And backward flew to her billowy breast,Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest:And a mother she was and is to me;For I was born on the open Sea!The waves were white, and red the morn,In the noisy hour when I was born;And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;And never was heard such an outcry wildAs welcomed to life the Ocean-child.I’ve lived since then, in calm and strife,Full fifty summers a sailor’s life,With wealth to spend, and power to range,But never have sought, nor sighed for change;And Death, whenever he comes to me,Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

The Sea! the Sea! the open Sea!

The blue, the fresh, the ever free!

Without a mark, without a bound,

It runneth the earth’s wide regions round;

It plays with the clouds; it mocks the skies;

Or like a cradled creature lies.

I’m on the Sea! I’m on the Sea!I am where I would ever be,With the blue above, and the blue below,And silence whereso’er I go:If a storm should come, and awake the deep,What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I’m on the Sea! I’m on the Sea!

I am where I would ever be,

With the blue above, and the blue below,

And silence whereso’er I go:

If a storm should come, and awake the deep,

What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

I love, oh how I love, to rideOn the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,When every mad wave drowns the moon,Or whistles aloft its tempest tune,And tells how goeth the world below,And why the south-west blasts do blow!

I love, oh how I love, to ride

On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,

When every mad wave drowns the moon,

Or whistles aloft its tempest tune,

And tells how goeth the world below,

And why the south-west blasts do blow!

I never was on the dull, tame shore,But I loved the great Sea more and more,And backward flew to her billowy breast,Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest:And a mother she was and is to me;For I was born on the open Sea!

I never was on the dull, tame shore,

But I loved the great Sea more and more,

And backward flew to her billowy breast,

Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest:

And a mother she was and is to me;

For I was born on the open Sea!

The waves were white, and red the morn,In the noisy hour when I was born;And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;And never was heard such an outcry wildAs welcomed to life the Ocean-child.

The waves were white, and red the morn,

In the noisy hour when I was born;

And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,

And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;

And never was heard such an outcry wild

As welcomed to life the Ocean-child.

I’ve lived since then, in calm and strife,Full fifty summers a sailor’s life,With wealth to spend, and power to range,But never have sought, nor sighed for change;And Death, whenever he comes to me,Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

I’ve lived since then, in calm and strife,

Full fifty summers a sailor’s life,

With wealth to spend, and power to range,

But never have sought, nor sighed for change;

And Death, whenever he comes to me,

Shall come on the wild unbounded sea!

Word Exercise.sighedporpoise´(por´pŭs)bil´low-ydol´phins (-fins)cradledfoam´ingtem´pestcreatureburst´ingun-bound´ed

sighedporpoise´(por´pŭs)bil´low-ydol´phins (-fins)cradledfoam´ingtem´pestcreatureburst´ingun-bound´ed

Swain.

Ho! breakers on the weather bow,And hissing white the sea;Go, loose the topsail, mariner,And set the helm a-lee;And set the helm a-lee, my boys,And shift her while ye may;Or not a living soul on boardWill view the light of day!Aloft the seaman daringlyShook out the rattling sail;The danger fled—she leapt a-headLike wild stag through the gale;Like wild stag through the gale, my boys,All panting as in fear,And trembling as her spirit knewDestruction in the rear!Now slacken speed—take wary heed—All hands haul home the sheet;To Him who saves, amidst the waves,Let each their prayer repeat;Let each their prayer repeat, my boys,For but a moment’s gainLay ’tween our breath and instant death,Within that howling main.

Ho! breakers on the weather bow,

And hissing white the sea;

Go, loose the topsail, mariner,

And set the helm a-lee;

And set the helm a-lee, my boys,

And shift her while ye may;

Or not a living soul on board

Will view the light of day!

Aloft the seaman daringlyShook out the rattling sail;The danger fled—she leapt a-headLike wild stag through the gale;Like wild stag through the gale, my boys,All panting as in fear,And trembling as her spirit knewDestruction in the rear!

Aloft the seaman daringly

Shook out the rattling sail;

The danger fled—she leapt a-head

Like wild stag through the gale;

Like wild stag through the gale, my boys,

All panting as in fear,

And trembling as her spirit knew

Destruction in the rear!

Now slacken speed—take wary heed—All hands haul home the sheet;To Him who saves, amidst the waves,Let each their prayer repeat;Let each their prayer repeat, my boys,For but a moment’s gainLay ’tween our breath and instant death,Within that howling main.

Now slacken speed—take wary heed—

All hands haul home the sheet;

To Him who saves, amidst the waves,

Let each their prayer repeat;

Let each their prayer repeat, my boys,

For but a moment’s gain

Lay ’tween our breath and instant death,

Within that howling main.

Charles Dickens.

There was once a child, and he strolled about a good deal, and thought of a number of things. He had a sister, who was a child too, and his constant companion. These two used to wonder all day long. They wondered at the beauty of the flowers; they wondered at the height and blueness of the sky; they wondered at the goodness and the power of God, who made the lovely world.

