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SONGS FOE CHILDHOOD. |
97 |
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Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first�
For why ? They were too big.
Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down Into the country far away,
She pulled out half a crown ;
And thus unto the youth she said,
That drove them to the Bell, " This shall be yours, when you bring back
My husband safe and well."
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain ; Whom in a trice he tried to stop
By catching at his rein ;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels. The postboy's horse right glad to miss
The lumbering of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised a hue and cry�
"Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman!"
Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking, as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he had got up
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, long live the king! And Gilpin, long live he ! |
And when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see! |
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THE FIRST SNOW-FALL.
James Russell Lowell.
The snow had begun in the gloaming,
And busily all the night Had been heaping field and highway
With a silence deep and white.
Every pine, and fir, and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl;
And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch-deep with pearl.
From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came chanticleer's muffled crow;
The stiff rails were softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow.
I stood and watched by the window
The noiseless work of the sky, And the sudden flurries of snow-birds,
Like brown leaves whirling by.
I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn, Where a little head-stone stood�
How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the Babes in the Wood.
Up spoke our own little Mabel,
Saying, " Father, who makes it snow ?"
And I told of the good All-Father Who cares for us here below.
Again I looked at the snow-fall,
And thought of the leaden sky That arched o'er our first great sorrow,
When that mound was heaped so high.
I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow,
Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar of our deep-plunged woe.
And again to the child I whispered,
" The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father
Alone can make it fall!" |
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