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MOTHER ROSEBUSH
There are roses that grow on a vine, on a vine,There are roses that grow on a stalk;But my little RoseGrows on ten little toes,So I'll take my Rose out for a walk.Come out in the garden, Rosy Posy,Come visit your cousins, child, with me!If you are my daughter, it stands to reasonYour own Mother Rosebush I must be.Now, here is your cousin Damask, Rosy!And, Rosy, here is your cousin Blush;General Jacqueminot,(Your uncle, you know,)Salutes you hero with his crimson flush.Here's Gloire de Dijon, a splendid fellow,All creamy and dreamy and soft and sweet;And Cloth-of-Gold, with his coat of yellow,Is dropping rose-nobles here at your feet.My Baltimore Belle, my Queen of the Prairie,Now, why are your ladyships looking so cross?Lord Butterfly, see!And Sir Honey de Bee,Have deserted them both for your sweet cousin Moss.All! Maréchal Niel, I am glad to observe, sir,You train up your buds in the way they should go,All buttoned up close; while careless NiphetosLets her children go fluttering to and fro.You whitest beauty, what is your name, now?"Snow Queen?" Ay, and it suits you well!And yonder, I see,Is my friend Cherokee,Who will not stop climbing, his name to tell;And hero and there are blushing and blowingCrimson and yellow and white and pink;Pale or angry, gleaming or glowing.The whole world's turning to roses, I think.Oh! fair is the rose on the vine, on the vine,And sweet is the rose on the tree;But there's only one RoseThat has ten little toes,And she is the Rose for me.Come, put on your calyx, Rosy Posy,Put on your calyx and come with me;For if you are my daughter, it stands to reason,Your own Mother Rosebush I must be.THE FIVE LITTLE PRINCESSES
Five little princesses started off to school,Following their noses, because it was the rule;But one nose turned up, and another nose turned down,So all these little princesses were lost in the town.Poor little princesses cannot find their way.Naughty little noses, to lead them astray!Poor little princesses, sadly they roam;Naughty little noses, pray lead them home!THE HORNET AND THE BEE
Said the hornet to the bee,"Pray you, will you marry me?Will you be my little wife,For to love me all my life?You shall have a velvet cloak,And a bonnet with a poke.You shall sit upon a chairWith a cabbage in your hair.You shall ride upon a horse,If you fancy such a course.You shall feed on venison pastyIn a manner trig and tasty;Devilled bones and apple-cores,If you like them, shall be yours.You shall drink both rum and wine,If you only will be mine.Pray you, will you marry me?"Said the hornet to the bee.Said the bee unto the hornet,"Your proposal, sir, I scorn it.Marry one devoid of money,Who can't make a drop of honey?Cannot even play the fiddle,And is pinched up in the middle?Nay, my love is set more high.Cockychafer's bride am I.Cockychafer whirring loud,Frisking free and prancing proud,Cockychafer blithe and gay,He hath stole my heart away.Him alone I mean to marry,So no longer you need tarry.Not another moment stay!Cockychafer comes this way.Your proposal, sir, I scorn it!"Said the bee unto the hornet.So the cockychafer came,Took the bee to be his dame.Took the bee to be his wife,For to love her all his life.Wedding dress of goblin green,Hat and feathers for a queen,Worsted mittens on her feet,Thus her toilet was complete.Then when it was time to dine,Cockychafer brought her wine,Roasted mouse and bunny-fish,Porridge in a silver dish;Lobster-claws and scalloped beast.Was not that a lovely feast?But when it was time to sup,Cockychafer ate her up.Thus concludes the historyOf the hornet and the bee.THE THREE LITTLE CHICKENS WHO WENT OUT TO TEA, AND THE ELEPHANT
