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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2670-h.zip b/2670-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f63ffab --- /dev/null +++ b/2670-h.zip diff --git a/2670-h/2670-h.htm b/2670-h/2670-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e41b8d --- /dev/null +++ b/2670-h/2670-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2811 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Love-songs of Childhood, by Eugene Field + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Love-Songs of Childhood, by Eugene Field + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Love-Songs of Childhood + +Author: Eugene Field + +Release Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2670] +Last Updated: January 26, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Eugene Field + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + To Mrs. Belle Angler + </p> + <p> + Dearest Aunt: + </p> + <p> + Many years ago you used to rock me to sleep, cradling me in your arms and + singing me petty songs. Surely you have not forgotten that time, and I + recall it with tenderness. You were very beautiful then. But you are more + beautiful now; for, in the years that have come and gone since then, the + joys and the sorrows of maternity have impressed their saintly grace upon + the dear face I used to kiss, and have made your gentle heart gentler + still. + </p> + <p> + Beloved lady, in memory of years to be recalled only in thought, and in + token of my gratitude and affection, I bring you these little love-songs, + and reverently I lay them at your feet. + </p> + <p> + Eugene Field Chicago, November 1, 1894 + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE ROCK-A-BY LADY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> "BOOH!" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> GARDEN AND CRADLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE NIGHT WIND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> KISSING TIME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> BEARD AND BABY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE DINKEY BIRD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE DRUM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE DEAD BABE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO! </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE DUEL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> GOOD-CHILDREN STREET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> THE STORK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE BOTTLE TREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> GOOGLY-GOO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> LITTLE MISS BRAG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE HUMMING TOP </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> LADY BUTTON-EYES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> THE BROOK </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> PICNIC-TIME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> LITTLE-OH DEAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> THE FLY-AWAY HORSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> WHEN I WAS A BOY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> AT PLAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> A VALENTINE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> LITTLE ALL-ALONEY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> SEEIN' THINGS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> THE DOLL'S WOOING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> "FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + THE ROCK-A-BY LADY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street + Comes stealing; comes creeping; + The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, + And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet— + She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, + When she findeth you sleeping! + + There is one little dream of a beautiful drum— + "Rub-a-dub!" it goeth; + There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, + And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come + Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, + And a trumpet that bloweth! + + And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams + With laughter and singing; + And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, + And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, + And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, + The fairies go winging! + + Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? + They'll come to you sleeping; + So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, + For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street, + With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, + Comes stealing; comes creeping. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "BOOH!" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, + And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, + In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, + And cautiously and quietly I move about the place; + Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, + And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh"! + + Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, + And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared; + And then his under lip came out and farther out it came, + Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame"— + But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do + But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!" + + He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then + In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!" + And I—of course I do it; for, as his progenitor, + It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! + And it is, oh, such fun I am sure that we shall rue + The time when we are both too old to play the game "Booh!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GARDEN AND CRADLE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, + Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; + The posies they are good to him, + And bow them as they should to him, + As fareth he upon his kingly way; + And birdlings of the wood to him + Make music, gentle music, all the day, + When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. + + When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, + Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down; + The little stars are kind to him, + The moon she hath a mind to him + And layeth on his head a golden crown; + And singeth then the wind to him + A song, the gentle song of Bethlem-town, + When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE NIGHT WIND + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? + 'T is a pitiful sound to hear! + It seems to chill you through and through + With a strange and speechless fear. + 'T is the voice of the night that broods outside + When folk should be asleep, + And many and many's the time I've cried + To the darkness brooding far and wide + Over the land and the deep: + "Whom do you want, O lonely night, + That you wail the long hours through?" + And the night would say in its ghostly way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + My mother told me long ago + (When I was a little tad) + That when the night went wailing so, + Somebody had been bad; + And then, when I was snug in bed, + Whither I had been sent, + With the blankets pulled up round my head, + I'd think of what my mother'd said, + And wonder what boy she meant! + And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask + Of the wind that hoarsely blew, + And the voice would say in its meaningful way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + That this was true I must allow— + You'll not believe it, though! + Yes, though I'm quite a model now, + I was not always so. + And if you doubt what things I say, + Suppose you make the test; + Suppose, when you've been bad some day + And up to bed are sent away + From mother and the rest— + Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" + And then you'll hear what's true; + For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + KISSING TIME + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'T is when the lark goes soaring + And the bee is at the bud, + When lightly dancing zephyrs + Sing over field and flood; + When all sweet things in nature + Seem joyfully achime— + 'T is then I wake my darling, + For it is kissing time! + + Go, pretty lark, a-soaring, + And suck your sweets, O bee; + Sing, O ye winds of summer, + Your songs to mine and me; + For with your song and rapture + Cometh the moment when + It's half-past kissing time + And time to kiss again! + + So—so the days go fleeting + Like golden fancies free, + And every day that cometh + Is full of sweets for me; + And sweetest are those moments + My darling comes to climb + Into my lap to mind me + That it is kissing time. + + Sometimes, maybe, he wanders + A heedless, aimless way— + Sometimes, maybe, he loiters + In pretty, prattling play; + But presently bethinks him + And hastens to me then, + For it's half-past kissing time + And time to kiss again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, + Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill! + Mighty glad I ain't a girl—ruther be a boy, + Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy! + Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake— + Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache! + 'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, + But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + + Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat; + First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at! + Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide, + 'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride! + But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross, + He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss, + An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!" + But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + + Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man, + I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan, + As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle, + Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile! + But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, + Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know + That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me! + Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be! + + And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, + His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?" + The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become + Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! + But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz, + That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!" + But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me + When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be! + + For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys, + Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys; + So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's, + An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes; + Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men, + An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again; + But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, + Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BEARD AND BABY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I say, as one who never feared + The wrath of a subscriber's bullet, + I pity him who has a beard + But has no little girl to pull it! + + When wife and I have finished tea, + Our baby woos me with her prattle, + And, perching proudly on my knee, + She gives my petted whiskers battle. + + With both her hands she tugs away, + While scolding at me kind o' spiteful; + You'll not believe me when I say + I find the torture quite delightful! + + No other would presume, I ween, + To trifle with this hirsute wonder, + Else would I rise in vengeful mien + And rend his vandal frame asunder! + + But when her baby fingers pull + This glossy, sleek, and silky treasure, + My cup of happiness is full— + I fairly glow with pride and pleasure! + + And, sweeter still, through all the day + I seem to hear her winsome prattle— + I seem to feel her hands at play, + As though they gave me sportive battle. + + Yes, heavenly music seems to steal + Where thought of her forever lingers, + And round my heart I always feel + The twining of her dimpled fingers! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DINKEY BIRD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In an ocean, 'way out yonder + (As all sapient people know), + Is the land of Wonder-Wander, + Whither children love to go; + It's their playing, romping, swinging, + That give great joy to me + While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing + In the amfalula tree! + + There the gum-drops grow like cherries, + And taffy's thick as peas— + Caramels you pick like berries + When, and where, and how you please; + Big red sugar-plums are clinging + To the cliffs beside that sea + Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + So when children shout and scamper + And make merry all the day, + When there's naught to put a damper + To the ardor of their play; + When I hear their laughter ringing, + Then I'm sure as sure can be + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras + And staccatos are so sweet— + His roulades, appoggiaturas, + And robustos so complete, + That the youth of every nation— + Be they near or far away— + Have especial delectation + In that gladsome roundelay. + + Their eyes grow bright and brighter, + Their lungs begin to crow, + Their hearts get light and lighter, + And their cheeks are all aglow; + For an echo cometh bringing + The news to all and me, + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + I'm sure you like to go there + To see your feathered friend— + And so many goodies grow there + You would like to comprehend! + Speed, little dreams, your winging + To that land across the sea + Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DRUM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I'm a beautiful red, red drum, + And I train with the soldier boys; + As up the street we come, + Wonderful is our noise! + There's Tom, and Jim, and Phil, + And Dick, and Nat, and Fred, + While Widow Cutler's Bill + And I march on ahead, + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum— + Oh, there's bushels of fun in that + For boys with a little red drum! + + The Injuns came last night + While the soldiers were abed, + And they gobbled a Chinese kite + And off to the woods they fled! + The woods are the cherry-trees + Down in the orchard lot, + And the soldiers are marching to seize + The booty the Injuns got. + With tum-titty-um-tum-tum, + And r-r-rat-tat-tat, + When soldiers marching come + Injuns had better scat! + + Step up there, little Fred, + And, Charley, have a mind! + Jim is as far ahead + As you two are behind! + Ready with gun and sword + Your valorous work to do— + Yonder the Injun horde + Are lying in wait for you. + And their hearts go pitapat + When they hear the soldiers come + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum! + + Course it's all in play! + The skulking Injun crew + That hustled the kite away + Are little white boys, like you! + But "honest" or "just in fun," + It is all the same to me; + And, when the battle is won, + Home once again march we + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And tum-titty-um-tum-tum; + And there's glory enough in that + For the boys with their little red drum! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DEAD BABE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + In agony I knelt and said: + "O God! what have I done, + Or in what wise offended Thee, + That Thou should'st take away from me + My little son? + + "Upon the thousand useless lives, + Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives, + Thy wrath were better spent! + Why should'st Thou take my little son— + Why should'st Thou vent Thy wrath upon + This innocent?" + + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + Before mine eyes the vision spread + Of things that might have been: + Licentious riot, cruel strife, + Forgotten prayers, a wasted life + Dark red with sin! + + Then, with sweet music in the air, + I saw another vision there: + A Shepherd in whose keep + A little lamb—my little child! + Of worldly wisdom undefiled, + Lay fast asleep! + + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + In those two messages I read + A wisdom manifest; + And though my arms be childless now, + I am content—to Him I bow + Who knoweth best. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, + That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes; + Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me, + For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be! + And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado, + While gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + And wife, she laughs, + And I—well, I laugh, too! + + You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad, + That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had; + But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss + As if the only baby in the world had come to us! + And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do, + Gran'ma, she laughs, + Gran'pa, he laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I, of course, laugh, too! + + But once—a likely spell ago—when that poor little chick + From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, + You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about + A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; + And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, + Old gran'ma cried, + And gran'pa cried, + And wife, she cried, + And I—yes, I cried, too! + + It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, + With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; + The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, + And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! + No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, + Old gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I—you bet, I laugh, too! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO! + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + So, so, rock-a-by so! + Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; + And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, + And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek + And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies + In the beautiful garden way up in the skies + Which you seek. + Now mind these three kisses wherever you go— + So, so, rock-a-by so! + + There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, + For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; + I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, + I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek. + And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise + When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies + Which you seek. + Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe— + So, so, rock-a-by so! + + And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, + Don't forget mother who loveth you so! + And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, + And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, + And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies + Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies + Which you seek— + The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow— + So, so, rock-a-by so! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A sunbeam comes a-creeping + Into my dear one's nest, + And sings to our babe a-sleeping + The song that I love the best: + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning— + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same sweet song + Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, + Luddy-Dud." + + The bird to the tossing clover, + The bee to the swaying bud, + Keep singing that sweet song over + Of wee little Luddy-Dud. + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning— + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same dear song + Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, + Luddy-Dud." + + Luddy-Dud's cradle is swinging + Where softly the night winds blow, + And Luddy-Dud's mother is singing + A song that is sweet and low: + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning— + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same sweet song + Of my nearest and my dearest heart's delight, + Luddy-Dud!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DUEL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The gingham dog and the calico cat + Side by side on the table sat; + 'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) + Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink! + The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate + Appeared to know as sure as fate + There was going to be a terrible spat. + (I wasn't there; I simply state + What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) + + The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!" + And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!" + The air was littered, an hour or so, + With bits of gingham and calico, + While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place + Up with its hands before its face, + For it always dreaded a family row! + (Now mind: I'm only telling you + What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) + + The Chinese plate looked very blue, + And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!" + But the gingham dog and the calico cat + Wallowed this way and tumbled that, + Employing every tooth and claw + In the awfullest way you ever saw— + And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! + (Don't fancy I exaggerate— + I got my news from the Chinese plate!) + + Next morning, where the two had sat + They found no trace of dog or cat; + And some folks think unto this day + That burglars stole that pair away! + But the truth about the cat and pup + Is this: they ate each other up! + Now what do you really think of that! + (The old Dutch clock it told me so, + And that is how I came to know.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOD-CHILDREN STREET + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There's a dear little home in Good-Children street— + My heart turneth fondly to-day + Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet + Make sweetest of music at play; + Where the sunshine of love illumines each face + And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place. + + For dear little children go romping about + With dollies and tin tops and drums, + And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout + Till bedtime too speedily comes! + Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet + With little folk living in Good-Children street. + + See, here comes an army with guns painted red, + And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; + The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead + On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! + Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet— + Nice make-believe soldiers—in Good-Children street. + + And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about— + Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill, + For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out + And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill. + Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, + Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. + + 'T is so the dear children go romping about + With dollies and banners and drums, + And I venture to say they are sadly put out + When an end to their jubilee comes: + Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet + With little folk living in Good-Children street! + + But when falleth night over river and town, + Those little folk vanish from sight, + And an angel all white from the sky cometh down + And guardeth the babes through the night, + And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet + To the dear little people in Good-Children Street. + + Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care, + Though poverty fall to my lot, + Though toil and vexation be always my share, + What care I—they trouble me not! + This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet: + There's a dear little home in Good-Children street. