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62 SONGS FOR CHILDHOOD.
I make the nettled sunbeam dance Against my sandy shallows.
I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses; I linger by my shingly bars ;
I loiter round my cresses ;
And out again I curve and flow To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever.
When round the fire the people crowd, And rub their hands and shiver;
When first is splitting stone and wall, And trees come crashing after�
That hates he not, he loves it all� Then bursts he out in laughter.
His home is by the North Pole's strand, Where earth and sea are frozen;
His summer-house, we understand. In Switzerland he's choseu.
Now from the North he's hither hied, To show his strength and power ;
And when he comes we stand aside, Aud look at him and cower.
" Be my fairy, mother,
Give me a wish a day; Something as well as suushine,
As when the rain-drops play."
"And if I were a fairy,
With but one wish to spare, What should I give thee, darling,
To quiet thiue earnest prayer ?"
" I'd like a little brook, mother,
All for my very own, To laugh all day among the trees,
And shine on the mossy stone;
" To run right under the window,
And sing me fast asleep; With soft steps and a teuder sound,
Over the grass to creep.
"Make it run down the hill, mother, With a leap like a tinkling bell,
So fast I never can catch the leaf That into its fountain fell.
" Make it as wild as a frightened bird.
As crazy as a bee, With a noise like the baby's funny laugh�
That's the brook for me!"
Frovi the German.
Old Winter is a sturdy one, And lasting stuff he's made of;
His flesh is firm as iron-stone, There's nothing he's afraid of.
He spreads his coat upon the heath,
Nor yet to warm it lingers; He scouts the thought of achiug teeth,
Or chilblains on his fingers.
Of flowers that bloom or birds that sing, Full little cares or knows he;
He hates the fire, and hates the spring, And all that's warm and cozy.
But when the foxes bark aloud On frozen lake and river