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tie, |
SONGS FOR |
CHILDHOOD. |
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My school-roof is the dappled sky ;
And the bells that ring for me there Are all the voices of morning
Afloat in the dewy air. Kind Nature is the madam;
And the book whereout I spell Is dog's-eared by the brooks and glens,
Where I know the lesson well."
Thus the little girl answered,
In her musical outdoor tone: She was up to my pocket,
I was a man full-grown; But the next time that she goes to school
She will not go alone! |
But at times, like a pleasant tune,
A sweeter mood o'ertakes her; Oh, then she's as sunuy as skies of June, And all her pride forsakes her. Oh, she dances round me so fairly! Oh, her laugh rings out so rarely ! Oh, she coaxes, and nestles, and purrs, and pries In my puzzled face with her great two eyes, And owns she loves me dearly.
Ay, the queen is proud on her throne,
And proud are her maids so fine : But the proudest lady that ever was known Is this little lady of mine. Good lack! she flouts me, she flouts me, She spurns, and scorns, and scouts me; But ah! I've a notion it's naught but play, And that, say what she will and think what she may,
She can't well do without me. |
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THE PROUDEST LADY.
Thomas Westwood.
The queen is proud on her throne, And proud are her maids so fine, But the proudest lady that ever was known Is a little lady of mine. And oh, she flouts me, she flouts me, 'And spurns, and scorns, and scouts me ; Though I drop on my knee, and sue for grace, And beg and beseech with the saddest face, Still ever the same she doubts me.
She is seven by the calendar,
A lily's almost as tall; But oh, this little lady's by far The proudest lady of all. It's her sport and pleasure to flout me, To spurn, and scorn, and scout me ; But ah! I've a notion it's naught but play, And that, say what she will and feign what she may,
She can't well do without me.
When she rides on her nag away,
By park and road and river, In a little hat, so jaunty and gay, Oh, then she's prouder than ever! And oh, what faces, what faces! What petulaut, pert grimaces! Why, the very pony prances and winks, And tosses his head, and plainly thinks He may ape her airs and graces. |
FLOWERS.
Thomas Hooi>.
I will not have the mad clytie,
Whose head is turned by the sun: The tulip is a courtly quean,
Whom therefore I will shun : The cowslip is a country wench ;
The violet is a nun ; But I will woo the dainty rose,
The queen of every one.
The pea is but a wanton witch,
In too much haste to wed, And clasps her ring on every hand ;
The wolf's-bane I should dread; Nor will I dread rosemary,
That always mourns the dead ; But I will woo the dainty rose,
With her cheeks of tender red.
The lily is all iu white, like a saint,
And so is no mate for me ; And the daisy's cheek is tipped with a blush,
She is of such low degree; Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves;
And the broom's betrothed to the bee; But I will plight with the dainty rose,
For fairest of all is she. |
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