Little chickens, one, two, three,They went out to take their tea,Brisk and gay as gay could be,Cackle wackle wackle!Feathers brushed all smooth and neat,Yellow stockings on their feet,Tails and tuftings all complete,Cackle wackle wackle!"Very seldom," said the three,"Like of us the world can see,Beautiful exceedingly,Cackle wackle wackle!Such our form and such our face,Such our Cochin China grace,We must win in beauty's race,Cackle wackle wackle!"Met an elephant large and wise,Looked at them with both his eyes:Caused these chickens great surprise,Cackle wackle wackle!"Why," they said, "do you supposeElephant doesn't look out of his nose,So very conveniently it grows?Cackle wackle wackle!"Elephant with nose so long,Sing on now a lovely song,As we gayly trip along,Cackle wackle wackle!Sing of us and sing of you,Sing of corn and barley too,Beauteous beast with eyes of blue,Cackle wackle wackle!"Elephant sang so loud and sweet,Chickens fell before his feet;For his love they did entreat,Cackle wackle wackle."Well-a-day! and woe is me!Would we all might elephants be!Then he'd marry us, one, two, three,Cackle wackle wackle!"Elephant next began to dance:Capered about with a stately pranceLearned from his grandmother over in France,Cackle wackle wackle!Fast and faster 'gan to tread,Trod on every chicken's head,Killed them all uncommonly dead,Cackle wackle wackle!MORALLittle chickens, one, two, three,When you're walking out to tea,Don't make love to all you see,Cackle wackle wackle!Elephants have lovely eyes,But to woo them is not wise,For they are not quite your size!Cackle wackle wackle!A LEGEND OF LAKE OKEEFINOKEE
There once was a frog,And he lived in a bog,On the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.And the words of the songThat he sang all day longWere, "Croakety croakety croaky."Said the frog, "I have foundThat my life's daily roundIn this place is exceedingly poky.So no longer I'll stop,But I swiftly will hopAway from Lake Okeefinokee."Now a bad mocking-birdBy mischance overheardThe words of the frog as he spokee.And he said, "All my lifeFrog and I've been at strife,As we lived by Lake Okeefinokee."Now I see at a glanceHere's a capital chanceFor to play him a practical jokee.So I'll venture to sayThat he shall not to-dayLeave the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."So this bad mocking-bird,Without saying a word,He flew to a tree which was oaky.And loudly he sang,Till the whole forest rang,"Oh! Croakety croakety croaky!"As he warbled this song,Master Frog came along,A-filling his pipe for to smokee,And he said, "'Tis some frogHas escaped from the bogOf Okeefinokee-finokee."I am filled with amazeTo hear one of my raceA-warbling on top of an oaky;But if frogs can climb trees,I may still find some easeOn the banks of Lake Okeefinokee."So he climbed up the tree;But alas! down fell he!And his lovely green neck it was brokee;And the sad truth to say,Never more did he strayFrom the banks of Lake Okeefinokee.And the bad mocking-birdSaid, "How very absurdAnd delightful a practical jokee!"But I'm happy to sayHe was drowned the next dayIn the waters of Okeefinokee.GRANDPAPA'S VALENTINE
I may not claim her lovely hand,My darling and my pride!I may not ask her to becomeMy bright and beauteous bride;The measure of my love for herMay not be said or sung;And all because I'm rather old,And she is rather young.I may not clasp her slender waist,And thread the mazy dance;I may not drive her in the Park,With steeds that neigh and prance.I may not tempt her with my lands,Nor buy her with my gold;And all because she's rather young,And I am rather old.She leaves me for a younger swain,A plump and beardless boy.She slights me for a sugar-plum,Neglects me for a toy.And worst of all, this state of thingsCan never altered be;For I am nearly sixty-eight,And she is only three.ALIBAZAN
All on the road to Alibazan,A May Day in the morning,'Twas there I met a bonny young man,A May Day in the morning;A bonny young man all dressed in blue,Hat and feather and stocking and shoe,Ruff and doublet and mantle too,A May Day in the morning.He made me a bow, and he made me three,A May Day in the morning;He said, in truth, I was fair to see,A May Day in the morning."And say, will you be my sweetheart now?I'll marry you truly with ring and vow;I've ten fat sheep and a black-nosed cow,A May Day in the morning."What shall we buy in Alibazan,A May Day in the morning?A pair of shoes and a feathered fan,A May Day in the morning.A velvet gown all set with pearls,A silver hat for your golden curls,A pot of pinks for my pink of girls,A May Day in the morning."All in the streets of Alibazan,A May Day in the morning,The merry maidens tripped and ran,A May Day in the morning.And this was fine, and that was free,But he turned from them all to look on me;And "Oh! but there's none so fair to see,A May Day in the morning."All in the church of Alibazan,A May Day in the morning,'Twas there I wed my bonny young man,A May Day in the morning.And oh! 