They used to say to one another sometimes, “Supposing all the children upon earth were to die, would the flowers, and the water, and the sky be sorry?” They believed they would be sorry. “For,” said they, “the buds are the children of the flowers, and the little playful streams that gambol down the hillsides are the children of the water; and the smallest bright specks, playing at hide-and-seek in the sky all night, must surely be the children of the stars; and they would all be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, no more.”

There was one clear-shining star that used to come out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, they thought, than all the others, and every night they watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. Whoever saw it first cried out, “I see the star!” And often they cried out both together, knowing so well when it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such friends with it, that,before lying down on their beds, they always looked out once again, to bid it good-night; and when they were turning round to sleep they used to say, “God bless the star!”

But while she was still very young—oh, very, very young!—the sister drooped, and came to be so weak, that she could no longer stand at the window at night; and then the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw the star, turned round and said to the patient, pale face on the bed, “I see the star!” and then a smile would come upon the face, and a little, weak voice used to say, “God bless my brother and the star!”

And so the time came, all too soon! when the child looked out alone, and when there was no face on the bed; and when there was a little grave among the graves, not there before; and when the star made long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears.

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to make such a shining way from earth to heaven, that when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed about the star; and dreamed that, lying where he was, he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great world of light, where many more such angels waited to receive him.

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their beaming eyes upon the people who were carried up into the star; and some came out from the long rows in which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, that, lying in his bed, he wept for joy.

But there were many angels who did not go with them, and among them one he knew. The patient face that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all the host. His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the star, and said to the leader among those who had brought the people thither, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “No.” She was turning hopefully away, when the child stretched out his arms, and cried, “O sister, I am here! Take me!” And then she turned her beaming eyes upon him, and it was night; and the star was shining into the room, making long rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the star as on the Home he was to go to when his time should come; and he thought that he did not belong to the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister’s angel gone before. There was a baby born to be a brother to the child; and while he was so little that he never yet had spoken a word, he stretched his tiny form out on the bed, and died.

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of the company of angels, and the train of people, and the rows of angels, with their beaming eyes all turned upon those people’s faces. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Not that one, but another.” As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, he cried, “O sister, I am here! Take me!” And she turned and smiled upon him, and the star was shining.

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at hisbooks, when an old servant came to him, and said, “Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her darling son!” Again at night he saw the star, and all the former company. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Thy mother!” A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star, because the mother was reunited to her two children. And he stretched out his arms, and cried, “O mother, sister, and brother, I am here! Take me!” And they answered him, “Not yet,” and the star was shining.

He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with grief, and with his face bedewed with tears, when the star opened once again. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “Is my brother come?” And he said, “Nay, but his maiden daughter.” And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said, “My daughter’s head is on my sister’s bosom, and her arm is round my mother’s neck, and at her feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her—God be praised!” And the star was shining.

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow, and his back was bent. And one night, as he lay upon his bed, his children standing around, he cried, as he had cried so long ago, “I see the star!” They whispered to one another, “He is dying.” And he said, “I am. My age is falling from me like a garment, and I move towards the star as a child. And, O my Father, now I thank Thee that it has so often opened, to receive those dear ones who await me!” Andthe star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.

Lucy Larcom.

Hannah gazing out of the window, surrounded by a decorative border of flowers

Poor lone Hannah,Sitting at the window binding shoes.Faded, wrinkled,Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse.Bright-eyed beauty once was she,When the bloom was on the tree;Spring and winter,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.Not a neighborPassing, nod or answer will refuseTo her whisper,“Is there from the fishers any news?”Oh, her heart’s adrift with oneOn an endless voyage gone!Night and morning,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.Fair young Hannah,Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos;Hale and clever,For a willing heart and hand he sues.May-day skies are all aglow,And the waves are laughing so!For her weddingHannah leaves her window and her shoes.May is passing;Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos.Hannah shudders,For the mild south-wester mischief brews.Round the rocks of Marblehead,Outward bound a schooner sped;Silent, lonesome,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.’Tis November;Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews.From NewfoundlandNot a sail returning will she lose,Whispering hoarsely: “Fishermen,Have you—have you heard of Ben?”Old with watching,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.Twenty wintersBleach and tear the ragged shore she views.Twenty seasons!Never one has brought her any news.Still her dim eyes silentlyChase the white sails o’er the sea:Hopeless, faithful,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Poor lone Hannah,

Sitting at the window binding shoes.

Faded, wrinkled,

Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse.

Bright-eyed beauty once was she,

When the bloom was on the tree;

Spring and winter,

Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Not a neighborPassing, nod or answer will refuseTo her whisper,“Is there from the fishers any news?”Oh, her heart’s adrift with oneOn an endless voyage gone!Night and morning,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Not a neighbor

Passing, nod or answer will refuse

To her whisper,

“Is there from the fishers any news?”

