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And his trousers considering not very much | Why, there he is ! Punch and Judy hunting, the
patched, and red plush, they was once his young wretch, it's that Billy as sartin Father's best pair.
as sin ! His shirt, it's very lucky I'd got washing in the But let me get him home, with a good grip of
tub, or that might have gone with the his hair, and I'm blest if he shall have a rest;
whole bone in his skin!
THOMAS HOOD. Bat he'd got on a very good pinafore with only
two slits and a burn on the breast. He'd a goodish sort of hat, if the crown was
sewed in, and not quite so much jagged at LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD
the brim. With one shoe on, and the other shoe is a boot,
COME back, come back together, and not a fit, and you 'll know by that
All ye fancies of the past, if it's him.
Ye days of April weather, And then he has got such dear winning ways
Ye shadows that are cast but O, I never, never shall see him no
By the haunted hours before ! more!
Come back, come back, my Childhood ; O dear! to think of losing him just after nussing
Thou art summoned by a spell • him back from death's door !
From the green leaves of the wildwood, Only the very last month when the windfalls,
From beside the charméd well, hang 'em, was at twenty a penny.!
For Red Riding Hood, the darling, And the threepence he'd got by grottoing was
The flower of fairy lore! spent in plums, and sixty for a child is
The fields were covered over too many.
With colors as she went; And the Cholera man came and whitewashed us
Daisy, buttercup, and clover all, and, drat him I made a seize of our
Below her footsteps bent; hog. —
Summer shed its shining store ; It's no use to send the Crier to cry him about,
She was happy as she pressed them he's such a blunderin' drunken old dog ;
Beneath her little feet; The last time he was fetched to find a lost child
She plucked them and caressed them ; he was guzzling with his bell at the
They were so very sweet,
They had never seemed so sweet before, And went and cried a boy instead of a girl, for
To Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore.
How the heart of childhood dances
Upon a sunny day I'm scared when I think of them Cabroleys, they
It has its own romances, drive so, they'd run over their own Sisters
And a wide, wide world have they ! and Brothers.
A world where Phantasie is king, Or maybe he's stole by some chimbly-sweeping
Made all of eager dreaming ; wretch, to stick fast in narrow flues and
When once grown up and tall what not,
Now is the time for scheming And be poked up behind with a picked pointed
Then we shall do them all! pole, when the soot has ketched, and the
Do such pleasant fancies spring chimbly 's red hot.
For Red Riding Hood, the darling, 0, I'd give the whole wide world, if the world
The flower of fairy lore ?
She seems like an ideal love,
soon come back, you 'll see me drop stone And yet loved with a real love,
As if she were our own, —
A younger sister for the heart;
Her hair is brown and bright;
but a child don't not feel like a child till With its rosy light.
Never can the memory part
And to his little daughter Jane
Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day,
Which might not be controlled ; But if the children chanced to die
Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth,
For so the will did run.
“Now, brother," said the dying man,
“Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else I have here."
“O brother kind," quoth she, “You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or misery.
“And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward ; If otherwise you seem to deal,
God will your deeds regard." With lips as cold as any stone
She kissed her children small : “God bless you both, my children dear,”
With that the tears did fall.
Their parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And much of them he makes.
A twelvemonth and a day,
To make them both away.
He bargained with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
And slay them in a wood.
He did the children send
With one that was his friend.
Away then went these pretty babes,
Rejoicing at that tide, Rejoicing with a merry mind,
They should on cock-horse ride ; They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the way, To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives' decay,
With Red Riding Hood, the darling,
The flower of fairy lore. Did the painter, dreaming
In a morning hour, Catch the fairy seeming Of this fairy flower ?
Winning it with eager eyes
Lingering with a long delight
Giving us a sweet surprise
The flower of fairy lore ?
Where the cowslip bends,
Did the little maiden stay.
We, too, loiter mid life's flowers,
All love lingering on their way,
LÆTITIA ELIZABETH LANDON.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
Now ponder well, you parents dear,
The words which I shall write ; A doleful story you shall hear,
In time brought forth to light :
In Norfolk lived of late,
Most men of his estate.
Sore sick he was, and like to die,
No help then he could have ;
And both possessed one grave.
Each was to other kind ;
And left two babes behind :
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three years old ;
And made in beauty's mould.
As plainly doth appear, When he to perfect age
come, Three hundred pounds a year,
So that the pretty speech they had
Made Murder's heart relent ; And they that undertook the deed
Full sore they did repent.
Yet one of them, more hard of heart,
Did vow to do his charge, Because the wretch that hired him
Had paid him very large.
The other would not agree thereto,
So here they fell at strife ; With one another they did fight,
About the children's life; And he that was of mildest mood
Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood ;
While babes did quake for fear.
The fellow that did take in hand
These children for to kill Was for a robber judged to die,
As was God's blessed will ; Who did confess the very truth,
The which is here expressed ; Their uncle died while he, for debt,
In prison long did rest.
And overseers eke,
And infants mild and meek,
And yield to each his right, Lest God with such-like misery Your wicked minds requite.