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Up yonder in Buena Park + There is a famous spot, + In legend and in history + Yclept the Waller Lot. + + There children play in daytime + And lovers stroll by dark, + For 't is the goodliest trysting-place + In all Buena Park. + + Once on a time that beauteous maid, + Sweet little Sissy Knott, + Took out her pretty doll to walk + Within the Waller Lot. + + While thus she fared, from Ravenswood + Came Injuns o'er the plain, + And seized upon that beauteous maid + And rent her doll in twain. + + Oh, 't was a piteous thing to hear + Her lamentations wild; + She tore her golden curls and cried: + "My child! My child! My child!" + + Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs + How bitterly wailed she? + They never had been mothers, + And they could not hope to be! + + "Have done with tears," they rudely quoth, + And then they bound her hands; + For they proposed to take her off + To distant border lands. + + But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn + Doth Willie Clow behold + The sight that makes his hair rise up + And all his blood run cold. + + He put his fingers in his mouth + And whistled long and clear, + And presently a goodly horde + Of cow-boys did appear. + + Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold, + Haste to the Waller Lot, + And rescue from that Injun band + Our charming Sissy Knott!" + + "Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, + But smite them hide and hair! + Spare neither sex nor age nor size, + And no condition spare!" + + Then sped that cow-boy band away, + Full of revengeful wrath, + And Kendall Evans rode ahead + Upon a hickory lath. + + And next came gallant Dady Field + And Willie's brother Kent, + The Eddy boys and Robbie James, + On murderous purpose bent. + + For they were much beholden to + That maid—in sooth, the lot + Were very, very much in love + With charming Sissy Knott. + + What wonder? She was beauty's queen, + And good beyond compare; + Moreover, it was known she was + Her wealthy father's heir! + + Now when the Injuns saw that band + They trembled with affright, + And yet they thought the cheapest thing + To do was stay and fight. + + So sturdily they stood their ground, + Nor would their prisoner yield, + Despite the wrath of Willie Clow + And gallant Dady Field. + + Oh, never fiercer battle raged + Upon the Waller Lot, + And never blood more freely flowed + Than flowed for Sissy Knott! + + An Injun chief of monstrous size + Got Kendall Evans down, + And Robbie James was soon o'erthrown + By one of great renown. + + And Dady Field was sorely done, + And Willie Clow was hurt, + And all that gallant cow-boy band + Lay wallowing in the dirt. + + But still they strove with might and main + Till all the Waller Lot + Was strewn with hair and gouts of gore— + All, all for Sissy Knott! + + Then cried the maiden in despair: + "Alas, I sadly fear + The battle and my hopes are lost, + Unless some help appear!" + + Lo, as she spoke, she saw afar + The rescuer looming up— + The pride of all Buena Park, + Clow's famous yellow pup! + + "Now, sick'em, Don," the maiden cried, + "Now, sick'em, Don!" cried she; + Obedient Don at once complied— + As ordered, so did he. + + He sicked'em all so passing well + That, overcome by fright, + The Indian horde gave up the fray + And safety sought in flight. + + They ran and ran and ran and ran + O'er valley, plain, and hill; + And if they are not walking now, + Why, then, they're running still. + + The cow-boys rose up from the dust + With faces black and blue; + "Remember, beauteous maid," said they, + "We've bled and died for you!" + + "And though we suffer grievously, + We gladly hail the lot + That brings us toils and pains and wounds + For charming Sissy Knott!" + + But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept, + And still her fate reviled; + For who could patch her dolly up— + Who, who could mend her child? + + Then out her doting mother came, + And soothed her daughter then; + "Grieve not, my darling, I will sew + Your dolly up again!" + + Joy soon succeeded unto grief, + And tears were soon dried up, + And dignities were heaped upon + Clow's noble yellow pup. + + Him all that goodly company + Did as deliverer hail— + They tied a ribbon round his neck, + Another round his tail. + + And every anniversary day + Upon the Waller Lot + They celebrate the victory won + For charming Sissy Knott. + + And I, the poet of these folk, + Am ordered to compile + This truly famous history + In good old ballad style. + + Which having done as to have earned + The sweet rewards of fame, + In what same style I did begin + I now shall end the same. + + So let us sing: Long live the King, + Long live the Queen and Jack, + Long live the ten-spot and the ace, + And also all the pack. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STORK + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Last night the Stork came stalking, + And, Stork, beneath your wing + Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, + The tiniest little thing! + From Babyland, out yonder + Beside a silver sea, + You brought a priceless treasure + As gift to mine and me! + + Last night my dear one listened— + And, wife, you knew the cry— + The dear old Stork has sought our home + A many times gone by! + And in your gentle bosom + I found the pretty thing + That from the realm out yonder + Our friend the Stork did bring. + + Last night a babe awakened, + And, babe, how strange and new + Must seem the home and people + The Stork has brought you to; + And yet methinks you like them— + You neither stare nor weep, + But closer to my dear one + You cuddle, and you sleep! + + Last night my heart grew fonder— + O happy heart of mine, + Sing of the inspirations + That round my pathway shine! + And sing your sweetest love-song + To this dear nestling wee + The Stork from 'Way-Out-Yonder + Hath brought to mine and me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BOTTLE TREE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land— + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + A snug little berth in that ship I demand + That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away + Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day + And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand; + You take of that fruit as much as you list, + For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist! + So cuddle me and cuddle me fast, + And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, + For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast— + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + + The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! + Heigh-ho for Winkyway land! + And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say) + Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand— + And that is a trick I would fain understand! + Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! + And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night— + A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! + So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, + And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, + For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast— + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + GOOGLY-GOO + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Of mornings, bright and early, + When the lark is on the wing + And the robin in the maple + Hops from her nest to sing, + From yonder cheery chamber + Cometh a mellow coo— + 'T is the sweet, persuasive treble + Of my little Googly-Goo! + + The sunbeams hear his music, + And they seek his little bed, + And they dance their prettiest dances + Round his golden curly head: + Schottisches, galops, minuets, + Gavottes and waltzes, too, + Dance they unto the music + Of my googling Googly-Goo. + + My heart—my heart it leapeth + To hear that treble tone; + What music like thy music, + My darling and mine own! + And patiently—yes, cheerfully + I toil the long day through— + My labor seemeth lightened + By the song of Googly-Goo! + + I may not see his antics, + Nor kiss his dimpled cheek: + I may not smooth the tresses + The sunbeams love to seek; + It mattereth not—the echo + Of his sweet, persuasive coo + Recurreth to remind me + Of my little Googly-Goo. + + And when I come at evening, + I stand without the door + And patiently I listen + For that dear sound once more; + And oftentimes I wonder, + "Oh, God! what should I do + If any ill should happen + To my little Googly-Goo!" + + Then in affright I call him— + I hear his gleeful shouts! + Begone, ye dread forebodings— + Begone, ye killing doubts! + For, with my arms about him, + My heart warms through and through + With the oogling and the googling + Of my little Googly-Goo! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce + Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. + Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose + From his predisposition to chronic repose; + But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat— + Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet! + + Mos' dorgs hez some forte—like huntin' an' such, + But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much; + Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be + On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me; + Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!" + When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce! + + He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be; + His color wuz yaller as ever you see; + His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim— + When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him! + His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup + Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up! + + He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret + The various vittles an' things he had et; + When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along, + He'd lift up his voice in significant song— + You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space + In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass! + + Of daytimes he'd sneak to the road an' lie down, + An' tackle the country dorgs comin' to town; + By common consent he wuz boss in St. Joe, + For what he took hold of he never let go! + An' a dude that come courtin' our girl left a slice + Of his white flannel suit with our bench-legged fyce! + + He wuz good to us kids—when we pulled at his fur + Or twisted his tail he would never demur; + He seemed to enjoy all our play an' our chaff, + For his tongue 'u'd hang out an' he'd laff an' he'd laff; + An' once, when the Hobart boy fell through the ice, + He wuz drug clean ashore by that bench-legged fyce! + + We all hev our choice, an' you, like the rest, + Allow that the dorg which you've got is the best; + I wouldn't give much for the boy 'at grows up + With no friendship subsistin' 'tween him an' a pup! + When a fellow gits old—I tell you it's nice + To think of his youth and his bench-legged fyce! + + To think of the springtime 'way back in St. Joe— + Of the peach-trees abloom an' the daisies ablow; + To think of the play in the medder an' grove, + When little legs wrassled an' little han's strove; + To think of the loyalty, valor, an' truth + Of the friendships that hallow the season of youth! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE MISS BRAG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Little Miss Brag has much to say + To the rich little lady from over the way + And the rich little lady puts out a lip + As she looks at her own white, dainty slip, + And wishes that she could wear a gown + As pretty as gingham of faded brown! + For little Miss Brag she lays much stress + On the privileges of a gingham dress— + "Aha, + Oho!" + + The rich little lady from over the way + Has beautiful dolls in vast array; + Yet she envies the raggedy home-made doll + She hears our little Miss Brag extol. + For the raggedy doll can fear no hurt + From wet, or heat, or tumble, or dirt! + Her nose is inked, and her mouth is, too, + And one eye's black and the other's blue— + "Aha, + Oho!" + + The rich little lady goes out to ride + With footmen standing up outside, + Yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark + Her father would trundle her in the park;— + That, sometimes, her mother would sing the things + Little Miss Brag says her mother sings + When through the attic window streams + The moonlight full of golden dreams— + "Aha, + Oho!" + + Yes, little Miss Brag has much to say + To the rich little lady from over the way; + And yet who knows but from her heart + Often the bitter sighs upstart— + Uprise to lose their burn and sting + In the grace of the tongue that loves to sing + Praise of the treasures all its own! + So I've come to love that treble tone— + "Aha, + Oho!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HUMMING TOP + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song + To my dear little boy at play— + Merrily singeth all day long, + As it spinneth and spinneth away. + And my dear little boy + He laugheth with joy + When he heareth the monotone + Of that busy thing + That loveth to sing + The song that is all its own. + + Hold fast the string and wind it tight, + That the song be loud and clear; + Now hurl the top with all your might + Upon the banquette here; + And straight from the string + The joyous thing + Boundeth and spinneth along, + And it whirrs and it chirrs + And it birrs and it purrs + Ever its pretty song. + + Will ever my dear little boy grow old, + As some have grown before? + Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, + When he heareth the songs of yore? + Will ever this toy + Of my dear little boy, + When the years have worn away, + Sing sad and low + Of the long ago, + As it singeth to me to-day? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LADY BUTTON-EYES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When the busy day is done, + And my weary little one + Rocketh gently to and fro; + When the night winds softly blow, + And the crickets in the glen + Chirp and chirp and chirp again; + When upon the haunted green + Fairies dance around their queen— + Then from yonder misty skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Through the murk and mist and gloam + To our quiet, cozy home, + Where to singing, sweet and low, + Rocks a cradle to and fro; + Where the clock's dull monotone + Telleth of the day that's done; + Where the moonbeams hover o'er + Playthings sleeping on the floor— + Where my weary wee one lies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Cometh like a fleeting ghost + From some distant eerie coast; + Never footfall can you hear + As that spirit fareth near— + Never whisper, never word + From that shadow-queen is heard. + In ethereal raiment dight, + From the realm of fay and sprite + In the depth of yonder skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Layeth she her hands upon + My dear weary little one, + And those white hands overspread + Like a veil the curly head, + Seem to fondle and caress + Every little silken tress; + Then she smooths the eyelids down + Over those two eyes of brown— + In such soothing, tender wise + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Dearest, feel upon your brow + That caressing magic now; + For the crickets in the glen + Chirp and chirp and chirp again, + While upon the haunted green + Fairies dance around their queen, + And the moonbeams hover o'er + Playthings sleeping on the floor— + Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Play that my knee was a calico mare + Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; + Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, + And gallop away to Bumpville! + I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, + For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, + And many adventures you're likely to meet + As you journey along to Bumpville. + + This calico mare both gallops and trots + While whisking you off to Bumpville; + She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, + In the tortuous road to Bumpville; + And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed + Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, + Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, + When one is en route to Bumpville! + + She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!" + Down by the crossing at Bumpville; + You'd better look out for that treacherous brute + Bearing you off to Bumpville! + With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, + And executes jigs and Virginia reels— + Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels + Dancing so wildly to Bumpville! + + It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog, + Journeying on to Bumpville + It's over the hilltop and down through the bog + You ride on your way to Bumpville; + It's rattletybang over boulder and stump, + There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, + And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, + Mile after mile to bumpville! + + Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing + Making the journey to Bumpville, + So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring + An end to this ride to Bumpville; + For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, + The calico mare must be blowing and faint— + What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! + So play we have got to Bumpville! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BROOK + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I looked in the brook and saw a face— + Heigh-ho, but a child was I! + There were rushes and willows in that place, + And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; + And the brook it ran its own sweet way, + As a child doth run in heedless play, + And as it ran I heard it say: + "Hasten with me + To the roistering sea + That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!" + + I look in the brook and see a face— + Heigh-ho, but the years go by! + The rushes are dead in the old-time place, + And the willows I knew when a child was I. + And the brook it seemeth to me to say, + As ever it stealeth on its way— + Solemnly now, and not in play: + "Oh, come with me + To the slumbrous sea + That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!" + + Heigh-ho, but the years go by— + I would to God that a child were I! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PICNIC-TIME + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy + That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; + For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, + Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; + Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, + An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. + It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine— + There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine! + + One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! + (But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) + And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun— + But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! + They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, + That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! + Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine + That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine! + + But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, + For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; + Why should a liberal universalist like me object + To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect? + However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, + Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me! + So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, + They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks + Sit together, building blocks; + Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, + Amber-Locks a little child, + But together at their play + Age and Youth are reconciled, + And with sympathetic glee + Build their castles fair to see. + + "When I grow to be a man" + (So the wee one's prattle ran), + "I shall build a castle so— + With a gateway broad and grand; + Here a pretty vine shall grow, + There a soldier guard shall stand; + And the tower shall be so high, + Folks will wonder, by and by!" + + Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know; + Thus I builded long ago! + Here a gate and there a wall, + Here a window, there a door; + Here a steeple wondrous tall + Riseth ever more and more! + But the years have leveled low + What I builded long ago!" + + So they gossip at their play, + Heedless of the fleeting day; + One speaks of the Long Ago + Where his dead hopes buried lie; + One with chubby cheeks aglow + Prattleth of the By and By; + Side by side, they build their blocks— + Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Come, my little one, with me! + There are wondrous sights to see + As the evening shadows fall; + In your pretty cap and gown, + Don't detain + The Shut-Eye train— + "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, + "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth, + And we hear the warning call: + "All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!" + + Over hill and over plain + Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train! + Through the blue where bloom the stars + And the Mother Moon looks down + We'll away + To land of Fay— + Oh, the sights that we shall see there! + Come, my little one, with me there— + 'T is a goodly train of cars— + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + Swifter than a wild bird's flight, + Through the realms of fleecy light + We shall speed and speed away! + Let the Night in envy frown— + What care we + How wroth she be! + To the Balow-land above us, + To the Balow-folk who love us, + Let us hasten while we may— + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + Shut-Eye Town is passing fair— + Golden dreams await us there; + We shall dream those dreams, my dear, + Till the Mother Moon goes down— + See unfold + Delights untold! + And in those mysterious places + We shall see beloved faces + And beloved voices hear + In the grace of Shut-Eye Town. + + Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, + Weary are your little feet— + Nestle closer up to me + In your pretty cap and gown; + Don't detain + The Shut-Eye train! + "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, + "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth + Oh, the sights that we shall see! + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE-OH DEAR + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + See, what a wonderful garden is here, + Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! + Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown— + Search ye the country and hunt ye the town + And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer + As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear! + + Marigolds white and buttercups blue, + Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, + The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, + Roses and pansies and violets—all + Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer + When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear. + + And up at the top of that lavender-tree + A silver-bird singeth as only can she; + For, ever and only, she singeth the song + "I love you—I love you!" the happy day long;— + Then the echo—the echo that smiteth me here! + "I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! + + The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly— + But what careth my little precious, or I? + From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart + She walketh the tenderer way in my heart + And, oh, it is always the summer-time here + With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FLY-AWAY HORSE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse— + Perhaps you have seen him before; + Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept + Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. + For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, + That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh + And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, + Is up on his heels and away! + The Moon in the sky, + As he gallopeth by, + Cries: "Oh! what a marvelous sight!" + And the Stars in dismay + Hide their faces away + In the lap of old Grandmother Night. + + It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse + Speedeth ever and ever away— + Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, + Over streamlets that sing at their play; + And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, + While the ships they go sailing below, + And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast + Adjudge him some portent of woe. + "What ho there!" they cry, + As he flourishes by + With a whisk of his beautiful tail; + And the fish in the sea + Are as scared as can be, + From the nautilus up to the whale! + + And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those faraway lands + You little folk dream of at night— + Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, + And corn-fields with popcorn are white; + And the beasts in the wood are ever so good + To children who visit them there— + What glory astride of a lion to ride, + Or to wrestle around with a bear! + The monkeys, they say: + "Come on, let us play," + And they frisk in the cocoanut-trees: + While the parrots, that cling + To the peanut-vines, sing + Or converse with comparative ease! + + Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him tonight! + For, as soon as you've fallen asleep, + With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away + Over forest and hillside and deep! + But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear + In those beautiful lands over there, + Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his faraway course + With the wee one consigned to his care. + Then grandma will cry + In amazement: "Oh, my!" + And she'll think it could never be so; + And only we two + Shall know it is true— + You and I, little precious! shall know! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow— + It's off for a sailor thy father would go; + And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, + He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow!" + + Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow— + It's oh for the waiting as weary days go! + And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when + I sing my song over and over again: + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow!" + + "Swing high and swing low "— + The sea singeth so, + And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow; + And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea + Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me! + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow— + 'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN I WAS A BOY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Up in the attic where I slept + When I was a boy, a little boy, + In through the lattice the moonlight crept, + Bringing a tide of dreams that swept + Over the low, red trundle-bed, + Bathing the tangled curly head, + While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek + With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek— + When I was a boy, a little boy! + + And, oh! the dreams—the dreams I dreamed! + When I was a boy, a little boy! + For the grace that through the lattice streamed + Over my folded eyelids seemed + To have the gift of prophecy, + And to bring me glimpses of times to be + When manhood's clarion seemed to call— + Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all, + When I was a boy, a little boy! + + I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep + When I was a boy, a little boy! + For in at the lattice the moon would peep, + Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep + The crosses and griefs of the years away + From the heart that is weary and faint to-day; + And those dreams should give me back again + A peace I have never known since then— + When I was a boy, a little boy! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT PLAY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Play that you are mother dear, + And play that papa is your beau; + Play that we sit in the corner here, + Just as we used to, long ago. + Playing so, we lovers two + Are just as happy as we can be, + And I'll say "I love you" to you, + And you say "I love you" to me! + "I love you" we both shall say, + All in earnest and all in play. + + Or, play that you are that other one + That some time came, and went away; + And play that the light of years agone + Stole into my heart again to-day! + Playing that you are the one I knew + In the days that never again may be, + I'll say "I love you" to you," + And you say "I love you" to me! + "I love you!" my heart shall say + To the ghost of the past come back to-day! + + Or, play that you sought this nestling-place + For your own sweet self, with that dual guise + Of your pretty mother in your face + And the look of that other in your eyes! + So the dear old loves shall live anew + As I hold my darling on my knee, + And I'll say "I love you" to you, + And you say "I love you" to me! + Oh, many a strange, true thing we say + And do when we pretend to play! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A VALENTINE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell + I love her well. + Yes, though she tramples on my heart + And rends that bleeding thing apart; + And though she rolls a scornful eye + On doting me when I go by; + And though she scouts at everything + As tribute unto her I bring— + Apple, banana, caramel— + Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, + In spite of all, I love her well! + + And further say I have a sled + Cushioned in blue and painted red! + The groceryman has promised I + Can "hitch" whenever he goes by— + Go, tell her that, and, furthermore, + Apprise my sweetheart that a score + Of other little girls implore + The boon of riding on that sled + Painted and hitched, as aforesaid;— + And tell her, Cupid, only she + Shall ride upon that sled with me! + Tell her this all, and further tell + I love her well. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LITTLE ALL-ALONEY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Little All-Aloney's feet + Pitter-patter in the hall, + And his mother runs to meet + And to kiss her toddling sweet, + Ere perchance he fall. + He is, oh, so weak and small! + Yet what danger shall he fear + When his mother hovereth near, + And he hears her cheering call: + "All-Aloney"? + + Little All-Aloney's face + It is all aglow with glee, + As around that romping-place + At a terrifying pace + Lungeth, plungeth he! + And that hero seems to be + All unconscious of our cheers— + Only one dear voice he hears + Calling reassuringly: + "All-Aloney!" + + Though his legs bend with their load, + Though his feet they seem so small + That you cannot help forebode + Some disastrous episode + In that noisy hall, + Neither threatening bump nor fall + Little All-Aloney fears, + But with sweet bravado steers + Whither comes that cheery call: + "All-Aloney!" + + Ah, that in the years to come, + When he shares of Sorrow's store,— + When his feet are chill and numb, + When his cross is burdensome, + And his heart is sore: + Would that he could hear once more + The gentle voice he used to hear— + Divine with mother love and cheer— + Calling from yonder spirit shore: + "All, all alone!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SEEIN' THINGS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, + An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! + I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, + For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, + Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light, + An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night! + + Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, + Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; + Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round + So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound! + Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white— + But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night! + + Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, + An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, + I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, + A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me—so! + Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite— + It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night! + + Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! + Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; + An' I am, oh! so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then + I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! + Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right + When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night! + An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, + I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; + An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice, + I want to—but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! + No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight + Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When baby wakes of mornings, + Then it's wake, ye people all! + For another day + Of song and play + Has come at our darling's call! + And, till she gets her dinner, + She makes the welkin ring, + And she won't keep still till she's had her fill— + The cunnin' little thing! + + When baby goes a-walking, + Oh, how her paddies fly! + For that's the way + The babies say + To other folk "by-by"; + The trees bend down to kiss her, + And the birds in rapture sing, + As there she stands and waves her hands— + The cunnin' little thing! + + When baby goes a-rocking + In her bed at close of day, + At hide-and-seek + On her dainty cheek + The dreams and the dimples play; + Then it's sleep in the tender kisses + The guardian angels bring + From the Far Above to my sweetest love— + You cunnin' little thing! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DOLL'S WOOING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The little French doll was a dear little doll + Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; + Her eyes were of hue + A most delicate blue + And dark as the night were her tresses; + Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, + And this little French doll was so very well bred + That whenever accosted her little mouth said + "Mamma! mamma!" + + The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, + Had once been a handsome young fellow; + But now he appeared + Rather frowzy and bleared + In his torn regimentals of yellow; + Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay + In the little toy cart near the window one day + And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: + "Mamma! mamma!" + + He listened so long and he listened so hard + That anon he grew ever so tender, + For it's everywhere known + That the feminine tone + Gets away with all masculine gender! + He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest + But all she'd reply to the love he professed + Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): + "Mamma! mamma!" + + Her mother—a sweet little lady of five— + Vouchsafed her parental protection, + And although stockinet + Wasn't blue-blooded, yet + She really could make no objection! + So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, + And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, + I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: + "Mamma! mamma!" +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When thou dost eat from off this plate, + I charge thee be thou temperate; + Unto thine elders at the board + Do thou sweet reverence accord; + And, though to dignity inclined, + Unto the serving-folk be kind; + Be ever mindful of the poor, + Nor turn them hungry from the door; + And unto God, for health and food + And all that in thy life is good, + Give thou thy heart in gratitude. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Fisherman Jim lived on the hill + With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; + 'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will— + Naught we reck of your cold and noise!" + For happy and warm were he an' his, + And he dandled his kids upon his knee + To the song of the sea. + + Fisherman Jim would sail all day, + But, when come night, upon the sands + His little kids ran from their play, + Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands; + Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high, + He'd hear'em—you bet—above the roar + Of the waves on the shore! + + Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay + As the sun went down in a cloudy sky, + And never a kid saw he at play, + And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry. + In his little house he learned it all, + And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head— + "The fever!" they said. + + 'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim, + With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes, + A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him + An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries + He had heerd so often upon the sands; + For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore— + Till they spoke no more. + + But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, + Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; + As a man will live when his heart is gone, + Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, + Till once in those years they come an' said: + "Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick— + Go to him, quick!" + + Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: + "It's a long, long cruise-you understand— + But over beyont the ragin' sea + I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand + Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore, + Just as they used to—ah, mate, you know!— + In the long ago." + + No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; + For all night long he seemed to see + His little boys of the days gone by, + An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me! + An' just as the mornin' sun come up— + "They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, + An' so he died. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, + And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"— + A very provoking, unmusical song + For one to be whistling the summer day long! + Yet always contented and busy was he + With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." + + Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, + That weird iteration repented him sore; + "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, + For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done + That shall presently rid all creation and me + Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + + Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son + His awfully truculent little red gun; + The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, + The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in— + The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree + For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"! + + The brave little soldier quoth never a word, + But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; + And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, + The gun it went off with a terrible bang! + Then loud laughed the youth—"By my Bottle," cried he, + "I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + + Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, + Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! + Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, + With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" + She kissed the dear boy. + (The bird in the tree + Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee") +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Over the hills and far away, + A little boy steals from his morning play + And under the blossoming apple-tree + He lies and he dreams of the things to be: + Of battles fought and of victories won, + Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done— + Of the valor that he shall prove some day, + Over the hills and far away— + Over the hills, and far away! + + Over the hills and far away + It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day! + But it mattereth not to the soul aflame + With a love for riches and power and fame! + On, O man! while the sun is high— + On to the certain joys that lie + Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, + Over the hills and far away— + Over the hills, and far away! + + Over the hills and far away, + An old man lingers at close of day; + Now that his journey is almost done, + His battles fought and his victories won— + The old-time honesty and truth, + The trustfulness and the friends of youth, + Home and mother-where are they? + Over the hills and far away— + Over the years, and far away! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love-Songs of Childhood, by Eugene Field + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 2670-h.htm or 2670-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/2670/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Love-Songs of Childhood + +Author: Eugene Field + +Posting Date: January 8, 2009 [EBook #2670] +Release Date: June, 2001 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD + +By Eugene Field + + + +To Mrs. Belle Angler + +Dearest Aunt: + +Many years ago you used to rock me to sleep, cradling me in your +arms and singing me petty songs. Surely you have not forgotten +that time, and I recall it with tenderness. You were very +beautiful then. But you are more beautiful now; for, in the years +that have come and gone since then, the joys and the sorrows of +maternity have impressed their saintly grace upon the dear face I +used to kiss, and have made your gentle heart gentler still. + +Beloved lady, in memory of years to be recalled only in thought, +and in token of my gratitude and affection, I bring you these +little love-songs, and reverently I lay them at your feet. + +Eugene Field +Chicago, November 1, 1894 + + + + +Contents: + + THE ROCK-A-BY LADY + "BOOH"! + GARDEN AND CRADLE + THE NIGHT WIND + KISSING TIME + JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS + BEARD AND BABY + THE DINKEY-BIRD + THE DRUM + THE DEAD BABE + THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD + So, so, ROCK-A-BY SO! + THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD + THE DUEL + GOOD-CHILDREN STREET + THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT + THE STORK + THE BOTTLE TREE + GOOGLY-GOO + THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE + LITTLE MISS BRAG + THE HUMMING TOP + LADY BUTTON-EYES + THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE + THE BROOK + PICNIC-TIME + SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS + THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN + LITTLE-OH-DEAR + THE FLY-AWAY HORSE + SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW + WHEN I WAS A BOY + AT PLAY + A VALENTINE + LITTLE ALL-ALONEY + SEEIN' THINGS + THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING + THE DOLL'S WOOING + INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE + FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS + "FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" + OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY + + + + +THE ROCK-A-BY LADY + + The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street + Comes stealing; comes creeping; + The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, + And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet-- + She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, + When she findeth you sleeping! + + There is one little dream of a beautiful drum-- + "Rub-a-dub!" it goeth; + There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, + And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come + Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, + And a trumpet that bloweth! + + And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams + With laughter and singing; + And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, + And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, + And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, + The fairies go winging! + + Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? + They'll come to you sleeping; + So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, + For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street, + With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, + Comes stealing; comes creeping. + + + + +"BOOH!" + + On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, + And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, + In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, + And cautiously and quietly I move about the place; + Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, + And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh"! + + Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, + And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared; + And then his under lip came out and farther out it came, + Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame"-- + But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do + But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!" + + He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then + In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!" + And I--of course I do it; for, as his progenitor, + It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! + And it is, oh, such fun I am sure that we shall rue + The time when we are both too old to play the game "Booh!" + + + + +GARDEN AND CRADLE + + When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, + Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; + The posies they are good to him, + And bow them as they should to him, + As fareth he upon his kingly way; + And birdlings of the wood to him + Make music, gentle music, all the day, + When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. + + When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, + Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down; + The little stars are kind to him, + The moon she hath a mind to him + And layeth on his head a golden crown; + And singeth then the wind to him + A song, the gentle song of Bethlem-town, + When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. + + + + +THE NIGHT WIND + + Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? + 'T is a pitiful sound to hear! + It seems to chill you through and through + With a strange and speechless fear. + 'T is the voice of the night that broods outside + When folk should be asleep, + And many and many's the time I've cried + To the darkness brooding far and wide + Over the land and the deep: + "Whom do you want, O lonely night, + That you wail the long hours through?" + And the night would say in its ghostly way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + My mother told me long ago + (When I was a little tad) + That when the night went wailing so, + Somebody had been bad; + And then, when I was snug in bed, + Whither I had been sent, + With the blankets pulled up round my head, + I'd think of what my mother'd said, + And wonder