Oh, her heart’s adrift with one

On an endless voyage gone!

Night and morning,

Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Fair young Hannah,Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos;Hale and clever,For a willing heart and hand he sues.May-day skies are all aglow,And the waves are laughing so!For her weddingHannah leaves her window and her shoes.

Fair young Hannah,

Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos;

Hale and clever,

For a willing heart and hand he sues.

May-day skies are all aglow,

And the waves are laughing so!

For her wedding

Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.

May is passing;Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos.Hannah shudders,For the mild south-wester mischief brews.Round the rocks of Marblehead,Outward bound a schooner sped;Silent, lonesome,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

May is passing;

Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos.

Hannah shudders,

For the mild south-wester mischief brews.

Round the rocks of Marblehead,

Outward bound a schooner sped;

Silent, lonesome,

Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

’Tis November;Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews.From NewfoundlandNot a sail returning will she lose,Whispering hoarsely: “Fishermen,Have you—have you heard of Ben?”Old with watching,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

’Tis November;

Now no tear her wasted cheek bedews.

From Newfoundland

Not a sail returning will she lose,

Whispering hoarsely: “Fishermen,

Have you—have you heard of Ben?”

Old with watching,

Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Twenty wintersBleach and tear the ragged shore she views.Twenty seasons!Never one has brought her any news.Still her dim eyes silentlyChase the white sails o’er the sea:Hopeless, faithful,Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Twenty winters

Bleach and tear the ragged shore she views.

Twenty seasons!

Never one has brought her any news.

Still her dim eyes silently

Chase the white sails o’er the sea:

Hopeless, faithful,

Hannah’s at the window binding shoes.

Word Exercise.gay´lywrinkled (rĭngk´kld)mischief (mĭs´chif)hoarsely (hōrs´ly)boughsvoy´agestitch´ingNo-vem´berwhispering (hwĭs´per-ing)shŭd´derslone´someNewfoundland

gay´lywrinkled (rĭngk´kld)mischief (mĭs´chif)hoarsely (hōrs´ly)boughsvoy´agestitch´ingNo-vem´berwhispering (hwĭs´per-ing)shŭd´derslone´someNewfoundland

Phrase Exercise.1. In amournful muse.—2. Her heart’sadrift.—3. Hale and clever.—4. Skiesaglow.—5. No tear herwastedcheekbedews.—6.Old withwatching.—7. Bleach theraggedshore.—8. Silently chase.—9. Twentyseasons.—10.HopelessHannah.

1. In amournful muse.—2. Her heart’sadrift.—3. Hale and clever.—4. Skiesaglow.—5. No tear herwastedcheekbedews.—6.Old withwatching.—7. Bleach theraggedshore.—8. Silently chase.—9. Twentyseasons.—10.HopelessHannah.

John G. Whittier.

Drawing of the Jack-in-the-Pulpit plant

Jack in the PulpitPreaches to-day,Squirrel and song-sparrow,High on their perch,Hear the sweet lily-bellsRinging to church.Come, hear what his reverenceRises to say,In his low, painted pulpit,This calm Sabbath-day.Fair is the canopyOver him seen,Pencilled by Nature’s handBlack, brown, and green.Green is his surplice,Green are his bands;In his queer little pulpitThe little priest stands.In black and gold velvet,So gorgeous to see,Comes with his bass voiceThe chorister bee.Green fingers playingUnseen on wind-lyres,—Low singing bird-voices,—These are his choirs.The violets are deacons;I know by their signThat the cups which they carryAre purple with wine.And the columbines bravelyAs sentinels standOn the look-out, with all theirRed trumpets in hand.Meek-faced anemonesDrooping and sad;Great yellow violetsSmiling out glad;Buttercups’ facesBeaming and bright;Clovers, with bonnets—Some red and some white;Daisies, their white fingersHalf-clasped in prayer;Dandelions proud ofThe gold of their hair;Innocents, childrenGuileless and frail,Meek little facesUpturned and pale;Wild-wood geraniums,All in their best,Languidly leaningIn purple gauze dressed;—All are assembledThis sweet Sabbath dayTo hear what the priest in his pulpit will say.Look! white Indian pipesOn the green mosses lie!Who has been smokingProfanely so nigh?Rebuked by the preacherThe mischief is stopped,And the sinners, in haste,Have their little pipes dropped.Let the wind, with the fragranceOf fern and black-birch,Blow the smell of the smokingClean out of the church!So much for the preacher:The sermon comes next;—Shall we tell how he preached it,And what was his text?Alas! like too manyGrown-up folk who playAt worship in churchesMan-builded to-day—We heard not the preacherExpound or discuss;But we looked at the peopleAnd they looked at us;We saw all their dresses,Their colors and shapes,The trim of their bonnets,The cut of their capes;We heard the wind-organ,The bee and the bird,But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard not a word!