He took the children by the hand
When tears stood in their eye,
And look they did not cry ;
While they for food complain : “Stay here," quoth he, “I'll bring you bread
When I do come again."
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and down, But nevermore they saw the man
Approaching from the town. Their pretty lips with blackberries
Were all besmeared and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night
They sate them down and cried.
Thus wandered these two pretty babes
Till death did end their grief; In one another's arms they died,
As babes wanting relief.
Of any man receives,
Did cover them with leaves.
A LITTLE in the doorway sitting,
THE GAMBOLS OF CHILDREN.
And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell ;
His conscience felt an hell.
His lands were barren made ; His cattle died within the field,
And nothing with him stayed.
Two of his sons did die ;
To extreme misery.
Ere seven years came about ;
Did by this means come out :
Down the dimpled greensward dancing
Bursts a flaxen-headed bevy,
Love's irregular little levy.
How they glimmer, how they quiver ! Sparkling one another after,
Like bright ripples on a river.
Tipsy band of rubious faces,
Flushed with Joy's ethereal spirit, Make your mocks and sly grimaces
At Love's self, and do not fear it.
Not willing to be left - still by my side,
lying ; Or by the couch of pain, a sitter meek, Watch the dim eye, and kiss the fevered cheek.
UNDER MY WINDOW.
UNDER my window, under my window, O boy ! of such as thou are oftenest made
Earth's fragile idols ; like a tender flower, Three little girls with fluttering curls
No strength in all thy freshness, prone to fade, Flit to and fro together :
And bending weakly to the thunder-shower; There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, Still, round the loved, thy heart found force to And Mand with her mantle of silver-green,
bind, And Kate with her scarlet feather.
And clung, like woodbine shaken in the wind ! Under my window, under my window, Then Thou, my merry love, bold in thy glee, Leaning stealthily over,
Under the bough, or by the firelight dancing, Merry and clear, the voice I hear,
With thy sweet temper, and thy spirit free, Of each glad-hearted rover.
Didst come, as restless as a bird's wing glan. Ah ! sly little Kate, she steals my roses ;
cing, And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, Full of a wild and irrepressible mirth, As merry as bees in clover.
Like a young sunbeam to the gladdened earth! Under my window, under my window,
Thine was the shout, the song, the burst of joy, In the blue Midsummer weather,
Which sweet from childhood's rosy lip reStealing slow, on a hushed tiptoe,
soundeth ; I catch them all together :
Thine was the eager spirit naught could cloy, Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,
And the glad heart from which all grief reAnd Mand with her mantle of silver-green,
boundeth ; And Kate with the scarlet feather.
And many a mirthful jest and mock reply
Lurked in the laughter of thy dark-blue eye. Under my window, under my window, And off through the orchard closes ;
And thine was many an art to win and bless, While Mand she flouts, and Bell she pouts,
The cold and stern to joy and fondness warm. They scamper and drop their posies ;
ing; But dear little Kate takes naught amiss,
The coaxing smile, the frequent soft caress, And leaps in my arms with a loving kiss,
The earnest, tearful prayer all wrath disarmAnd I give her all my roses.
ing! Again my heart a new affection found, But thought that love with thee had reached its
bound. THE MOTHER'S HEART.
At length thou camest, — thou, the last and When first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond,
least, My eldest born, first hope, and dearest treasure,
Nicknamed “the Emperor" by thy laughing My heart received thee with a joy beyond
brothers, All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure ;
Because a haughty spirit swelled thy breast, Nor thought that any love again might be
And thou didst seek to rule and sway the So deep and strong as that I felt for thee.
Mingling with every playful infant wile
Anel natural piety that leaned to heaven ;
Yen patient to rebukę when justly given ; An eye of resolute and successful scheming ! Obedient, casy to be reconciled,
Fair shoulders, curling lips, and dauntless brow, And meekly cheerful ; such wert thou, my Fit for the world's strife, not for poet's dream.
Organ finer, deeper, clearer,
Thongh it be a stranger's tone, Than the winds or waters dearer, More enchanting to the hearer,
For it answereth to his own. But, of all its witching words, Those are sweetest, bubbling wild Through the laughter of a child.
Harmonies from time-touched towers,
Haunted strains from rivulets, Hum of bees among the flowers, Rustling leaves, and silver showers,
These, erelong, the ear forgets ; But in mine there is a sound Ringing on the wbole year round, Heart-deep laughter that I heard Ere my child could speak a word.
Nor sheep nor kine were near ; the lamb was
all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone ; With one knee on the grass did the little
maiden kneel, While to that mountain-lamb she gave its
evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his
supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears; and his
tail with pleasure shook. “Drink, pretty creature, drink !” she said, in
such a tone That I almost received her heart into my own. 'T was little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of
beauty rare ! I watched them with delight: they were
Ah! 't was heard by ear far purer,
Fondlier formed to catch the strain, Ear of one whose love is surer, Hers, the mother, the endurer
of the deepest share of pain ;