brows;

Till, offended at such an unusual salute, They all turned their backs, and stood sulky and mute.

So on it went capering and playing its

pranks,

Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks,

Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, Or the traveller grave on the king's high

way.

It was not too nice to hustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags;

'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke

With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak.

Through the forest it roared, and cried gaily, "Now,

You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through.

Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,

Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a mid

summer swarm;

There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps,

To see if their poultry were free from mishaps;

The turkeys they gobbled, the geese

screamed aloud,

And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd;

There was rearing of ladders, and logs

laying on,

Where the thatch from the roof threatened

soon to be gone.

in a lane

With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain;

For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood

With his hat in a pool and his shoes in the mud.

Then away went the wind in its holiday glee,

And now it was far on the billowy sea, And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow,

And the little boats darted to and fro.

But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming West,

Laughing to think, in its fearful fun, How little of mischief it really had done.

Ann Taylor (1782-1866) and Jane Taylor (1783-1824), English writers of verse and prose for children, have earned a permanent place in the history of juvenile literature on account of the real worth of their work and because they were among the first authors to write poetry especially for children. They published jointly three volumes of verse for children: Original Poems for Infant Minds, Rhymes for the Nursery, and Hymns for Infant Minds. Many of their poems seem a little too didactic, but they were genuine in their ethical earnestness and largely succeeded in putting things in terms of the child's own comprehension. The four poems given here represent them at their best, which was good enough to win the admiration of Sir Walter Scott.

309

THE COW

ANN TAYLOR

Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread,

Every day and every night,
Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank,
Growing on the weedy bank;
But the yellow cowslips eat,
That will make it very sweet.

Where the purple violet grows,
Where the bubbling water flows,
Where the grass is fresh and fine,
Pretty cow, go there and dine.

310

MEDDLESOME MATTY

ANN TAYLOR

One ugly trick has often spoiled
The sweetest and the best;
Matilda, though a pleasant child,

One ugly trick possessed,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid,

To peep at what was in it;
Or tilt the kettle, if you did

But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.

Her grandmamma went out one day
And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid;

"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them

on,

As soon as grandmamma is gone."

Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,

The snuff-box too she spied:
"Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I'll open it," said little Matt.

"I know that grandmamma would say,
'Don't meddle with it, dear,'
But then, she's far enough away,

And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this?"
So thumb and finger went to work
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk

The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woeful case,
The snuff came puffing in her face.

Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth beside
A dismal sight presented;

In vain, as bitterly she cried,

Her folly she repented.

In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing else but sneeze.
She dashed the spectacles away,

To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,

Her grandmamma she spies. "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" Says grandmamma with lifted brow.. Matilda, smarting with the pain,

And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain

From meddling evermore.
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.

311

"I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY" JANE TAYLOR

I like little Pussy,

Her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her

She'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, Nor drive her away, But Pussy and I

Very gently will play;

She shall sit by my side,

And I'll give her some food; And she'll love me because

I am gentle and good.

I'll pat little Pussy,

And then she will purr, And thus show her thanks For my kindness to her; I'll not pinch her ears,

Nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her To use her sharp claw;

I never will vex her,

Nor make her displeased,

For Pussy can't bear

To be worried or teased.

312

THE STAR

JANE TAYLOR

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,
When he nothing shines upon,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveler in the dark
Thanks you for your tiny spark;
He could not see which way to go,
If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep,
And often through my curtains peep,
For you never shut your eye
Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveler in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star.

Although Christina G. Rossetti (1830-1894) is not known primarily as a writer for children, her Sing-Song, from which the next seven poems are taken, is a juvenile classic. She ranks very high among the women poets of the nineteenth century, her only equal being Mrs. Browning. Besides the brief poems in Sing-Song, Miss Rossetti's "Goblin Market" and "Uphill" please young people of a contemplative mood. While there is an undercurrent of sadness in much of her work, it is a natural accompaniment of her themes and is not unduly emphasized.

313

SELDOM OR NEVER

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

Seldom "can't,"

Seldom "don't";

Never "shan't,"

Never "won't."

314

AN EMERALD IS AS
GREEN AS GRASS

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

An emerald is as green as grass;

A ruby, red as blood;

A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; A flint lies in the mud.

A diamond is a brilliant stone

To catch the world's desire; An opal holds a fiery spark; But a flint holds fire.

315

BOATS SAIL ON THE RIVERS

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

Boats sail on the rivers,

And ships sail on the seas;

But clouds that sail across the sky

Are prettier far than these.

There are bridges on the rivers,

As pretty as you please;

But the bow that bridges heaven,

And overtops the trees,

And builds a road from earth to sky, Is prettier far than these.

316

A DIAMOND OR A COAL?

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

A diamond or a coal?

A diamond, if you please; Who cares about a clumsy coal Beneath the summer trees?

A diamond or a coal?

A coal, sir, if you please;

One comes to care about the coal At times when waters freeze.

317

THE SWALLOW

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

Fly away, fly away over the sea,

Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done;

Come again, come again, come back to me,

Bringing the summer and bringing the

sun.

318

WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

Who has seen the wind?

Neither I nor you:

But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing thro'.

Who has seen the wind?

Neither you nor I:

But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by.

319

MILKING TIME

CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI

When the cows come home the milk is

coming;

Honey's made while the bees are humming;

Duck and drake on the rushy lake,
And the deer live safe in the breezy brake;
And timid, funny, pert little bunny
Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.

320

William Brighty Rands (1823-1882), an English author writing under the name of "Matthew Browne," produced in hist Lilliput Lyrics a juvenile masterpiece containing much verse worthy to live. The two poems that follow are decidedly successful in catching that elusive something called the child's point of view.

THE PEDDLER'S CARAVAN

WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS

I wish I lived in a caravan
With a horse to drive, like a peddler-man!
Where he comes from nobody knows,
Or where he goes to, but on he goes!

His caravan has windows two,
And a chimney of tin, that the smoke
comes through;

He has a wife, with a baby brown,
And they go riding from town to town.

Chairs to mend, and delf to sell!
He clashes the basins like a bell;
Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order,
Plates, with alphabets round the border!

The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is like a bathing-machine; The world is round, and he can ride, Rumble and slash, to the other side!

With the peddler-man I should like to

roam,

And write a book when I came home; All the people would read my book, Just like the Travels of Captain Cook!

321

THE WONDERFUL WORLD

WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS

Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled,

And the wonderful grass upon your breast

World, you are beautifully dressed!

The wonderful air is over me,

poem that has held its own in children's collections. Its quiet mood of industry at one with the gentler influences of nature is especially appealing.

GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-
MORNING

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES

A fair little girl sat under a tree,
Sewing as long as her eyes could see;

Then smoothed her work and folded it right

And said, "Dear work, good-night, goodnight!"

Such a number of rooks came over her head,

bed,

She said, as she watched their curious flight,

"Little black things, good-night, goodnight!"

The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat! Bleat!" came over the road;

"Good little girl, good-night, good-night!" All seeming to say, with a quiet delight,

She did not say to the sun, "Goodnight!"

Though she saw him there like a ball of

light;

For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world and never could sleep.

The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; The violets curtsied, and went to bed; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer.

And while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day;