Jack in the PulpitPreaches to-day,Squirrel and song-sparrow,High on their perch,Hear the sweet lily-bellsRinging to church.

Jack in the Pulpit

Preaches to-day,

Squirrel and song-sparrow,

High on their perch,

Hear the sweet lily-bells

Ringing to church.

Come, hear what his reverenceRises to say,In his low, painted pulpit,This calm Sabbath-day.Fair is the canopyOver him seen,Pencilled by Nature’s handBlack, brown, and green.Green is his surplice,Green are his bands;In his queer little pulpitThe little priest stands.

Come, hear what his reverence

Rises to say,

In his low, painted pulpit,

This calm Sabbath-day.

Fair is the canopy

Over him seen,

Pencilled by Nature’s hand

Black, brown, and green.

Green is his surplice,

Green are his bands;

In his queer little pulpit

The little priest stands.

In black and gold velvet,So gorgeous to see,Comes with his bass voiceThe chorister bee.Green fingers playingUnseen on wind-lyres,—Low singing bird-voices,—These are his choirs.The violets are deacons;I know by their signThat the cups which they carryAre purple with wine.And the columbines bravelyAs sentinels standOn the look-out, with all theirRed trumpets in hand.

In black and gold velvet,

So gorgeous to see,

Comes with his bass voice

The chorister bee.

Green fingers playing

Unseen on wind-lyres,—

Low singing bird-voices,—

These are his choirs.

The violets are deacons;

I know by their sign

That the cups which they carry

Are purple with wine.

And the columbines bravely

As sentinels stand

On the look-out, with all their

Red trumpets in hand.

Meek-faced anemonesDrooping and sad;Great yellow violetsSmiling out glad;Buttercups’ facesBeaming and bright;Clovers, with bonnets—Some red and some white;Daisies, their white fingersHalf-clasped in prayer;Dandelions proud ofThe gold of their hair;Innocents, childrenGuileless and frail,Meek little facesUpturned and pale;Wild-wood geraniums,All in their best,Languidly leaningIn purple gauze dressed;—All are assembledThis sweet Sabbath dayTo hear what the priest in his pulpit will say.

Meek-faced anemones

Drooping and sad;

Great yellow violets

Smiling out glad;

Buttercups’ faces

Beaming and bright;

Clovers, with bonnets—

Some red and some white;

Daisies, their white fingers

Half-clasped in prayer;

Dandelions proud of

The gold of their hair;

Innocents, children

Guileless and frail,

Meek little faces

Upturned and pale;

Wild-wood geraniums,

All in their best,

Languidly leaning

In purple gauze dressed;—

All are assembled

This sweet Sabbath day

To hear what the priest in his pulpit will say.

Look! white Indian pipesOn the green mosses lie!Who has been smokingProfanely so nigh?Rebuked by the preacherThe mischief is stopped,And the sinners, in haste,Have their little pipes dropped.Let the wind, with the fragranceOf fern and black-birch,Blow the smell of the smokingClean out of the church!

Look! white Indian pipes

On the green mosses lie!

Who has been smoking

Profanely so nigh?

Rebuked by the preacher

The mischief is stopped,

And the sinners, in haste,

Have their little pipes dropped.

Let the wind, with the fragrance

Of fern and black-birch,

Blow the smell of the smoking

Clean out of the church!

So much for the preacher:The sermon comes next;—Shall we tell how he preached it,And what was his text?Alas! like too manyGrown-up folk who playAt worship in churchesMan-builded to-day—We heard not the preacherExpound or discuss;But we looked at the peopleAnd they looked at us;We saw all their dresses,Their colors and shapes,The trim of their bonnets,The cut of their capes;We heard the wind-organ,The bee and the bird,But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard not a word!

So much for the preacher:

The sermon comes next;—

Shall we tell how he preached it,

And what was his text?

Alas! like too many

Grown-up folk who play

At worship in churches

Man-builded to-day—

We heard not the preacher

Expound or discuss;

But we looked at the people

And they looked at us;

We saw all their dresses,

Their colors and shapes,

The trim of their bonnets,

The cut of their capes;

We heard the wind-organ,

The bee and the bird,

But of Jack in the Pulpit we heard not a word!

There are few animals that can teach us more useful lessons than the beaver.

Beavers gnawing through a treetrunk

They are very timid animals. If we went to places where they are common, it would be very difficult to find them and see what they do.

The beaver is between two and three feet long, and one foot high, and is covered with brown hair. Its eyes arevery small and far apart; its ears also are small and its nose blunt. It has very strong, sharp teeth, and a long tail shaped somewhat like the blade of an oar. This tail has no hair or fur on it, but is covered with little scales like those of a fish. The hind feet of the beaver have a thin skin between the toes. This shows that the beaver is fitted for swimming. During the summer these animals live in holes near the banks of rivers. They are very social animals. They never live alone. They usually go in parties, and build a little “beaver town.” They have some means of making known their wants to each other. They know they will be safer in water than on land, so they try to find a pond where they can build their town. If they can not do this, they will choose a running stream with some trees on the banks.