what boy she meant! + And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask + Of the wind that hoarsely blew, + And the voice would say in its meaningful way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + That this was true I must allow-- + You'll not believe it, though! + Yes, though I'm quite a model now, + I was not always so. + And if you doubt what things I say, + Suppose you make the test; + Suppose, when you've been bad some day + And up to bed are sent away + From mother and the rest-- + Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" + And then you'll hear what's true; + For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + + + +KISSING TIME + + 'T is when the lark goes soaring + And the bee is at the bud, + When lightly dancing zephyrs + Sing over field and flood; + When all sweet things in nature + Seem joyfully achime-- + 'T is then I wake my darling, + For it is kissing time! + + Go, pretty lark, a-soaring, + And suck your sweets, O bee; + Sing, O ye winds of summer, + Your songs to mine and me; + For with your song and rapture + Cometh the moment when + It's half-past kissing time + And time to kiss again! + + So--so the days go fleeting + Like golden fancies free, + And every day that cometh + Is full of sweets for me; + And sweetest are those moments + My darling comes to climb + Into my lap to mind me + That it is kissing time. + + Sometimes, maybe, he wanders + A heedless, aimless way-- + Sometimes, maybe, he loiters + In pretty, prattling play; + But presently bethinks him + And hastens to me then, + For it's half-past kissing time + And time to kiss again! + + + + +JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS + + Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, + Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill! + Mighty glad I ain't a girl--ruther be a boy, + Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy! + Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake-- + Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache! + 'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, + But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + + Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat; + First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at! + Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide, + 'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride! + But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross, + He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss, + An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!" + But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + + Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man, + I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan, + As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle, + Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile! + But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, + Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know + That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me! + Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be! + + And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, + His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?" + The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become + Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! + But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz, + That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!" + But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me + When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be! + + For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys, + Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys; + So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's, + An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes; + Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men, + An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again; + But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, + Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! + + + + +BEARD AND BABY + + I say, as one who never feared + The wrath of a subscriber's bullet, + I pity him who has a beard + But has no little girl to pull it! + + When wife and I have finished tea, + Our baby woos me with her prattle, + And, perching proudly on my knee, + She gives my petted whiskers battle. + + With both her hands she tugs away, + While scolding at me kind o' spiteful; + You'll not believe me when I say + I find the torture quite delightful! + + No other would presume, I ween, + To trifle with this hirsute wonder, + Else would I rise in vengeful mien + And rend his vandal frame asunder! + + But when her baby fingers pull + This glossy, sleek, and silky treasure, + My cup of happiness is full-- + I fairly glow with pride and pleasure! + + And, sweeter still, through all the day + I seem to hear her winsome prattle-- + I seem to feel her hands at play, + As though they gave me sportive battle. + + Yes, heavenly music seems to steal + Where thought of her forever lingers, + And round my heart I always feel + The twining of her dimpled fingers! + + + + +THE DINKEY BIRD + + In an ocean, 'way out yonder + (As all sapient people know), + Is the land of Wonder-Wander, + Whither children love to go; + It's their playing, romping, swinging, + That give great joy to me + While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing + In the amfalula tree! + + There the gum-drops grow like cherries, + And taffy's thick as peas-- + Caramels you pick like berries + When, and where, and how you please; + Big red sugar-plums are clinging + To the cliffs beside that sea + Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + So when children shout and scamper + And make merry all the day, + When there's naught to put a damper + To the ardor of their play; + When I hear their laughter ringing, + Then I'm sure as sure can be + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras + And staccatos are so sweet-- + His roulades, appoggiaturas, + And robustos so complete, + That the youth of every nation-- + Be they near or far away-- + Have especial delectation + In that gladsome roundelay. + + Their eyes grow bright and brighter, + Their lungs begin to crow, + Their hearts get light and lighter, + And their cheeks are all aglow; + For an echo cometh bringing + The news to all and me, + That the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree. + + I'm sure you like to go there + To see your feathered friend-- + And so many goodies grow there + You would like to comprehend! + Speed, little dreams, your winging + To that land across the sea + Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing + In the amfalula tree! + + + + +THE DRUM + + I'm a beautiful red, red drum, + And I train with the soldier boys; + As up the street we come, + Wonderful is our noise! + There's Tom, and Jim, and Phil, + And Dick, and Nat, and Fred, + While Widow Cutler's Bill + And I march on ahead, + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum-- + Oh, there's bushels of fun in that + For boys with a little red drum! + + The Injuns came last night + While the soldiers were abed, + And they gobbled a Chinese kite + And off to the woods they fled! + The woods are the cherry-trees + Down in the orchard lot, + And the soldiers are marching to seize + The booty the Injuns got. + With tum-titty-um-tum-tum, + And r-r-rat-tat-tat, + When soldiers marching come + Injuns had better scat! + + Step up there, little Fred, + And, Charley, have a mind! + Jim is as far ahead + As you two are behind! + Ready with gun and sword + Your valorous work to do-- + Yonder the Injun horde + Are lying in wait for you. + And their hearts go pitapat + When they hear the soldiers come + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum! + + Course it's all in play! + The skulking Injun crew + That hustled the kite away + Are little white boys, like you! + But "honest" or "just in fun," + It is all the same to me; + And, when the battle is won, + Home once again march we + With a r-r-rat-tat-tat + And tum-titty-um-tum-tum; + And there's glory enough in that + For the boys with their little red drum! + + + + +THE DEAD BABE + + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + In agony I knelt and said: + "O God! what have I done, + Or in what wise offended Thee, + That Thou should'st take away from me + My little son? + + "Upon the thousand useless lives, + Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives, + Thy wrath were better spent! + Why should'st Thou take my little son-- + Why should'st Thou vent Thy wrath upon + This innocent?" + + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + Before mine eyes the vision spread + Of things that might have been: + Licentious riot, cruel strife, + Forgotten prayers, a wasted life + Dark red with sin! + + Then, with sweet music in the air, + I saw another vision there: + A Shepherd in whose keep + A little lamb--my little child! + Of worldly wisdom undefiled, + Lay fast asleep! + + Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, + In those two messages I read + A wisdom manifest; + And though my arms be childless now, + I am content--to Him I bow + Who knoweth best. + + + + +THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD + + It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, + That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes; + Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me, + For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be! + And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado, + While gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + And wife, she laughs, + And I--well, I laugh, too! + + You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad, + That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had; + But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss + As if the only baby in the world had come to us! + And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do, + Gran'ma, she laughs, + Gran'pa, he laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I, of course, laugh, too! + + But once--a likely spell ago--when that poor little chick + From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, + You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about + A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; + And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, + Old gran'ma cried, + And gran'pa cried, + And wife, she cried, + And I--yes, I cried, too! + + It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, + With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; + The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, + And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! + No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, + Old gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I--you bet, I laugh, too! + + + + +SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO! + + So, so, rock-a-by so! + Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; + And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, + And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek + And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies + In the beautiful garden way up in the skies + Which you seek. + Now mind these three kisses wherever you go-- + So, so, rock-a-by so! + + There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, + For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; + I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, + I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek. + And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise + When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies + Which you seek. + Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe-- + So, so, rock-a-by so! + + And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, + Don't forget mother who loveth you so! + And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, + And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, + And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies + Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies + Which you seek-- + The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow-- + So, so, rock-a-by so! + + + + +THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD + + A sunbeam comes a-creeping + Into my dear one's nest, + And sings to our babe a-sleeping + The song that I love the best: + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same sweet song + Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, + Luddy-Dud." + + The bird to the tossing clover, + The bee to the swaying bud, + Keep singing that sweet song over + Of wee little Luddy-Dud. + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same dear song + Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, + Luddy-Dud." + + Luddy-Dud's cradle is swinging + Where softly the night winds blow, + And Luddy-Dud's mother is singing + A song that is sweet and low: + "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- + 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; + And all day long + 'T is the same sweet song + Of my nearest and my dearest heart's delight, + Luddy-Dud!" + + + + +THE DUEL + + The gingham dog and the calico cat + Side by side on the table sat; + 'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) + Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink! + The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate + Appeared to know as sure as fate + There was going to be a terrible spat. + (I wasn't there; I simply state + What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) + + The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!" + And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!" + The air was littered, an hour or so, + With bits of gingham and calico, + While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place + Up with its hands before its face, + For it always dreaded a family row! + (Now mind: I'm only telling you + What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) + + The Chinese plate looked very blue, + And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!" + But the gingham dog and the calico cat + Wallowed this way and tumbled that, + Employing every tooth and claw + In the awfullest way you ever saw-- + And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! + (Don't fancy I exaggerate-- + I got my news from the Chinese plate!) + + Next morning, where the two had sat + They found no trace of dog or cat; + And some folks think unto this day + That burglars stole that pair away! + But the truth about the cat and pup + Is this: they ate each other up! + Now what do you really think of that! + (The old Dutch clock it told me so, + And that is how I came to know.) + + + + +GOOD-CHILDREN STREET + + There's a dear little home in Good-Children street-- + My heart turneth fondly to-day + Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet + Make sweetest of music at play; + Where the sunshine of love illumines each face + And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place. + + For dear little children go romping about + With dollies and tin tops and drums, + And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout + Till bedtime too speedily comes! + Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet + With little folk living in Good-Children street. + + See, here comes an army with guns painted red, + And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; + The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead + On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! + Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet-- + Nice make-believe soldiers--in Good-Children street. + + And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about-- + Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill, + For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out + And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill. + Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, + Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. + + 'T is so the dear children go romping about + With dollies and banners and drums, + And I venture to say they are sadly put out + When an end to their jubilee comes: + Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet + With little folk living in Good-Children street! + + But when falleth night over river and town, + Those little folk vanish from sight, + And an angel all white from the sky cometh down + And guardeth the babes through the night, + And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet + To the dear little people in Good-Children Street. + + Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care, + Though poverty fall to my lot, + Though toil and vexation be always my share, + What care I--they trouble me not! + This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet: + There's a dear little home in Good-Children street. + + + + +THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT + + Up yonder in Buena Park + There is a famous spot, + In legend and in history + Yclept the Waller Lot. + + There children play in daytime + And lovers stroll by dark, + For 't is the goodliest trysting-place + In all Buena Park. + + Once on a time that beauteous maid, + Sweet little Sissy Knott, + Took out her pretty doll to walk + Within the Waller Lot. + + While thus she fared, from Ravenswood + Came Injuns o'er the plain, + And seized upon that beauteous maid + And rent her doll in twain. + + Oh, 't was a piteous thing to hear + Her lamentations wild; + She tore her golden curls and cried: + "My child! My child! My child!" + + Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs + How bitterly wailed she? + They never had been mothers, + And they could not hope to be! + + "Have done with tears," they rudely quoth, + And then they bound her hands; + For they proposed to take her off + To distant border lands. + + But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn + Doth Willie Clow behold + The sight that makes his hair rise up + And all his blood run cold. + + He put his fingers in his mouth + And whistled long and clear, + And presently a goodly horde + Of cow-boys did appear. + + Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold, + Haste to the Waller Lot, + And rescue from that Injun band + Our charming Sissy Knott!" + + "Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, + But smite them hide and hair! + Spare neither sex nor age nor size, + And no condition spare!" + + Then sped that cow-boy band away, + Full of revengeful wrath, + And Kendall Evans rode ahead + Upon a hickory lath. + + And next came gallant Dady Field + And Willie's brother Kent, + The Eddy boys and Robbie James, + On murderous purpose bent. + + For they were much beholden to + That maid--in sooth, the lot + Were very, very much in love + With charming Sissy Knott. + + What wonder? She was beauty's queen, + And good beyond compare; + Moreover, it was known she was + Her wealthy father's heir! + + Now when the Injuns saw that band + They trembled with affright, + And yet they thought the cheapest thing + To do was stay and fight. + + So sturdily they stood their ground, + Nor would their prisoner yield, + Despite the wrath of Willie Clow + And gallant Dady Field. + + Oh, never fiercer battle raged + Upon the Waller Lot, + And never blood more freely flowed + Than flowed for Sissy Knott! + + An Injun chief of monstrous size + Got Kendall Evans down, + And Robbie James was soon o'erthrown + By one of great renown. + + And Dady Field was sorely done, + And Willie Clow was hurt, + And all that gallant cow-boy band + Lay wallowing in the dirt. + + But still they strove with might and main + Till all the Waller Lot + Was strewn with hair and gouts of gore-- + All, all for Sissy Knott! + + Then cried the maiden in despair: + "Alas, I sadly fear + The battle and my hopes are lost, + Unless some help appear!" + + Lo, as she spoke, she saw afar + The rescuer looming up-- + The pride of all Buena Park, + Clow's famous yellow pup! + + "Now, sick'em, Don," the maiden cried, + "Now, sick'em, Don!" cried she; + Obedient Don at once complied-- + As ordered, so did he. + + He sicked'em all so passing well + That, overcome by fright, + The Indian horde gave up the fray + And safety sought in flight. + + They ran and ran and ran and ran + O'er valley, plain, and hill; + And if they are not walking now, + Why, then, they're running still. + + The cow-boys rose up from the dust + With faces black and blue; + "Remember, beauteous maid," said they, + "We've bled and died for you!" + + "And though we suffer grievously, + We gladly hail the lot + That brings us toils and pains and wounds + For charming Sissy Knott!" + + But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept, + And still her fate reviled; + For who could patch her dolly up-- + Who, who could mend her child? + + Then out her doting mother came, + And soothed her daughter then; + "Grieve not, my darling, I will sew + Your dolly up again!" + + Joy soon succeeded unto grief, + And tears were soon dried up, + And dignities were heaped upon + Clow's noble yellow pup. + + Him all that goodly company + Did as deliverer hail-- + They tied a ribbon round his neck, + Another round his tail. + + And every anniversary day + Upon the Waller Lot + They celebrate the victory won + For charming Sissy Knott. + + And I, the poet of these folk, + Am ordered to compile + This truly famous history + In good old ballad style. + + Which having done as to have earned + The sweet rewards of fame, + In what same style I did begin + I now shall end the same. + + So let us sing: Long live the King, + Long live the Queen and Jack, + Long live the ten-spot and the ace, + And also all the pack. + + + + +THE STORK + + Last night the Stork came stalking, + And, Stork, beneath your wing + Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, + The tiniest little thing! + From Babyland, out yonder + Beside a silver sea, + You brought a priceless treasure + As gift to mine and me! + + Last night my dear one listened-- + And, wife, you knew the cry-- + The dear old Stork has sought our home + A many times gone by! + And in your gentle bosom + I found the pretty thing + That from the realm out yonder + Our friend the Stork did bring. + + Last night a babe awakened, + And, babe, how strange and new + Must seem the home and people + The Stork has brought you to; + And yet methinks you like them-- + You neither stare nor weep, + But closer to my dear one + You cuddle, and you sleep! + + Last night my heart grew fonder-- + O happy heart of mine, + Sing of the inspirations + That round my pathway shine! + And sing your sweetest love-song + To this dear nestling wee + The Stork from 'Way-Out-Yonder + Hath brought to mine and me! + + + + +THE BOTTLE TREE + + A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land-- + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + A snug little berth in that ship I demand + That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away + Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day + And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand; + You take of that fruit as much as you list, + For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist! + So cuddle me and cuddle me fast, + And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, + For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast-- + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + + The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! + Heigh-ho for Winkyway land! + And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say) + Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand-- + And that is a trick I would fain understand! + Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! + And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night-- + A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! + So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, + And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, + For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast-- + Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + + + + +GOOGLY-GOO + + Of mornings, bright and early, + When the lark is on the wing + And the robin in the maple + Hops from her nest to sing, + From yonder cheery chamber + Cometh a mellow coo-- + 'T is the sweet, persuasive treble + Of my little Googly-Goo! + + The sunbeams hear his music, + And they seek his little bed, + And they dance their prettiest dances + Round his golden curly head: + Schottisches, galops, minuets, + Gavottes and waltzes, too, + Dance they unto the music + Of my googling Googly-Goo. + + My heart--my heart it leapeth + To hear that treble tone; + What music like thy music, + My darling and mine own! + And patiently--yes, cheerfully + I toil the long day through-- + My labor seemeth lightened + By the song of Googly-Goo! + + I may not see his antics, + Nor kiss his dimpled cheek: + I may not smooth the tresses + The sunbeams love to seek; + It mattereth not--the echo + Of his sweet, persuasive coo + Recurreth to remind me + Of my little Googly-Goo. + + And when I come at evening, + I stand without the door + And patiently I listen + For that dear sound once more; + And oftentimes I wonder, + "Oh, God! what should I do + If any ill should happen + To my little Googly-Goo!" + + Then in affright I call him-- + I hear his gleeful shouts! + Begone, ye dread forebodings-- + Begone, ye killing doubts! + For, with my arms about him, + My heart warms through and through + With the oogling and the googling + Of my little Googly-Goo! + + + + +THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE + + Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce + Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. + Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose + From his predisposition to chronic repose; + But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat-- + Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet! + + Mos' dorgs hez some forte--like huntin' an' such, + But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much; + Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be + On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me; + Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!" + When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce! + + He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be; + His color wuz yaller as ever you see; + His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim-- + When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him! + His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup + Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up! + + He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret + The various vittles an' things he had et; + When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along, + He'd lift up his voice in significant song-- + You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space + In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass! + + Of daytimes he'd sneak to the road an' lie down, + An' tackle the country dorgs comin' to town; + By common consent he wuz boss in St. Joe, + For what he took hold of he never let go! + An' a dude that come courtin' our girl left a slice + Of his white flannel suit with our bench-legged fyce! + + He wuz good to us kids--when we pulled at his fur + Or twisted his tail he would never demur; + He seemed to enjoy all our play an' our chaff, + For his tongue 'u'd hang out an' he'd laff an' he'd laff; + An' once, when the Hobart boy fell through the ice, + He wuz drug clean ashore by that bench-legged fyce! + + We all hev our choice, an' you, like the rest, + Allow that the dorg which you've got is the best; + I wouldn't give much for the boy 'at grows up + With no friendship subsistin' 'tween him an' a pup! + When a fellow gits old--I tell you it's nice + To think of his youth and his bench-legged fyce! + + To think of the springtime 'way back in St. Joe-- + Of the peach-trees abloom an' the daisies ablow; + To think of the play in the medder an' grove, + When little legs wrassled an' little han's strove; + To think of the loyalty, valor, an' truth + Of the friendships that hallow the season of youth! + + + + +LITTLE MISS BRAG + + Little Miss Brag has much to say + To the rich little lady from over the way + And the rich little lady puts out a lip + As she looks at her own white, dainty slip, + And wishes that she could wear a gown + As pretty as gingham of faded brown! + For little Miss Brag she lays much stress + On the privileges of a gingham dress-- + "Aha, + Oho!" + + The rich little lady from over the way + Has beautiful dolls in vast array; + Yet she envies the raggedy home-made doll + She hears our little Miss Brag extol. + For the raggedy doll can fear no hurt + From wet, or heat, or tumble, or dirt! + Her nose is inked, and her mouth is, too, + And one eye's black and the other's blue-- + "Aha, + Oho!" + + The rich little lady goes out to ride + With footmen standing up outside, + Yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark + Her father would trundle her in the park;-- + That, sometimes, her mother would sing the things + Little Miss Brag says her mother sings + When through the attic window streams + The moonlight full of golden dreams-- + "Aha, + Oho!" + + Yes, little Miss Brag has much to say + To the rich little lady from over the way; + And yet who knows but from her heart + Often the bitter sighs upstart-- + Uprise to lose their burn and sting + In the grace of the tongue that loves to sing + Praise of the treasures all its own! + So I've come to love that treble tone-- + "Aha, + Oho!" + + + + +THE HUMMING TOP + + The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song + To my dear little boy at play-- + Merrily singeth all day long, + As it spinneth and spinneth away. + And my dear little boy + He laugheth with joy + When he heareth the monotone + Of that busy thing + That loveth to sing + The song that is all its own. + + Hold fast the string and wind it tight, + That the song be loud and clear; + Now hurl the top with all your might + Upon the banquette here; + And straight from the string + The joyous thing + Boundeth and spinneth along, + And it whirrs and it chirrs + And it birrs and it purrs + Ever its pretty song. + + Will ever my dear little boy grow old, + As some have grown before? + Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, + When he heareth the songs of yore? + Will ever this toy + Of my dear little boy, + When the years have worn away, + Sing sad and low + Of the long ago, + As it singeth to me to-day? + + + + +LADY BUTTON-EYES + + When the busy day is done, + And my weary little one + Rocketh gently to and fro; + When the night winds softly blow, + And the crickets in the glen + Chirp and chirp and chirp again; + When upon the haunted green + Fairies dance around their queen-- + Then from yonder misty skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Through the murk and mist and gloam + To our quiet, cozy home, + Where to singing, sweet and low, + Rocks a cradle to and fro; + Where the clock's dull monotone + Telleth of the day that's done; + Where the moonbeams hover o'er + Playthings sleeping on the floor-- + Where my weary wee one lies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Cometh like a fleeting ghost + From some distant eerie coast; + Never footfall can you hear + As that spirit fareth near-- + Never whisper, never word + From that shadow-queen is heard. + In ethereal raiment dight, + From the realm of fay and sprite + In the depth of yonder skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Layeth she her hands upon + My dear weary little one, + And those white hands overspread + Like a veil the curly head, + Seem to fondle and caress + Every little silken tress; + Then she smooths the eyelids down + Over those two eyes of brown-- + In such soothing, tender wise + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + + Dearest, feel upon your brow + That caressing magic now; + For the crickets in the glen + Chirp and chirp and chirp again, + While upon the haunted green + Fairies dance around their queen, + And the moonbeams hover o'er + Playthings sleeping on the floor-- + Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies + Cometh Lady Button-Eyes! + + + + +THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE + + Play that my knee was a calico mare + Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; + Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, + And gallop away to Bumpville! + I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, + For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, + And many adventures you're likely to meet + As you journey along to Bumpville. + + This calico mare both gallops and trots + While whisking you off to Bumpville; + She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, + In the tortuous road to Bumpville; + And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed + Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, + Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, + When one is en route to Bumpville! + + She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!" + Down by the crossing at Bumpville; + You'd better look out for that treacherous brute + Bearing you off to Bumpville! + With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, + And executes jigs and Virginia reels-- + Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels + Dancing so wildly to Bumpville! + + It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog, + Journeying on to Bumpville + It's over the hilltop and down through the bog + You ride on your way to Bumpville; + It's rattletybang over boulder and stump, + There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, + And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, + Mile after mile to bumpville! + + Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing + Making the journey to Bumpville, + So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring + An end to this ride to Bumpville; + For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, + The calico mare must be blowing and faint-- + What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! + So play we have got to Bumpville! + + + + +THE BROOK + + I looked in the brook and saw a face-- + Heigh-ho, but a child was I! + There were rushes and willows in that place, + And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; + And the brook it ran its own sweet way, + As a child doth run in heedless play, + And as it ran I heard it say: + "Hasten with me + To the roistering sea + That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!" + + I look in the brook and see a face-- + Heigh-ho, but the years go by! + The rushes are dead in the old-time place, + And the willows I knew when a child was I. + And the brook it seemeth to me to say, + As ever it stealeth on its way-- + Solemnly now, and not in play: + "Oh, come with me + To the slumbrous sea + That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!" + + Heigh-ho, but the years go by-- + I would to God that a child were I! + + + + +PICNIC-TIME + + It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy + That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; + For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, + Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; + Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, + An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. + It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine-- + There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine! + + One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! + (But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) + And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun-- + But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! + They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, + That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! + Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine + That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine! + + But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, + For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; + Why should a liberal universalist like me object + To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect? + However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, + Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me! + So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, + They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine! + + + + +SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS + + Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks + Sit together, building blocks; + Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, + Amber-Locks a little child, + But together at their play + Age and Youth are reconciled, + And with sympathetic glee + Build their castles fair to see. + + "When I grow to be a man" + (So the wee one's prattle ran), + "I shall build a castle so-- + With a gateway broad and grand; + Here a pretty vine shall grow, + There a soldier guard shall stand; + And the tower shall be so high, + Folks will wonder, by and by!" + + Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know; + Thus I builded long ago! + Here a gate and there a wall, + Here a window, there a door; + Here a steeple wondrous tall + Riseth ever more and more! + But the years have leveled low + What I builded long ago!" + + So they gossip at their play, + Heedless of the fleeting day; + One speaks of the Long Ago + Where his dead hopes buried lie; + One with chubby cheeks aglow + Prattleth of the By and By; + Side by side, they build their blocks-- + Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks. + + + + +THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN + + Come, my little one, with me! + There are wondrous sights to see + As the evening shadows fall; + In your pretty cap and gown, + Don't detain + The Shut-Eye train-- + "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, + "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth, + And we hear the warning call: + "All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!" + + Over hill and over plain + Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train! + Through the blue where bloom the stars + And the Mother Moon looks down + We'll away + To land of Fay-- + Oh, the sights that we shall see there! + Come, my little one, with me there-- + 'T is a goodly train of cars-- + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + Swifter than a wild bird's flight, + Through the realms of fleecy light + We shall speed and speed away! + Let the Night in envy frown-- + What care we + How wroth she be! + To the Balow-land above us, + To the Balow-folk who love us, + Let us hasten while we may-- + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + Shut-Eye Town is passing fair-- + Golden dreams await us there; + We shall dream those dreams, my dear, + Till the Mother Moon goes down-- + See unfold + Delights untold! + And in those mysterious places + We shall see beloved faces + And beloved voices hear + In the grace of Shut-Eye Town. + + Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, + Weary are your little feet-- + Nestle closer up to me + In your pretty cap and gown; + Don't detain + The Shut-Eye train! + "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, + "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth + Oh, the sights that we shall see! + All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + + + +LITTLE-OH DEAR + + See, what a wonderful garden is here, + Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! + Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown-- + Search ye the country and hunt ye the town + And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer + As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear! + + Marigolds white and buttercups blue, + Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, + The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, + Roses and pansies and violets--all + Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer + When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear. + + And up at the top of that lavender-tree + A silver-bird singeth as only can she; + For, ever and only, she singeth the song + "I love you--I love you!" the happy day long;-- + Then the echo--the echo that smiteth me here! + "I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! + + The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly-- + But what careth my little precious, or I? + From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart + She walketh the tenderer way in my heart + And, oh, it is always the summer-time here + With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! + + + + +THE FLY-AWAY HORSE + + Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse-- + Perhaps you have seen him before; + Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept + Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. + For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, + That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh + And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, + Is up on his heels and away! + The Moon in the sky, + As he gallopeth by, + Cries: "Oh! what a marvelous sight!" + And the Stars in dismay + Hide their faces away + In the lap of old Grandmother Night. + + It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse + Speedeth ever and ever away-- + Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, + Over streamlets that sing at their play; + And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, + While the ships they go sailing below, + And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast + Adjudge him some portent of woe. + "What ho there!" they cry, + As he flourishes by + With a whisk of his beautiful tail; + And the fish in the sea + Are as scared as can be, + From the nautilus up to the whale! + + And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those faraway lands + You little folk dream of at night-- + Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, + And corn-fields with popcorn are white; + And the beasts in the wood are ever so good + To children who visit them there-- + What glory astride of a lion to ride, + Or to wrestle around with a bear! + The monkeys, they say: + "Come on, let us play," + And they frisk in the cocoanut-trees: + While the parrots, that cling + To the peanut-vines, sing + Or converse with comparative ease! + + Off! scamper to bed--you shall ride him tonight! + For, as soon as you've fallen asleep, + With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away + Over forest and hillside and deep! + But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear + In those beautiful lands over there, + Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his faraway course + With the wee one consigned to his care. + Then grandma will cry + In amazement: "Oh, my!" + And she'll think it could never be so; + And only we two + Shall know it is true-- + You and I, little precious! shall know! + + + + +SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW + + Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow-- + It's off for a sailor thy father would go; + And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, + He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow!" + + Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow-- + It's oh for the waiting as weary days go! + And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when + I sing my song over and over again: + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow!" + + "Swing high and swing low "-- + The sea singeth so, + And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow; + And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea + Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me! + "Swing high and swing low + While the breezes they blow-- + 'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!" + + + + +WHEN I WAS A BOY + + Up in the attic where I slept + When I was a boy, a little boy, + In through the lattice the moonlight crept, + Bringing a tide of dreams that swept + Over the low, red trundle-bed, + Bathing the tangled curly head, + While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek + With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek-- + When I was a boy, a little boy! + + And, oh! the dreams--the dreams I dreamed! + When I was a boy, a little boy! + For the grace that through the lattice streamed + Over my folded eyelids seemed + To have the gift of prophecy, + And to bring me glimpses of times to be + When manhood's clarion seemed to call-- + Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all, + When I was a boy, a little boy! + + I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep + When I was a boy, a little boy! + For in at the lattice the moon would peep, + Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep + The crosses and griefs of the years away + From the heart that is weary and faint to-day; + And those dreams should give me back again + A peace I have never known since then-- + When I was a boy, a little boy! + + + + +AT PLAY + + Play that you are mother dear, + And play that papa is your beau; + Play that we sit in the corner here, + Just as we used to, long ago. + Playing so, we lovers two + Are just as happy as we can be, + And I'll say "I love you" to you, + And you say "I love you" to me! + "I love you" we both shall say, + All in earnest and all in play. + + Or, play that you are that other one + That some time came, and went away; + And play that the light of years agone + Stole into my heart again to-day! + Playing that you are the one I knew + In the days that never again may be, + I'll say "I love you" to you," + And you say "I love you" to me! + "I love you!" my heart shall say + To the ghost of the past come back to-day! + + Or, play that you sought this nestling-place + For your own sweet self, with that dual guise + Of your pretty mother in your face + And the look of that other in your eyes! + So the dear old loves shall live anew + As I hold my darling on my knee, + And I'll say "I love you" to you, + And you say "I love you" to me! + Oh, many a strange, true thing we say + And do when we pretend to play! + + + + +A VALENTINE + + Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell + I love her well. + Yes, though she tramples on my heart + And rends that bleeding thing apart; + And though she rolls a scornful eye + On doting me when I go by; + And though she scouts at everything + As tribute unto her I bring-- + Apple, banana, caramel-- + Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, + In spite of all, I love her well! + + And further say I have a sled + Cushioned in blue and painted red! + The groceryman has promised I + Can "hitch" whenever he goes by-- + Go, tell her that, and, furthermore, + Apprise my sweetheart that a score + Of other little girls implore + The boon of riding on that sled + Painted and hitched, as aforesaid;-- + And tell her, Cupid, only she + Shall ride upon that sled with me! + Tell her this all, and further tell + I love her well. + + + + +LITTLE ALL-ALONEY + + Little All-Aloney's feet + Pitter-patter in the hall, + And his mother runs to meet + And to kiss her toddling sweet, + Ere perchance he fall. + He is, oh, so weak and small! + Yet what danger shall he fear + When his mother hovereth near, + And he hears her cheering call: + "All-Aloney"? + + Little All-Aloney's face + It is all aglow with glee, + As around that romping-place + At a terrifying pace + Lungeth, plungeth he! + And that hero seems to be + All unconscious of our cheers-- + Only one dear voice he hears + Calling reassuringly: + "All-Aloney!" + + Though his legs bend with their load, + Though his feet they seem so small + That you cannot help forebode + Some disastrous episode + In that noisy hall, + Neither threatening bump nor fall + Little All-Aloney fears, + But with sweet bravado steers + Whither comes that cheery call: + "All-Aloney!" + + Ah, that in the years to come, + When he shares of Sorrow's store,-- + When his feet are chill and numb, + When his cross is burdensome, + And his heart is sore: + Would that he could hear once more + The gentle voice he used to hear-- + Divine with mother love and cheer-- + Calling from yonder spirit shore: + "All, all alone!" + + + + +SEEIN' THINGS + + I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, + An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! + I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, + For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, + Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light, + An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night! + + Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, + Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; + Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round + So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound! + Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white-- + But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night! + + Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, + An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, + I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, + A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me--so! + Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite-- + It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night! + + Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! + Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; + An' I am, oh! so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then + I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! + Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right + When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night! + An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, + I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; + An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice, + I want to--but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! + No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight + Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night! + + + + +THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING + + When baby wakes of mornings, + Then it's wake, ye people all! + For another day + Of song and play + Has come at our darling's call! + And, till she gets her dinner, + She makes the welkin ring, + And she won't keep still till she's had her fill-- + The cunnin' little thing! + + When baby goes a-walking, + Oh, how her paddies fly! + For that's the way + The babies say + To other folk "by-by"; + The trees bend down to kiss her, + And the birds in rapture sing, + As there she stands and waves her hands-- + The cunnin' little thing! + + When baby goes a-rocking + In her bed at close of day, + At hide-and-seek + On her dainty cheek + The dreams and the dimples play; + Then it's sleep in the tender kisses + The guardian angels bring + From the Far Above to my sweetest love-- + You cunnin' little thing! + + + + +THE DOLL'S WOOING + + The little French doll was a dear little doll + Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; + Her eyes were of hue + A most delicate blue + And dark as the night were her tresses; + Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, + And this little French doll was so very well bred + That whenever accosted her little mouth said + "Mamma! mamma!" + + The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, + Had once been a handsome young fellow; + But now he appeared + Rather frowzy and bleared + In his torn regimentals of yellow; + Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay + In the little toy cart near the window one day + And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: + "Mamma! mamma!" + + He listened so long and he listened so hard + That anon he grew ever so tender, + For it's everywhere known + That the feminine tone + Gets away with all masculine gender! + He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest + But all she'd reply to the love he professed + Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): + "Mamma! mamma!" + + Her mother--a sweet little lady of five-- + Vouchsafed her parental protection, + And although stockinet + Wasn't blue-blooded, yet + She really could make no objection! + So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, + And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, + I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: + "Mamma! mamma!" + + + + +INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE + + When thou dost eat from off this plate, + I charge thee be thou temperate; + Unto thine elders at the board + Do thou sweet reverence accord; + And, though to dignity inclined, + Unto the serving-folk be kind; + Be ever mindful of the poor, + Nor turn them hungry from the door; + And unto God, for health and food + And all that in thy life is good, + Give thou thy heart in gratitude. + + + + +FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS + + Fisherman Jim lived on the hill + With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; + 'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will-- + Naught we reck of your cold and noise!" + For happy and warm were he an' his, + And he dandled his kids upon his knee + To the song of the sea. + + Fisherman Jim would sail all day, + But, when come night, upon the sands + His little kids ran from their play, + Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands; + Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high, + He'd hear'em--you bet--above the roar + Of the waves on the shore! + + Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay + As the sun went down in a cloudy sky, + And never a kid saw he at play, + And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry. + In his little house he learned it all, + And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head-- + "The fever!" they said. + + 'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim, + With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes, + A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him + An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries + He had heerd so often upon the sands; + For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore-- + Till they spoke no more. + + But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, + Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; + As a man will live when his heart is gone, + Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, + Till once in those years they come an' said: + "Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick-- + Go to him, quick!" + + Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: + "It's a long, long cruise-you understand-- + But over beyont the ragin' sea + I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand + Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore, + Just as they used to--ah, mate, you know!-- + In the long ago." + + No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; + For all night long he seemed to see + His little boys of the days gone by, + An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me! + An' just as the mornin' sun come up-- + "They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, + An' so he died. + + + + +"FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" + + There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, + And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee"-- + A very provoking, unmusical song + For one to be whistling the summer day long! + Yet always contented and busy was he + With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." + + Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, + That weird iteration repented him sore; + "I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, + For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done + That shall presently rid all creation and me + Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + + Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son + His awfully truculent little red gun; + The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, + The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in-- + The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree + For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"! + + The brave little soldier quoth never a word, + But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; + And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, + The gun it went off with a terrible bang! + Then loud laughed the youth--"By my Bottle," cried he, + "I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + + Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, + Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! + Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, + With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" + She kissed the dear boy. + (The bird in the tree + Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee") + + + + +OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY + + Over the hills and far away, + A little boy steals from his morning play + And under the blossoming apple-tree + He lies and he dreams of the things to be: + Of battles fought and of victories won, + Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done-- + Of the valor that he shall prove some day, + Over the hills and far away-- + Over the hills, and far away! + + Over the hills and far away + It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day! + But it mattereth not to the soul aflame + With a love for riches and power and fame! + On, O man! while the sun is high-- + On to the certain joys that lie + Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, + Over the hills and far away-- + Over the hills, and far away! + + Over the hills and far away, + An old man lingers at close of day; + Now that his journey is almost done, + His battles fought and his victories won-- + The old-time honesty and truth, + The trustfulness and the friends of youth, + Home and mother-where are they? + Over the hills and far away-- + Over the years, and far away! + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Love-Songs of Childhood, by Eugene Field + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOVE-SONGS OF CHILDHOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 2670.txt or 2670.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/2670/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Love-Songs of Childhood + +by Eugene Field + + + + +To Mrs. Belle Angler + + + + + +Dearest Aunt: + +Many years ago you used to rock me to sleep, cradling me in your +arms and singing me petty songs. Surely you have not forgotten +that time, and I recall it with tenderness. You were very +beautiful then. But you are more beautiful now; for, in the years +that have come and gone since then, the joys and the sorrows of +maternity have impressed their saintly grace upon the dear face I +used to kiss, and have made your gentle heart gentler still. + +Beloved lady, in memory of years to be recalled only in thought, +and in token of my gratitude and affection, I bring you these +little love-songs, and reverently I lay them at your feet. + +Eugene Field +Chicago, November 1, 1894 + + + +THE LOVE-SONGS + +By Eugene Field + + +THE ROCK-A-BY LADY +"BOOH"! +GARDEN AND CRADLE +THE NIGHT WIND +KISSING TIME +JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS +BEARD AND BABY +THE DINKEY-BIRD +THE DRUM +THE DEAD BABE +THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD +So, so, ROCK-A-BY SO! +THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD +THE DUEL +GOOD-CHILDREN STREET +THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT +THE STORK +THE BOTTLE TREE +GOOGLY-GOO +THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE +LITTLE MISS BRAG +THE HUMMING TOP +LADY BUTTON-EYES +THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE +THE BROOK +PICNIC-TIME +SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS +THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN +LITTLE-OH-DEAR +THE FLY-AWAY HORSE +SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW +WHEN I WAS A BOY +AT PLAY +A VALENTINE +LITTLE ALL-ALONEY +SEEIN' THINGS +THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING +THE DOLL'S WOOING +INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE +FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS +"FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" +OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY + + + + +THE ROCK-A-BY LADY + +The Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street +Comes stealing; comes creeping; +The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, +And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet - +She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, +When she findeth you sleeping! + +There is one little dream of a beautiful drum - +"Rub-a-dub!" it goeth; +There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum, +And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come +Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum, +And a trumpet that bloweth! + +And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams +With laughter and singing; +And boats go a-floating on silvery streams, +And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, +And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams, +The fairies go winging! + +Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? +They'll come to you sleeping; +So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, +For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street, +With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, +Comes stealing; comes creeping. + + + +"BOOH!" + +On afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap, +And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, +In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face, +And cautiously and quietly I move about the place; +Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, +And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say "Booh"! + +Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared, +And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared; +And then his under lip came out and farther out it came, +Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame" - +But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do +But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!" + +He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then +In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!" +And I - of course I do it; for, as his progenitor, +It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for! +And it is, oh, such fun I and sure that we shall rue +The time when we are both too old to play the game "Booh!" + + + +GARDEN AND CRADLE + +When our babe he goeth walking in his garden, +Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play; +The posies they are good to him, +And bow them as they should to him, +As fareth he upon his kingly way; +And birdlings of the wood to him +Make music, gentle music, all the day, +When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. + +When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, +Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down; +The little stars are kind to him, +The moon she hath a mind to him +And layeth on his head a golden crown; +And singeth then the wind to him +A song, the gentle song of Bethlem-town, +When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. + + + +THE NIGHT WIND + +Have you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"? +'T is a pitiful sound to hear! +It seems to chill you through and through +With a strange and speechless fear. +'T is the voice of the night that broods outside +When folk should be asleep, +And many and many's the time I've cried +To the darkness brooding far and wide +Over the land and the deep: +Whom do you want, O lonely night, +That you wail the long hours through?" +And the night would say in its ghostly way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + +My mother told me long ago +(When I was a little tad) +That when the night went wailing so, +Somebody had been bad; +And then, when I was snug in bed, +Whither I had been sent, +With the blankets pulled up round my head, +I'd think of what my mother'd said, +And wonder what boy she meant! +And "Who's been bad to-day?" I'd ask +Of the wind that hoarsely blew, +And the voice would say in its meaningful way: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + +That this was true I must allow - +You'll not believe it, though! +Yes, though I'm quite a model now, +I was not always so. +And if you doubt what things I say, +Suppose you make the test; +Suppose, when you've been bad some day +And up to bed are sent away +From mother and the rest - +Suppose you ask, "Who has been bad?" +And then you'll hear what's true; +For the wind will moan in its ruefulest tone: + "Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo! + Yoooooooo!" + + + +KISSING TIME + +'T is when the lark goes soaring +And the bee is at the bud, +When lightly dancing zephyrs +Sing over field and flood; +When all sweet things in nature +Seem joyfully achime - +'T is then I wake my darling, +For it is kissing time! + +Go, pretty lark, a-soaring, +And suck your sweets, 0 bee; +Sing, 0 ye winds of summer, +Your songs to mine and me; +For with your song and rapture +Cometh the moment when +It's half-past kissing time +And time to kiss again! + +So - so the days go fleeting +Like golden fancies free, +And every day that cometh +Is full of sweets for me; +And sweetest are those moments +My darling comes to climb +Into my lap to mind me +That it is kissing time. + +Sometimes, maybe, he wanders +A heedless, aimless way - +Sometimes, maybe, he loiters +In pretty, prattling play; +But presently bethinks him +And hastens to me then, +For it's half-past kissing time +And time to kiss again! + + + +JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS + +Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, +Mother calls me Willie, but the fellers call me Bill! +Mighty glad I ain't a girl - ruther be a boy, +Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroy! +Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake - +Hate to take the castor-ile they give for bellyache! +'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, +But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + +Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat; +First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at! +Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide, +'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride! +But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross, +He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss, +An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!" +But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! + +Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man, +I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan, +As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle, +Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile! +But gran'ma she has never been to see a Wild West show, +Nor read the Life of Daniel Boone, or else I guess she'd know +That Buff'lo Bill an' cow-boys is good enough for me! +Excep' jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be! + +And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, +His eyes they seem a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?" +The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become +Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! +But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz, +That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!" +But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me +When, jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be! + +For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes, an' toys, +Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys; +So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's and q's, +An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, and don't wear out yer shoes; +Say "Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men, +An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again; +But, thinkin' of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, +Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! + + + +BEARD AND BABY + +I say, as one who never feared +The wrath of a subscriber's bullet, +I pity him who has a beard +But has no little girl to pull it! + +When wife and I have finished tea, +Our baby woos me with her prattle, +And, perching proudly on my knee, +She gives my petted whiskers battle. + +With both her hands she tugs away, +While scolding at me kind o' spiteful; +You'll not believe me when I say +I find the torture quite delightful! + +No other would presume, I ween, +To trifle with this hirsute wonder, +Else would I rise in vengeful mien +And rend his vandal frame asunder! + +But when her baby fingers pull +This glossy, sleek, and silky treasure, +My cup of happiness is full - +I fairly glow with pride and pleasure! + +And, sweeter still, through all the day +I seem to hear her winsome prattle - +I seem to feel her hands at play, +As though they gave me sportive battle. + +Yes, heavenly music seems to steal +Where thought of her forever lingers, +And round my heart I always feel +The twining of her dimpled fingers! + + + +THE DINKEY BIRD + +In an ocean, 'way out yonder +(As all sapient people know), +Is the land of Wonder-Wander, +Whither children love to go; +It's their playing, romping, swinging, +That give great joy to me +While the Dinkey-Bird goes singing +In the amfalula tree! + +There the gum-drops grow like cherries, +And taffy's thick as peas - +Caramels you pick like berries +When, and where, and how you please; +Big red sugar-plums are clinging +To the cliffs beside that sea +Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing +In the amfalula tree. + +So when children shout and scamper +And make merry all the day, +When there's naught to put a damper +To the ardor of their play; +When I hear their laughter ringing, +Then I'm sure as sure can be +That the Dinkey-Bird is singing +In the amfalula tree. + +For the Dinkey-Bird's bravuras +And staccatos are so sweet - +His roulades, appoggiaturas, +And robustos so complete, +That the youth of every nation - +Be they near or far away - +Have especial delectation +In that gladsome roundelay. + +Their eyes grow bright and brighter, +Their lungs begin to crow, +Their hearts get light and lighter, +And their cheeks are all aglow; +For an echo cometh bringing +The news to all and me, +That the Dinkey-Bird is singing +In the amfalula tree. + +I'm sure you like to go there +To see your feathered friend - +And so many goodies grow there +You would like to comprehend! +Speed, little dreams, your winging +To that land across the sea +Where the Dinkey-Bird is singing +In the amfalula tree! + + + +THE DRUM + +I'm a beautiful red, red drum, +And I train with the soldier boys; +As up the street we come, +Wonderful is our noise! +There's Tom, and Jim, and Phil, +And Dick, and Nat, and Fred, +While Widow Cutler's Bill +And I march on ahead, +With a r-r-rat-tat-tat +And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum - +Oh, there's bushels of fun in that +For boys with a little red drum! + +The Injuns came last night +While the soldiers were abed, +And they gobbled a Chinese kite +And off to the woods they fled! +The woods are the cherry-trees +Down in the orchard lot, +And the soldiers are marching to seize +The booty the Injuns got. +With tum-titty-um-tum-tum, +And r-r-rat-tat-tat, +When soldiers marching come +Injuns had better scat! + +Step up there, little Fred, +And, Charley, have a mind! +Jim is as far ahead +As you two are behind! +Ready with gun and sword +Your valorous work to do - +Yonder the Injun horde +Are lying in wait for you. +And their hearts go pitapat +When they hear the soldiers come +With a r-r-rat-tat-tat +And a tum-titty-um-tum-tum! + +Course it's all in play! +The skulking Injun crew +That hustled the kite away +Are little white boys, like you! +But "honest" or "just in fun," +It is all the same to me; +And, when the battle is won, +Home once again march we +With a r-r-rat-tat-tat +And tum-titty-um-tum-tum; +And there's glory enough in that +For the boys with their little red drum! + + + +THE DEAD BABE + +Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, +In