'tis I am his sweetheart now!And oh! 'tis we are happy, I trow,With our ten fat sheep and our black-nosed cow,A May Day in the morning.THE THREE FISHERS
John, Frederick, and Henry,Had once a holiday;And they would go a-fishing,So merry and so gay.They went to fish for salmon,These little children three;As in this pretty pictureYou all may plainly see.It was not in the ocean,Nor from the river shore,But in the monstrous water-buttOutside the kitchen door.And John he had a fish-hook,And Fred a crooked pin,And Henry took his sister's net,And thought it was no sin.They climbed up on the ladder,Till they the top did win;And then they perched upon the edge,And then they did begin.But how their fishing prospered,Or if they did it well,Or if they caught the salmon,I cannot, cannot tell.Because I was not there, you know,But I can only sayThat I too went a-fishing,That pleasant summer day.It was not for a salmon,Or shark with monstrous fin,But it was for three little boys,All dripping to the skin.PEEPSY
[After the manner of Jane Taylor.]Our Julia has a little bird,And Peepsy is his name;And now I'll sing a little songTo celebrate the same.He's yellow all from head to foot,And he is very sweet,And very little trouble, forHe never wants to eat.He never asks for water clear,He never chirps for seed,For cracker, or for cuttlefish,For sugar or chickweed."Oh! what a perfect pet!" you cry,But there's one little thing,One drawback to the bonny bird, —Our Peepsy cannot sing.He chirps no song at dawn or eve,He makes no merry din;But this one cannot wonder at,For Peepsy's made of tin.MAY SONG
On a certain First of May,So they say,Came two merry little maidsOut to play.Brown-haired Jeanie, sweet and wise,Fair-haired Norah, with her eyesBlue as are the morning skies.Each in cap and kirtle gay,Pretty little maids were they;Light of heart and well content,Through the fields they singing went,On a merry First of May,So they say.On this merry First of May,So they say,Came two sturdy little ladsBy that way.Miller's Robin from the mill,Shepherd's Johnnie from the hill;Bonny little lads, I trow,Sunny eyes and open brow,Ruddy cheeks and curly hair,Sturdy legs all brown and bare,Through the fields they marched along,Whistling each his cheery song,On a merry First of May,So they say.On this merry First of May,So they say,Lads and lasses, there they metOn their way.Said the lads, "We'll choose a queen!May Day comes but once, I ween.Search we all the country round,Sweeter maids could not be found."Laughed the lasses merrily,"Ay! but which one shall it be?John and Robin, tell us true,Which is fairer of the two,On this merry First of May?Quickly say!"On this merry First of May,So they say,Shepherd Johnnie hushed his whistleBlithe and gay;"Brown eyes are more fair," said he,"For they shine so winsomely!""Nay!" quoth Robin, "'tis confessedBlue eyes always are the best!Fair-haired Norah wins the prize!""That she does not!" Johnnie cries;"Norah's well enough, but Jean,Brown and sweet, shall be the queenOn this merry First of May!Choose my way!"On this merry First of May,So they say,Soon to earnest turned their play.Well-a-day!Loud and angry words arose,Angry words soon turned to blows;John and Robin o'er the groundChase each other round and round,Kicking, cuffing, here and there,Shouting through the sweet May air:"Jeanie!" "Norah! – is more fair!"While the little maids aside,Blue eyes, brown eyes, open wideOn this stormy First of May,Well-a-day!On this merry First of May,So they say,Jean and Norah stole awayFrom the fray."Silly lads!" they laughing cried,"Let them as they will decide;Shall we while they quarrel, pray,Lose our pretty holiday?Come away, and we may findOther lads, who know their mind.Or if not, why then, I ween,Each will be the other's queen,On this merry First of May.Come away!"TWO LITTLE VALENTINES