The first thing they do, is to make a dam, right across the stream. They have neither saws nor hatchets with which to cut down the trees; but they use their sharp, strong teeth, and gnaw and gnaw away, until they bring down tree after tree. These little wood-cutters know very well how to do this; otherwise the trees might fall and kill them. When they have gnawed nearly through the trunk, away they run to see if the tree is beginning to bend. If it is still straight, they set to work again; but the moment they hear it crack, off they run to keep out of danger.

When the tree is down, they gnaw off all the branches in the same way, and then cut the trunk into short pieces, and roll them down to the water’s edge. Then they go to work at another tree, and still another, until theyhave cut down all they want. These logs of wood, kept in their places by mud and stones, make a dam, and this dam stops the water and causes it to rise around their houses and cover the openings which are at the bottom, and helps to keep them safe from danger.

Then the houses are built of mud, stones, sticks, and small branches twined in and out to keep them fast. These houses are several feet high and are very thick. There are two rooms in them, one at the bottom, under water, which they use for a store-room, and the other, at the top, above the water, for a living-room. The floor of this room is covered with soft moss.

But these wise beavers know that they must have a store of food for the winter, as well as a snug little house to live in. They gather logs of wood and branches, and put them away in their store-room. The bark of these logs and some water plants supply them with food. When they are “at home” during the winter months in their “beaver town,” they always have a sentinel to keep watch, and if any one comes near, he gives the alarm by striking the water with his broad, flat tail.

There are no idle beavers. They not only work hard, but with great skill and care.

Phrase Exercise.1. Useful lessons.—2. Where they arecommon.—3. Thebladeof an oar.—4.Socialanimals.—5. Usually go in parties.—6.Rightacross the stream.—7. If it is still straight.—8.Stopsthe water.—9.Twinedin and out.—10. For a living-room.—11. Astoreof food.—12. He gives the alarm.—13.Supplythem with food.—14. They have asentinel to keep watch.—15. Work with great skill and care.

1. Useful lessons.—2. Where they arecommon.—3. Thebladeof an oar.—4.Socialanimals.—5. Usually go in parties.—6.Rightacross the stream.—7. If it is still straight.—8.Stopsthe water.—9.Twinedin and out.—10. For a living-room.—11. Astoreof food.—12. He gives the alarm.—13.Supplythem with food.—14. They have asentinel to keep watch.—15. Work with great skill and care.

Samuel Lover.

A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland, that when a child smiles in its sleep it is ‘talking with angels.’—Lover.

A baby was sleeping,Its mother was weeping,For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;And the tempest was swellingRound the fisherman’s dwelling,And she cried, “Dermot, darling, oh come back to me!”Her beads while she numbered,The baby still slumbered,And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:“Oh, blessed be that warning,My child, thy sleep adorning,For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.“And while they are keepingBright watch o’er thy sleeping,Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!And say thou would’st ratherThey’d watch o’er thy father!—For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.”The dawn of the morningSaw Dermot returning,And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see;And closely caressingHer child, with a blessing,Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”

A baby was sleeping,

Its mother was weeping,

For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;

And the tempest was swelling

Round the fisherman’s dwelling,

And she cried, “Dermot, darling, oh come back to me!”

Her beads while she numbered,The baby still slumbered,And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:“Oh, blessed be that warning,My child, thy sleep adorning,For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

Her beads while she numbered,

The baby still slumbered,

And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:

“Oh, blessed be that warning,

My child, thy sleep adorning,

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

“And while they are keepingBright watch o’er thy sleeping,Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!And say thou would’st ratherThey’d watch o’er thy father!—For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.”

“And while they are keeping

Bright watch o’er thy sleeping,

Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!

And say thou would’st rather

They’d watch o’er thy father!—

For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.”

The dawn of the morningSaw Dermot returning,And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see;And closely caressingHer child, with a blessing,Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”

The dawn of the morning

Saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see;

And closely caressing

Her child, with a blessing,

Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”

Charles Sangster.

All peacefully gliding, the waters dividing,The indolent batteau moved slowly along;The rowers, light-hearted, from sorrow long parted,Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:“Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrilyGambols and leaps on its tortuous way;Soon, we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray.”More swiftly careering, the wild Rapid nearing,They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;The surges delight them, no terrors affright them,Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:“Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrilyShivers its arrows against us in play;Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,Our spirits as light as its feathery spray.”Fast downward they’re dashing, each fearless eye flashing,Though danger awaits them on every side;Yon rock—see it frowning! they strike—they are drowning!But downward they speed with the merciless tide.No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrilyShivers their bark in its maddening play;Gaily they entered it—heedlessly, recklessly,Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!