agony I knelt and said: +"0 God! what have I done, +Or in what wise offended Thee, +That Thou should'st take away from me +My little son? + +"Upon the thousand useless lives, +Upon the guilt that vaunting thrives, +Thy wrath were better spent! +Why should'st Thou take my little son - +Why should'st Thou vent Thy wrath upon +This innocent?" + +Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, +Before mine eyes the vision spread +Of things that might have been: +Licentious riot, cruel strife, +Forgotten prayers, a wasted life +Dark red with sin! + +Then, with sweet music in the air, +I saw another vision there: +A Shepherd in whose keep +A little lamb - my little child! +Of worldly wisdom undefiled, +Lay fast asleep! + +Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, +In those two messages I read +A wisdom manifest; +And though my arms be childless now, +I am content - to Him I bow +Who knoweth best. + + + +THE HAPPY HOUSEHOLD + +It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks, +That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes; +Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me, +For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be! +And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado, + While gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + And wife, she laughs, + And I - well, I laugh, too! + +You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad, +That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had; +But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss +As if the only baby in the world had come to us! +And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do, + Gran'ma, she laughs, + Gran'pa, he laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I, of course, laugh, too! + +But once - a likely spell ago - when that poor little chick +From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, +You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about +A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; +And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, + Old gran'ma cried, + And gran'pa cried, + And wife, she cried, + And I - yes, I cried, too! + +It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, +With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; +The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, +And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care! +No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, + Old gran'ma laughs, + And gran'pa laughs, + Wife, she laughs, + And I - you bet, I laugh, too! + + + +SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO! + +So, so, rock-a-by so! +Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; +And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, +And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek +And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies +In the beautiful garden way up in the skies +Which you seek. +Now mind these three kisses wherever you go - +So, so, rock-a-by so! + +There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, +For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; +I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, +I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek. +And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise +When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies +Which you seek. +Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe - +So, so, rock-a-by so! + +And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, +Don't forget mother who loveth you so! +And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, +And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, +And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies +Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies +Which you seek - +The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow - +So, so, rock-a-by so! + + + +THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD + +A sunbeam comes a-creeping +Into my dear one's nest, +And sings to our babe a-sleeping +The song that I love the best: +"'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning - +'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; +And all day long +'T is the same sweet song +Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, +Luddy-Dud." + +The bird to the tossing clover, +The bee to the swaying bud, +Keep singing that sweet song over +Of wee little Luddy-Dud. +"'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning - +'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; +And all day long +'T is the same dear song +Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, +Luddy-Dud." + +Luddy-Dud's cradle is swinging +Where softly the night winds blow, +And Luddy-Dud's mother is singing +A song that is sweet and low: +"'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning - +'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; +And all day long +'T is the same sweet song +Of my nearest and my dearest heart's delight, +Luddy-Dud!" + + + +THE DUEL + +The gingham dog and the calico cat +Side by side on the table sat; +'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) +Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink! +The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate +Appeared to know as sure as fate +There was going to be a terrible spat. +(I wasn't there; I simply state +What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) + +The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!" +And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!" +The air was littered, an hour or so, +With bits of gingham and calico, +While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place +Up with its hands before its face, +For it always dreaded a family row! +(Now mind: I'm only telling you +What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) + +The Chinese plate looked very blue, +And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!" +But the gingham dog and the calico cat +Wallowed this way and tumbled that, +Employing every tooth and claw +In the awfullest way you ever saw - +And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! +(Don't fancy I exaggerate - +I got my news from the Chinese plate!) + +Next morning, where the two had sat +They found no trace of dog or cat; +And some folks think unto this day +That burglars stole that pair away! +But the truth about the cat and pup +Is this: they ate each other up! +Now what do you really think of that! +(The old Dutch clock it told me so, +And that is how I came to know.) + + + +GOOD-CHILDREN STREET + +There's a dear little home in Good-Children street - +My heart turneth fondly to-day +Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet +Make sweetest of music at play; +Where the sunshine of love illumines each face +And warms every heart in that old-fashioned place. + +For dear little children go romping about +With dollies and tin tops and drums, +And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout +Till bedtime too speedily comes! +Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet +With little folk living in Good-Children street. + +See, here comes an army with guns painted red, +And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; +The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead +On a stick-horse that prances and snorts! +Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet - +Nice make-believe soldiers - in Good-Children street. + +And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about - +Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill, +For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out +And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill. +Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, +Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street. + +'T is so the dear children go romping about +With dollies and banners and drums, +And I venture to say they are sadly put out +When an end to their jubilee comes: +Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet +With little folk living in Good-Children street! + +But when falleth night over river and town, +Those little folk vanish from sight, +And an angel all white from the sky cometh down +And guardeth the babes through the night, +And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet +To the dear little people in Good-Children Street. + +Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care, +Though poverty fall to my lot, +Though toil and vexation be always my share, +What care I - they trouble me not! +This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet: +There's a dear little home in Good-Children street. + + + +THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT + +Up yonder in Buena Park +There is a famous spot, +In legend and in history +Yclept the Waller Lot. + +There children play in daytime +And lovers stroll by dark, +For 't is the goodliest trysting-place +In all Buena Park. + +Once on a time that beauteous maid, +Sweet little Sissy Knott, +Took out her pretty doll to walk +Within the Waller Lot. + +While thus she fared, from Ravenswood +Came Injuns o'er the plain, +And seized upon that beauteous maid +And rent her doll in twain. + +Oh, 't was a piteous thing to hear +Her lamentations wild; +She tore her golden curls and cried: +"My child! My child! My child!" + +Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs +How bitterly wailed she? +They never had been mothers, +And they could not hope to be! + +"Have done with tears," they rudely quoth, +And then they bound her hands; +For they proposed to take her off +To distant border lands. + +But, joy! from Mr. Eddy's barn +Doth Willie Clow behold +The sight that makes his hair rise up +And all his blood run cold. + +He put his fingers in his mouth +And whistled long and clear, +And presently a goodly horde +Of cow-boys did appear. + +Cried Willie Clow: "My comrades bold, +Haste to the Waller Lot, +And rescue from that Injun band +Our charming Sissy Knott!" + +"Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, +But smite them hide and hair! +Spare neither sex nor age nor size, +And no condition spare!" + +Then sped that cow-boy band away, +Full of revengeful wrath, +And Kendall Evans rode ahead +Upon a hickory lath. + +And next came gallant Dady Field +And Willie's brother Kent, +The Eddy boys and Robbie James, +On murderous purpose bent. + +For they were much beholden to +That maid - in sooth, the lot +Were very, very much in love +With charming Sissy Knott. + +What wonder? She was beauty's queen, +And good beyond compare; +Moreover, it was known she was +Her wealthy father's heir! + +Now when the Injuns saw that band +They trembled with affright, +And yet they thought the cheapest thing +To do was stay and fight. + +So sturdily they stood their ground, +Nor would their prisoner yield, +Despite the wrath of Willie Clow +And gallant Dady Field. + +Oh, never fiercer battle raged +Upon the Waller Lot, +And never blood more freely flowed +Than flowed for Sissy Knott! + +An Injun chief of monstrous size +Got Kendall Evans down, +And Robbie James was soon o'erthrown +By one of great renown. + +And Dady Field was sorely done, +And Willie Clow was hurt, +And all that gallant cow-boy band +Lay wallowing in the dirt. + +But still they strove with might and main +Till all the Waller Lot +Was strewn with hair and gouts of gore - +All, all for Sissy Knott! + +Then cried the maiden in despair: +"Alas, I sadly fear +The battle and my hopes are lost, +Unless some help appear!" + +Lo, as she spoke, she saw afar +The rescuer looming up - +The pride of all Buena Park, +Clow's famous yellow pup! + +"Now, sick'em, Don," the maiden cried, +"Now, sick'em, Don!" cried she; +Obedient Don at once complied - +As ordered, so did he. + +He sicked'em all so passing well +That, overcome by fright, +The Indian horde gave up the fray +And safety sought in flight. + +They ran and ran and ran and ran +O'er valley, plain, and hill; +And if they are not walking now, +Why, then, they're running still. + +The cow-boys rose up from the dust +With faces black and blue; +"Remember, beauteous maid," said they, +"We've bled and died for you!" + +"And though we suffer grievously, +We gladly hail the lot +That brings us toils and pains and wounds +For charming Sissy Knott!" + +But Sissy Knott still wailed and wept, +And still her fate reviled; +For who could patch her dolly up - +Who, who could mend her child? + +Then out her doting mother came, +And soothed her daughter then; +"Grieve not, my darling, I will sew +Your dolly up again!" + +Joy soon succeeded unto grief, +And tears were soon dried up, +And dignities were heaped upon +Clow's noble yellow pup. + +Him all that goodly company +Did as deliverer hail - +They tied a ribbon round his neck, +Another round his tail. + +And every anniversary day +Upon the Waller Lot +They celebrate the victory won +For charming Sissy Knott. + +And I, the poet of these folk, +Am ordered to compile +This truly famous history +In good old ballad style. + +Which having done as to have earned +The sweet rewards of fame, +In what same style I did begin +I now shall end the same. + +So let us sing: Long live the King, +Long live the Queen and Jack, +Long live the ten-spot and the ace, +And also all the pack. + + + +THE STORK + +Last night the Stork came stalking, +And, Stork, beneath your wing +Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, +The tiniest little thing! +From Babyland, out yonder +Beside a silver sea, +You brought a priceless treasure +As gift to mine and me! + +Last night my dear one listened - +And, wife, you knew the cry - +The dear old Stork has sought our home +A many times gone by! +And in your gentle bosom +I found the pretty thing +That from the realm out yonder +Our friend the Stork did bring. + +Last night a babe awakened, +And, babe, how strange and new +Must seem the home and people +The Stork has brought you to; +And yet methinks you like them - +You neither stare nor weep, +But closer to my dear one +You cuddle, and you sleep! + +Last night my heart grew fonder - +0 happy heart of mine, +Sing of the inspirations +That round my pathway shine! +And sing your sweetest love-song +To this dear nestling wee +The Stork from 'Way-Out-Yonder +Hath brought to mine and me! + + + +THE BOTTLE TREE + +A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land - +Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! +A snug little berth in that ship I demand +That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away +Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day +And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand; +You take of that fruit as much as you list, +For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist! +So cuddle me and cuddle me fast, +And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, +For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast - +Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + +The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day! +Heigh-ho for Winkyway land! +And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say) +Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand - +And that is a trick I would fain understand! +Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day! +And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night - +A bottle of milk that is creamy and white! +So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, +And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, +For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast - +Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! + + + +GOOGLY-GO0 + +Of mornings, bright and early, +When the lark is on the wing +And the robin in the maple +Hops from her nest to sing, +From yonder cheery chamber +Cometh a mellow coo - +'T is the sweet, persuasive treble +Of my little Googly-Goo! + +The sunbeams hear his music, +And they seek his little bed, +And they dance their prettiest dances +Round his golden curly head: +Schottisches, galops, minuets, +Gavottes and waltzes, too, +Dance they unto the music +Of my googling Googly-Goo. + +My heart - my heart it leapeth +To hear that treble tone; +What music like thy music, +My darling and mine own! +And patiently - yes, cheerfully +I toil the long day through - +My labor seemeth lightened +By the song of Googly-Goo! + +I may not see his antics, +Nor kiss his dimpled cheek: +I may not smooth the tresses +The sunbeams love to seek; +It mattereth not - the echo +Of his sweet, persuasive coo +Recurreth to remind me +Of my little Googly-Goo. + +And when I come at evening, +I stand without the door +And patiently I listen +For that dear sound once more; +And oftentimes I wonder, +"Oh, God! what should I do +If any ill should happen +To my little Googly-Goo!" + +Then in affright I call him - +I hear his gleeful shouts! +Begone, ye dread forebodings - +Begone, ye killing doubts! +For, with my arms about him, +My heart warms through and through +With the oogling and the googling +Of my little Googly-Goo! + + + +THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE + +Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce +Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice. +Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose +From his predisposition to chronic repose; +But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat - +Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet! + +Mos' dorgs hez some forte - like huntin' an' such, +But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much; +Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be +On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me; +Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!" +When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce! + +He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be; +His color wuz yaller as ever you see; +His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim - +When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him! +His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup +Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up! + +He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret +The various vittles an' things he had et; +When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along, +He'd lift up his voice in significant song - +You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space +In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass! + +Of daytimes he'd sneak to the road an' lie down, +An' tackle the country dorgs comin' to town; +By common consent he wuz boss in St. Joe, +For what he took hold of he never let go! +An' a dude that come courtin' our girl left a slice +Of his white flannel suit with our bench-legged fyce! + +He wuz good to us kids - when we pulled at his fur +Or twisted his tail he would never demur; +He seemed to enjoy all our play an' our chaff, +For his tongue 'u'd hang out an' he'd laff an' he'd laff; +An' once, when the Hobart boy fell through the ice, +He wuz drug clean ashore by that bench-legged fyce! + +We all hev our choice, an' you, like the rest, +Allow that the dorg which you've got is the best; +I wouldn't give much for the boy 'at grows up +With no friendship subsistin' 'tween him an' a pup! +When a fellow gits old - I tell you it's nice +To think of his youth and his bench-legged fyce! + +To think of the springtime 'way back in St. Joe - +Of the peach-trees abloom an' the daisies ablow; +To think of the play in the medder an' grove, +When little legs wrassled an' little han's strove; +To think of the loyalty, valor, an' truth +Of the friendships that hallow the season of youth! + + + +LITTLE MISS BRAG + +Little Miss Brag has much to say +To the rich little lady from over the way +And the rich little lady puts out a lip +As she looks at her own white, dainty slip, +And wishes that she could wear a gown +As pretty as gingham of faded brown! +For little Miss Brag she lays much stress +On the privileges of a gingham dress - + "Aha, + Oho!" + +The rich little lady from over the way +Has beautiful dolls in vast array; +Yet she envies the raggedy home-made doll +She hears our little Miss Brag extol. +For the raggedy doll can fear no hurt +From wet, or heat, or tumble, or dirt! +Her nose is inked, and her mouth is, too, +And one eye's black and the other's blue - + "Aha, + Oho!" + +The rich little lady goes out to ride +With footmen standing up outside, +Yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark +Her father would trundle her in the park; - +That, sometimes, her mother would sing the things +Little Miss Brag says her mother sings +When through the attic window streams +The moonlight full of golden dreams - + "Aha, + Oho!" + +Yes, little Miss Brag has much to say +To the rich little lady from over the way; +And yet who knows but from her heart +Often the bitter sighs upstart - +Uprise to lose their burn and sting +In the grace of the tongue that loves to sing +Praise of the treasures all its own! +So I've come to love that treble tone - + "Aha, + Oho!" + + + +THE HUMMING TOP + +The top it hummeth a sweet, sweet song +To my dear little boy at play - +Merrily singeth all day long, +As it spinneth and spinneth away. +And my dear little boy +He laugheth with joy +When he heareth the monotone +Of that busy thing +That loveth to sing +The song that is all its own. + +Hold fast the string and wind it tight, +That the song be loud and clear; +Now hurl the top with all your might +Upon the banquette here; +And straight from the string +The joyous thing +Boundeth and spinneth along, +And it whirrs and it chirrs +And it birrs and it purrs +Ever its pretty song. + +Will ever my dear little boy grow old, +As some have grown before? +Will ever his heart feel faint and cold, +When he heareth the songs of yore? +Will ever this toy +Of my dear little boy, +When the years have worn away, +Sing sad and low +Of the long ago, +As it singeth to me to-day? + + + +LADY BUTTON-EYES + +When the busy day is done, +And my weary little one +Rocketh gently to and fro; +When the night winds softly blow, +And the crickets in the glen +Chirp and chirp and chirp again; +When upon the haunted green +Fairies dance around their queen - +Then from yonder misty skies +Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + +Through the murk and mist and gloam +To our quiet, cozy home, +Where to singing, sweet and low, +Rocks a cradle to and fro; +Where the clock's dull monotone +Telleth of the day that's done; +Where the moonbeams hover o'er +Playthings sleeping on the floor - +Where my weary wee one lies +Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + +Cometh like a fleeting ghost +From some distant eerie coast; +Never footfall can you hear +As that spirit fareth near - +Never whisper, never word +From that shadow-queen is heard. +In ethereal raiment dight, +From the realm of fay and sprite +In the depth of yonder skies +Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + +Layeth she her hands upon +My dear weary little one, +And those white hands overspread +Like a veil the curly head, +Seem to fondle and caress +Every little silken tress; +Then she smooths the eyelids down +Over those two eyes of brown - +In such soothing, tender wise +Cometh Lady Button-Eyes. + +Dearest, feel upon your brow +That caressing magic now; +For the crickets in the glen +Chirp and chirp and chirp again, +While upon the haunted green +Fairies dance around their queen, +And the moonbeams hover o'er +Playthings sleeping on the floor - +Hush, my sweet! from yonder skies +Cometh Lady Button-Eyes! + + + +THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE + +Play that my knee was a calico mare +Saddled and bridled for Bumpville; +Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, +And gallop away to Bumpville! +I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, +For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, +And many adventures you're likely to meet +As you journey along to Bumpville. + +This calico mare both gallops and trots +While whisking you off to Bumpville; +She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots, +In the tortuous road to Bumpville; +And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed +Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, +Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, +When one is en route to Bumpville! + +She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!" +Down by the crossing at Bumpville; +You'd better look out for that treacherous brute +Bearing you off to Bumpville! +With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, +And executes jigs and Virginia reels - +Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels +Dancing so wildly to Bumpville! + +It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog, +Journeying on to Bumpville +It's over the hilltop and down through the bog +You ride on your way to Bumpville; +It's rattletybang over boulder and stump, +There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump, +And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump, +Mile after mile to bumpville! + +Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing +Making the journey to Bumpville, +So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring +An end to this ride to Bumpville; +For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, +The calico mare must be blowing and faint - +What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't! +So play we have got to Bumpville! + + + +THE BROOK + +I looked in the brook and saw a face - +Heigh-ho, but a child was I! +There were rushes and willows in that place, +And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; +And the brook it ran its own sweet way, +As a child doth run in heedless play, +And as it ran I heard it say: +"Hasten with me +To the roistering sea +That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!" + +I look in the brook and see a face - +Heigh-ho, but the years go by! +The rushes are dead in the old-time place, +And the willows I knew when a child was I. +And the brook it seemeth to me to say, +As ever it stealeth on its way - +Solemnly now, and not in play: +"Oh, come with me +To the slumbrous sea +That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!" + +Heigh-ho, but the years go by - +I would to God that a child were I! + + + +PICNIC-TIME + +It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy +That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; +For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, +Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; +Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, +An' little boys get grass-stains on their go-to meetin' pants. +It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine - +There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine! + +One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained! +(But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) +And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun - +But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun! +They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, +That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes! +Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine +That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine! + +But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, +For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; +Why should a liberal universalist like me object +To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect? +However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, +Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me! +So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, +They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine! + + + +SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS + +Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks +Sit together, building blocks; +Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, +Amber-Locks a little child, +But together at their play +Age and Youth are reconciled, +And with sympathetic glee +Build their castles fair to see. + +"When I grow to be a man" +(So the wee one's prattle ran), +"I shall build a castle so - +With a gateway broad and grand; +Here a pretty vine shall grow, +There a soldier guard shall stand; +And the tower shall be so high, +Folks will wonder, by and by!" + +Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know; +Thus I builded long ago! +Here a gate and there a wall, +Here a window, there a door; +Here a steeple wondrous tall +Riseth ever more and more! +But the years have leveled low +What I builded long ago!" + +So they gossip at their play, +Heedless of the fleeting day; +One speaks of the Long Ago +Where his dead hopes buried lie; +One with chubby cheeks aglow +Prattleth of the By and By; +Side by side, they build their blocks - +Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks. + + + +THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN + +Come, my little one, with me! +There are wondrous sights to see +As the evening shadows fall; +In your pretty cap and gown, +Don't detain +The Shut-Eye train - +"Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, +"Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth, +And we hear the warning call: +"All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!" + +Over hill and over plain +Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train! +Through the blue where bloom the stars +And the Mother Moon looks down +We'll away +To land of Fay - +Oh, the sights that we shall see there! +Come, my little one, with me there - +'T is a goodly train of cars - +All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + +Swifter than a wild bird's flight, +Through the realms of fleecy light +We shall speed and speed away! +Let the Night in envy frown - +What care we +How wroth she be! +To the Balow-land above us, +To the Balow-folk who love us, +Let us hasten while we may - +All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + +Shut-Eye Town is passing fair - +Golden dreams await us there; +We shall dream those dreams, my dear, +Till the Mother Moon goes down - +See unfold +Delights untold! +And in those mysterious places +We shall see beloved faces +And beloved voices hear +In the grace of Shut-Eye Town. + +Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, +Weary are your little feet - +Nestle closer up to me +In your pretty cap and gown; +Don't detain +The Shut-Eye train! +"Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, +"Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth +Oh, the sights that we shall see! +All aboard for Shut-Eye Town! + + + +LITTLE-OH DEAR + +See, what a wonderful garden is here, +Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear! +Posies so gaudy and grass of such brown - +Search ye the country and hunt ye the town +And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer +As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear! + +Marigolds white and buttercups blue, +Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, +The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, +Roses and pansies and violets - all +Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer +When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear. + +And up at the top of that lavender-tree +A silver-bird singeth as only can she; +For, ever and only, she singeth the song +"I love you - I love you!" the happy day long; - +Then the echo - the echo that smiteth me here! +"I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! + +The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly - +But what careth my little precious, or I? +From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart +She walketh the tenderer way in my heart +And, oh, it is always the summer-time here +With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear! + + + +THE FLY-AWAY HORSE + +Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse - +Perhaps you have seen him before; +Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept +Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. +For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, +That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh +And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, +Is up on his heels and away! +The Moon in the sky, +As he gallopeth by, +Cries: "Oh! what a marvelous sight!" +And the Stars in dismay +Hide their faces away +In the lap of old Grandmother Night. + +It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse +Speedeth ever and ever away - +Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, +Over streamlets that sing at their play; +And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, +While the ships they go sailing below, +And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast +Adjudge him some portent of woe. +"What ho there!" they cry, +As he flourishes by +With a whisk of his beautiful tail; +And the fish in the sea +Are as scared as can be, +From the nautilus up to the whale! + +And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those faraway lands +You little folk dream of at night - +Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, +And corn-fields with popcorn are white; +And the beasts in the wood are ever so good +To children who visit them there - +What glory astride of a lion to ride, +Or to wrestle around with a bear! +The monkeys, they say: +"Come on, let us play," +And they frisk in the cocoanut-trees: +While the parrots, that cling +To the peanut-vines, sing +Or converse with comparative ease! + +Off! scamper to bed - you shall ride him tonight! +For, as soon as you've fallen asleep, +With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away +Over forest and hillside and deep! +But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear +In those beautiful lands over there, +Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his faraway course +With the wee one consigned to his care. +Then grandma will cry +In amazement: "Oh, my!" +And she'll think it could never be so; +And only we two +Shall know it is true - +You and I, little precious! shall know! + + + +SWING HIGH AND SWING LOW + +Swing high and swing low +While the breezes they blow - +It's off for a sailor thy father would go; +And it's here in the harbor, in sight of the sea, +He hath left his wee babe with my song and with me: +"Swing high and swing low +While the breezes they blow!" + +Swing high and swing low +While the breezes they blow - +It's oh for the waiting as weary days go! +And it's oh for the heartache that smiteth me when +I sing my song over and over again: +"Swing high and swing low +While the breezes they blow!" + +"Swing high and swing low " - +The sea singeth so, +And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow; +And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea +Nor recketh he ever of mine or of me! +"Swing high and swing low +While the breezes they blow - +'T was off for a sailor thy father would go!" + + + +WHEN I WAS A BOY + +Up in the attic where I slept +When I was a boy, a little boy, +In through the lattice the moonlight crept, +Bringing a tide of dreams that swept +Over the low, red trundle-bed, +Bathing the tangled curly head, +While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek +With the dimples on the sun-browned cheek - +When I was a boy, a little boy! + +And, oh! the dreams - the dreams I dreamed! +When I was a boy, a little boy! +For the grace that through the lattice streamed +Over my folded eyelids seemed +To have the gift of prophecy, +And to bring me glimpses of times to be +When manhood's clarion seemed to call - +Ah! that was the sweetest dream of all, +When I was a boy, a little boy! + +I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep +When I was a boy, a little boy! +For in at the lattice the moon would peep, +Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep +The crosses and griefs of the years away +From the heart that is weary and faint to-day; +And those dreams should give me back again +A peace I have never known since then - +When I was a boy, a little boy! + + + +AT PLAY + +Play that you are mother dear, +And play that papa is your beau; +Play that we sit in the corner here, +Just as we used to, long ago. +Playing so, we lovers two +Are just as happy as we can be, +And I'll say "I love you" to you, +And you say "I love you" to me! +"I love you" we both shall say, +All in earnest and all in play. + +Or, play that you are that other one +That some time came, and went away; +And play that the light of years agone +Stole into my heart again to-day! +Playing that you are the one I knew +In the days that never again may be, +I'll say "I love you" to you, +And you say "I love you" to me! +I love you!" my heart shall say +To the ghost of the past come back to-day! + +Or, play that you sought this nestling-place +For your own sweet self, with that dual guise +Of your pretty mother in your face +And the look of that other in your eyes! +So the dear old loves shall live anew +As I hold my darling on my knee, +And I'll say "I love you" to you, +And you say "I love you" to me! +Oh, many a strange, true thing we say +And do when we pretend to play! + + + +A VALENTINE + +Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell +I love her well. +Yes, though she tramples on my heart +And rends that bleeding thing apart; +And though she rolls a scornful eye +On doting me when I go by; +And though she scouts at everything +As tribute unto her I bring - +Apple, banana, caramel - +Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, +In spite of all, I love her well! + +And further say I have a sled +Cushioned in blue and painted red! +The groceryman has promised I +Can "hitch" whenever he goes by - +Go, tell her that, and, furthermore, +Apprise my sweetheart that a score +Of other little girls implore +The boon of riding on that sled +Painted and hitched, as aforesaid; - +And tell her, Cupid, only she +Shall ride upon that sled with me! +Tell her this all, and further tell +I love her well. + + + +LITTLE ALL-ALONEY + +Little All-Aloney's feet +Pitter-patter in the hall, +And his mother runs to meet +And to kiss her toddling sweet, +Ere perchance he fall. +He is, oh, so weak and small! +Yet what danger shall he fear +When his mother hovereth near, +And he hears her cheering call: +"All-Aloney"? + +Little All-Aloney's face +It is all aglow with glee, +As around that romping-place +At a terrifying pace +Lungeth, plungeth he! +And that hero seems to be +All unconscious of our cheers - +Only one dear voice he hears +Calling reassuringly: +"All-Aloney!" + +Though his legs bend with their load, +Though his feet they seem so small +That you cannot help forebode +Some disastrous episode +In that noisy hall, +Neither threatening bump nor fall +Little All-Aloney fears, +But with sweet bravado steers +Whither comes that cheery call: +"All-Aloney!" + +Ah, that in the years to come, +When he shares of Sorrow's store, - +When his feet are chill and numb, +When his cross is burdensome, +And his heart is sore: +Would that he could hear once more +The gentle voice he used to hear - +Divine with mother love and cheer - +Calling from yonder spirit shore: +"All, all alone!" + + + +SEEIN' THINGS + +I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice, +An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! +I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed, +For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said, +Mother tells me "Happy dreams!" and takes away the light, +An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night! + +Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, +Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; +Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round +So softly an' so creepylike they never make a sound! +Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white - +But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night! + +Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street, +An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, +I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, +A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me - so! +Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite - +It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night! + +Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! +Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; +An' I am, oh! so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then +I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! +Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right +When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night! +An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, +I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; +An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at 's big an' nice, +I want to - but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! +No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight +Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night! + + + +THE CUNNIN' LITTLE THING + +When baby wakes of mornings, +Then it's wake, ye people all! +For another day +Of song and play +Has come at our darling's call! +And, till she gets her dinner, +She makes the welkin ring, +And she won't keep still till she's had her fill - +The cunnin' little thing! + +When baby goes a-walking, +Oh, how her paddies fly! +For that's the way +The babies say +To other folk "by-by"; +The trees bend down to kiss her, +And the birds in rapture sing, +As there she stands and waves her hands - +The cunnin' little thing! + +When baby goes a-rocking +In her bed at close of day, +At hide-and-seek +On her dainty cheek +The dreams and the dimples play; +Then it's sleep in the tender kisses +The guardian angels bring +From the Far Above to my sweetest love - +You cunnin' little thing! + + + +THE DOLL'S WOOING + +The little French doll was a dear little doll +Tricked out in the sweetest of dresses; +Her eyes were of hue +A most delicate blue +And dark as the night were her tresses; +Her dear little mouth was fluted and red, +And this little French doll was so very well bred +That whenever accosted her little mouth said +"Mamma! mamma!" + +The stockinet doll, with one arm and one leg, +Had once been a handsome young fellow; +But now he appeared +Rather frowzy and bleared +In his torn regimentals of yellow; +Yet his heart gave a curious thump as he lay +In the little toy cart near the window one day +And heard the sweet voice of that French dolly say: +"Mamma! mamma!" + +He listened so long and he listened so hard +That anon he grew ever so tender, +For it's everywhere known +That the feminine tone +Gets away with all masculine gender! +He up and he wooed her with soldierly zest +But all she'd reply to the love he professed +Were these plaintive words (which perhaps you have guessed): +"Mamma! mamma!" + +Her mother - a sweet little lady of five - +Vouchsafed her parental protection, +And although stockinet +Wasn't blue-blooded, yet +She really could make no objection! +So soldier and dolly were wedded one day, +And a moment ago, as I journeyed that way, +I'm sure that I heard a wee baby voice say: +"Mamma! mamma!" + + + +INSCRIPTION FOR MY LITTLE SON'S SILVER PLATE + +When thou dost eat from off this plate, +I charge thee be thou temperate; +Unto thine elders at the board +Do thou sweet reverence accord; +And, though to dignity inclined, +Unto the serving-folk be kind; +Be ever mindful of the poor, +Nor turn them hungry from the door; +And unto God, for health and food +And all that in thy life is good, +Give thou thy heart in gratitude. + + + +FISHERMAN JIM'S KIDS + +Fisherman Jim lived on the hill +With his bonnie wife an' his little boys; +'T wuz "Blow, ye winds, as blow ye will - +Naught we reck of your cold and noise!" +For happy and warm were he an' his, +And he dandled his kids upon his knee +To the song of the sea. + +Fisherman Jim would sail all day, +But, when come night, upon the sands +His little kids ran from their play, +Callin' to him an' wavin' their hands; +Though the wind was fresh and the sea was high, +He'd hear'em - you bet - above the roar +Of the waves on the shore! + +Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay +As the sun went down in a cloudy sky, +And never a kid saw he at play, +And he listened in vain for the welcoming cry. +In his little house he learned it all, +And he clinched his hands and he bowed his head - +"The fever!" they said. + +'T wuz a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim, +With them darlin's a-dyin' afore his eyes, +A-stretchin' their wee hands out to him +An' a-breakin' his heart with the old-time cries +He had heerd so often upon the sands; +For they thought they wuz helpin' his boat ashore - +Till they spoke no more. + +But Fisherman Jim lived on and on, +Castin' his nets an' sailin' the sea; +As a man will live when his heart is gone, +Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly, +Till once in those years they come an' said: +"Old Fisherman Jim is powerful sick - +Go to him, quick!" + +Then Fisherman Jim says he to me: +"It's a long, long cruise-you understand - +But over beyont the ragin' sea +I kin see my boys on the shinin' sand +Waitin' to help this ol' hulk ashore, +Just as they used to - ah, mate, you know! - +In the long ago." + +No, sir! he wuzn't afeard to die; +For all night long he seemed to see +His little boys of the days gone by, +An' to hear sweet voices forgot by me! +An' just as the mornin' sun come up - +"They're holdin' me by the hands!" he cried, +An' so he died. + + + +"FIDDLE-DEE-DEE" + +There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, +And all he could whistle was "Fiddle-dee-dee" - +A very provoking, unmusical song +For one to be whistling the summer day long! +Yet always contented and busy was he +With that vocal recurrence of "Fiddle-dee-dee." + +Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, +That weird iteration repented him sore; +"I prithee, Dear-Mother-Mine! fetch me my gun, +For, by our St. Didy! the deed must be done +That shall presently rid all creation and me +Of that ominous bird and his 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + +Then out came Dear-Mother-Mine, bringing her son +His awfully truculent little red gun; +The stock was of pine and the barrel of tin, +The "bang" it came out where the bullet went in - +The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree +For slaying all fowl that go "Fiddle-dee-dee"! + +The brave little soldier quoth never a word, +But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird; +And, while that vain creature provokingly sang, +The gun it went off with a terrible bang! +Then loud laughed the youth - "By my Bottle," cried he, +I've put a quietus on 'Fiddle-dee-dee'!" + +Out came then Dear-Mother-Mine, saying: "My son, +Right well have you wrought with your little red gun! +Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, +With such a brave soldier as You-My-Love here!" +She kissed the dear boy. +(The bird in the tree +Continued to whistle his "Fiddle-dee-dee") + + + +OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY + +Over the hills and far away, +A little boy steals from his morning play +And under the blossoming apple-tree +He lies and he dreams of the things to be: +Of battles fought and of victories won, +Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done - +Of the valor that he shall prove some day, +Over the hills and far away - +Over the hills, and far away! + +Over the hills and far away +It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day! +But it mattereth not to the soul aflame +With a love for riches and power and fame! +On, 0 man! while the sun is high - +On to the certain joys that lie +Yonder where blazeth the noon of day, +Over the hills and far away - +Over the hills, and far away! + +Over the hills and far away, +An old man lingers at close of day; +Now that his journey is almost done, +His battles fought and his victories won - +The old-time honesty and truth, +The trustfulness and the friends of youth, +Home and mother-where are they? +Over the hills and far away - +Over the years, and far away! + + + + + +End of this Project Gutenberg Etext of +Love-Songs of Childhood + diff --git a/old/tlsoc10.zip b/old/tlsoc10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0f95f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/tlsoc10.zip |