All peacefully gliding, the waters dividing,

The indolent batteau moved slowly along;

The rowers, light-hearted, from sorrow long parted,

Beguiled the dull moments with laughter and song:

“Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily

Gambols and leaps on its tortuous way;

Soon, we will enter it, cheerily, cheerily,

Pleased with its freshness, and wet with its spray.”

More swiftly careering, the wild Rapid nearing,They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;The surges delight them, no terrors affright them,Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:“Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrilyShivers its arrows against us in play;Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,Our spirits as light as its feathery spray.”

More swiftly careering, the wild Rapid nearing,

They dash down the stream like a terrified steed;

The surges delight them, no terrors affright them,

Their voices keep pace with their quickening speed:

“Hurrah for the Rapid! that merrily, merrily

Shivers its arrows against us in play;

Now we have entered it, cheerily, cheerily,

Our spirits as light as its feathery spray.”

Fast downward they’re dashing, each fearless eye flashing,Though danger awaits them on every side;Yon rock—see it frowning! they strike—they are drowning!But downward they speed with the merciless tide.No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrilyShivers their bark in its maddening play;Gaily they entered it—heedlessly, recklessly,Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!

Fast downward they’re dashing, each fearless eye flashing,

Though danger awaits them on every side;

Yon rock—see it frowning! they strike—they are drowning!

But downward they speed with the merciless tide.

No voice cheers the Rapid, that angrily, angrily

Shivers their bark in its maddening play;

Gaily they entered it—heedlessly, recklessly,

Mingling their lives with its treacherous spray!

In 1843, Livingstone, the celebrated traveller, settled as a missionary in Mabtosa, a beautiful valley in South Africa. Here he met with an adventure which nearly terminated his earthly career.

The natives of Mabtosa had long been troubled by lions, which invaded their cattle-pens by night, and even attacked the herds during the day. These poor people, being very ignorant and superstitious, thought that the inroads of the lions were caused by witchcraft. It was perhaps for this reason that all their attempts to drive away the animals were feeble and faint-hearted, and therefore unsuccessful.

It is well known that a troop of lions will not remain long in any district where one of their number has been killed. So the next time the herds of Mabtosa were attacked, Livingstone went out with the natives to encourage them to destroy one of the marauders, and thus free themselves from the whole troop. They found the lions on a small hill covered with wood. The hunters placed themselves in a circle round the hill, and began to ascend, coming gradually closer to each other as they approached the summit.

Livingstone remained, along with a native teacher, on the plain below, to watch the manœuvres of the party. His companion, seeing one of the lions sitting on a piece of rock within the circle of hunters, took aim and fired; but the ball only struck the stones at the animal’sfeet. With a roar of rage the fierce brute bounded away, broke through the ring, and escaped unhurt, the natives not having the courage to stand close and spear him as he passed.

The band again closed in and resumed their march. There were still two lions in the wood, and it was hoped that fortune would favor a second attempt to destroy one of them. But suddenly a terrific roar echoed from the hill, and the timid hunters quaked with fear. First one of the lions, and then the other, with streaming manes and glaring eyes, rushed down through the wavering ranks, and bounded away, free to continue their devastations.

As the party were returning home, bewailing their want of success, Livingstone observed one of the lions about thirty yards in front, sitting on a rock behind a bush. Raising his gun, he took steady aim, and discharged both barrels into the thicket. “He is shot! He is shot!” was the joyful cry; and some of the men were about to rush in and despatch the wounded beast with their spears. But Livingstone, seeing the lion’s tail erected in anger, warned them to keep back until he had fired a second time. He was just in the act of reloading, when, hearing a shout of terror, he looked round and saw the lion preparing to spring. It was too late to retreat. With a savage growl the frenzied animal seized him by the shoulder, and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. The shock caused a momentary anguish, followed by a sort of drowsiness, in which he had no sense of pain nor feeling of terror, though he knew all that was happening.

Above: Lion at rest. Below: Lion being hunted.

The lion’s paw was resting on the back of his head, and as he turned round to relieve himself of the pressure, he saw the creature’s fiery eyes directed to the native teacher, who, at a distance of ten or fifteen yards, was making ready to shoot. The gun missed fire in both barrels; and the lion sprang at his new assailant, and bit him in thethigh. Another man also, who was standing near, was severely bitten in the shoulder; but at this moment the bullets took effect, and the huge beast fell back dead.

All this occurred in a few seconds: the death-blow had been inflicted before the animal sprang upon his assailants. Livingstone’s arm was wounded in eleven places, and the bone crushed into splinters; and the injuries might have proved fatal but for his tartan jacket, which wiped the poison from the lion’s teeth before they entered the flesh.

It was long ere the wounds healed, and all through life the intrepid missionary bore the marks of this dreadful encounter. Thirty years afterwards, when his noble and useful career had ended among the swamps of Central Africa, and his remains were taken to England to be interred in Westminster Abbey, the crushed and mangled arm was one of the marks which enabled his sorrowing friends in that country to identify the body as that of David Livingstone.

Word Exercise.resumed (re-zūmd´)West´ min-sterin-trep´idī-dĕn´tĭ-fydĕv-as-tā´tionsmarauders (ma-raw´ders)as-sail´antsĭg´no-rantsū-per-stĭ´tious (-stish´us)be-wail´ingMab-tō´sadrow´si-nessad-vent´ure

resumed (re-zūmd´)West´ min-sterin-trep´idī-dĕn´tĭ-fydĕv-as-tā´tionsmarauders (ma-raw´ders)as-sail´antsĭg´no-rantsū-per-stĭ´tious (-stish´us)be-wail´ingMab-tō´sadrow´si-nessad-vent´ure

Phrase Exercise.1. Settled as a missionary.—2. Terminated his earthly career.—3. Attacked the herds.—4. Feeble and faint-hearted.—5. To watch the manœuvres.—6.A terrific roar echoedfrom the hill.—7.Quakedwith fear.—8. Streaming manes.—9. Wavering ranks.—10. Bewailing their want of success.—11. Steady aim.—12.Dischargedboth barrels.—13. A shout ofterror.—14. Momentary anguish.—15. Dreadful encounter.

1. Settled as a missionary.—2. Terminated his earthly career.—3. Attacked the herds.—4. Feeble and faint-hearted.—5. To watch the manœuvres.—6.A terrific roar echoedfrom the hill.—7.Quakedwith fear.—8. Streaming manes.—9. Wavering ranks.—10. Bewailing their want of success.—11. Steady aim.—12.Dischargedboth barrels.—13. A shout ofterror.—14. Momentary anguish.—15. Dreadful encounter.

Mary Howitt.

Mary, the fairies, the mill

“And where have you been, my Mary.And where have you been from me?”“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,The Midsummer night to see!”“And what did you see, my Mary,All up on the Caldon-Low?”“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,And I saw the merry winds blow.”“And what did you hear, my Mary,All up on the Caldon Hill?”“I heard the drops of the water made,And the green corn ears to fill.”“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—All, all that ever you know;For you must have seen the fairies,Last night on the Caldon-Low.”“Then take me on your knee, mother,And listen, mother of mine:A hundred fairies danced last night,And the harpers they were nine.“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,And their dancing feet so small;But, oh, the sound of their talkingWas merrier far than all!”“And what were the words, my Mary,That you did hear them say?”“I’ll tell you all, my mother—But let me have my way!“And some they played with the water,And rolled it down the hill;‘And this’ they said, ‘shall speedily turnThe poor old miller’s mill;“‘For there has been no waterEver since the first of May;And a busy man shall the miller beBy the dawning of the day!“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,When he sees the mill-dam rise!The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,Till the tears fill both his eyes!’“And some they seized the little winds,That sounded over the hill,And each put a horn into his mouth,And blew so sharp and shrill:—“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,Away from every horn;And those shall clear the mildew dankFrom the blind old widow’s corn:“‘Oh, the poor, blind old widow—Though she has been blind so long,She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,And the corn stands stiff and strong!’“And some they brought the brown lintseed,And flung it down from the Low—‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,In the weaver’s croft shall grow!“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,How he will laugh outright,When he sees his dwindling flax-fieldAll full of flowers by night!’“And then upspoke a brownie,With a long beard on his chin—‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,‘And I want some more to spin.“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,And I want to spin another—A little sheet for Mary’s bed,And an apron for her mother!’“And with that I could not help but laugh,And I laughed out loud and free;And then on the top of the Caldon-LowThere was no one left but me.“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,The mists were cold and gray,And nothing I saw but the mossy stonesThat round about me lay.“But, as I came down from the hill-top,I heard, afar below,How busy the jolly miller was,And how merry the wheel did go!“And I peeped into the widow’s field;And sure enough were seenThe yellow ears of the mildewed cornAll standing stiff and green.“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,To see if the flax were high;But I saw the weaver at his gateWith the good news in his eye!“Now, this is all I heard, mother,And all that I did see;So, prithee, make my bed, mother,For I’m tired as I can be!”

“And where have you been, my Mary.And where have you been from me?”“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,The Midsummer night to see!”

“And where have you been, my Mary.

And where have you been from me?”

“I’ve been to the top of the Caldon-Low,

The Midsummer night to see!”

“And what did you see, my Mary,All up on the Caldon-Low?”“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,And I saw the merry winds blow.”

“And what did you see, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon-Low?”

“I saw the blithe sunshine come down,

And I saw the merry winds blow.”

“And what did you hear, my Mary,All up on the Caldon Hill?”“I heard the drops of the water made,And the green corn ears to fill.”

“And what did you hear, my Mary,

All up on the Caldon Hill?”

“I heard the drops of the water made,

And the green corn ears to fill.”

“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—All, all that ever you know;For you must have seen the fairies,Last night on the Caldon-Low.”

“Oh, tell me all, my Mary—

All, all that ever you know;

For you must have seen the fairies,

Last night on the Caldon-Low.”

“Then take me on your knee, mother,And listen, mother of mine:A hundred fairies danced last night,And the harpers they were nine.

“Then take me on your knee, mother,

And listen, mother of mine:

A hundred fairies danced last night,

And the harpers they were nine.

“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,And their dancing feet so small;But, oh, the sound of their talkingWas merrier far than all!”

“And merry was the glee of the harp-strings,

And their dancing feet so small;

But, oh, the sound of their talking

Was merrier far than all!”

“And what were the words, my Mary,That you did hear them say?”“I’ll tell you all, my mother—But let me have my way!

“And what were the words, my Mary,

That you did hear them say?”

“I’ll tell you all, my mother—

But let me have my way!

“And some they played with the water,And rolled it down the hill;‘And this’ they said, ‘shall speedily turnThe poor old miller’s mill;

“And some they played with the water,

And rolled it down the hill;

‘And this’ they said, ‘shall speedily turn

The poor old miller’s mill;

“‘For there has been no waterEver since the first of May;And a busy man shall the miller beBy the dawning of the day!

“‘For there has been no water

Ever since the first of May;

And a busy man shall the miller be

By the dawning of the day!

“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,When he sees the mill-dam rise!The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,Till the tears fill both his eyes!’

“‘Oh, the miller, how he will laugh,

When he sees the mill-dam rise!

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh,

Till the tears fill both his eyes!’

“And some they seized the little winds,That sounded over the hill,And each put a horn into his mouth,And blew so sharp and shrill:—

“And some they seized the little winds,

That sounded over the hill,

And each put a horn into his mouth,

And blew so sharp and shrill:—

“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,Away from every horn;And those shall clear the mildew dankFrom the blind old widow’s corn:

“‘And there,’ said they, ‘the merry winds go,

Away from every horn;

And those shall clear the mildew dank

From the blind old widow’s corn:

“‘Oh, the poor, blind old widow—Though she has been blind so long,She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,And the corn stands stiff and strong!’

“‘Oh, the poor, blind old widow—

Though she has been blind so long,

She’ll be merry enough when the mildew’s gone,

And the corn stands stiff and strong!’

“And some they brought the brown lintseed,And flung it down from the Low—‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,In the weaver’s croft shall grow!

“And some they brought the brown lintseed,

And flung it down from the Low—

‘And this,’ said they, ‘by the sunrise,

In the weaver’s croft shall grow!

“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,How he will laugh outright,When he sees his dwindling flax-fieldAll full of flowers by night!’

“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,

How he will laugh outright,

When he sees his dwindling flax-field

All full of flowers by night!’

“And then upspoke a brownie,With a long beard on his chin—‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,‘And I want some more to spin.

“And then upspoke a brownie,

With a long beard on his chin—

‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,

‘And I want some more to spin.

“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,And I want to spin another—A little sheet for Mary’s bed,And an apron for her mother!’

“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,

And I want to spin another—

A little sheet for Mary’s bed,

And an apron for her mother!’

“And with that I could not help but laugh,And I laughed out loud and free;And then on the top of the Caldon-LowThere was no one left but me.

“And with that I could not help but laugh,

And I laughed out loud and free;

And then on the top of the Caldon-Low

There was no one left but me.

“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,The mists were cold and gray,And nothing I saw but the mossy stonesThat round about me lay.

“And all, on the top of the Caldon-Low,

The mists were cold and gray,

And nothing I saw but the mossy stones

That round about me lay.

“But, as I came down from the hill-top,I heard, afar below,How busy the jolly miller was,And how merry the wheel did go!

“But, as I came down from the hill-top,

I heard, afar below,

How busy the jolly miller was,

And how merry the wheel did go!

“And I peeped into the widow’s field;And sure enough were seenThe yellow ears of the mildewed cornAll standing stiff and green.

“And I peeped into the widow’s field;

And sure enough were seen

The yellow ears of the mildewed corn

All standing stiff and green.

“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,To see if the flax were high;But I saw the weaver at his gateWith the good news in his eye!

“And down by the weaver’s croft I stole,

To see if the flax were high;

But I saw the weaver at his gate

With the good news in his eye!

“Now, this is all I heard, mother,And all that I did see;So, prithee, make my bed, mother,For I’m tired as I can be!”

“Now, this is all I heard, mother,

And all that I did see;

So, prithee, make my bed, mother,

For I’m tired as I can be!”

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