[For two little girls.]IYoung Rosalind, she is my rose!I care not who the secret knows;So deep within my heart she grows,Her constant bloom no winter knows;Sweet Rosalind, she is my rose.Alas! this rose hath yet a thorn,Whereon my heart is daily torn.The love I proffer her each morn,That love she flings me back in scorn.But shall I therefore idly mourn?She'd be no rose without the thorn.IIWhen the ivory lily darkens,When the jealous rose turns pale,Then I say, "My Julia's coming!'Tis a sign will never fail."When the bobolink is silent,When the linnet stays her trill,Then I say, "My Julia's singing!At her voice the birds are still."When I feel two velvet rose-leavesTouch my eyes on either lid,Then I say, "My Julia kissed me!"And she answers, "Yes, me did!"A HOWL ABOUT AN OWL
It was an owl lived in an oak,Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!He often smiled, but he seldom spoke,And he wore a wig and a camlet cloak.Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!He fell in love with the chickadee,Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!He askèd her, would she marry he,And they'd go and live in Crim Tartaree.Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!"'Tis true," says he, "you are far from big."Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!"But you'll look twice as well when I've bought you a wig,And I'll teach you the Lancers and the Chorus Jig."Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!"I'll feed you with honey when the moon grows pale."Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!"I'll hum you a hymn, and I'll sing you a scale,Till you quiver with delight to the tip of your tail!"Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!So he went for to marry of the chickadee,Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!But the sun was so bright that he could not see,So he marrièd the hoppergrass instead of she.And wasn't that a sad disappointment for he!Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!OUR CELEBRATION
Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!Popguns all a-snapping, and banners all a-flapping, —Off go the fire-crackers, bang! bang! bang!Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!Fish-horns all a-tooting, and schoolboys all a-hooting, —Off the torpedoes go, crack! crack! crack!Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!Pin-wheels all a-turning, and fingers all a-burning, —Off go the fireworks, fizz! fizz! fizz!Off goes our little Ned, boo-hoo-hoo!Off goes our little Ned, boo-hoo-hoo!Big hole in his jacket, and another in his pocket,Half the hair singed off his head,Off goes our little Ned, —Mamma'll put him straight to bed, boo-hoo-hoo!THE SONG OF THE CORN-POPPER
Pip! pop! flippety flop!Here am I, all ready to pop.Girls and boys, the fire burns clear;Gather about the chimney here.Big ones, little ones, all in a row.Hop away! pop away! here we go!Pip! pop! flippety flop!Into the bowl the kernels drop.Sharp and hard and yellow and small;Must say they don't look good at all.But wait till they burst into warm white snow!Hop away! pop away! here we go!Pip! pop! flippety flop!Don't fill me too full; shut down the top!Rake out the coals in an even bed,Topaz yellow and ruby red;Shade your eyes from the fiery glow.Hop away! pop away! here we go!Pip! pop! flippety flop!Shake me steadily; do not stop!Backward and forward, not up and down;Don't let me drop, or you'll burn it brown.Never too high and never too low.Hop away! pop away! here we go!Pip! pop! flippety flop!Now they are singing, and soon they'll hop.Hi! the kernels begin to swell;Ho! at last they are dancing well.Puffs and fluffs of feathery snow,Hop away! pop away! here we go!Pip! pop! flippety flop!All full, little ones? Time to stop!Pour out the snowy, feathery mass;Here is a treat for lad and lass.Open your mouths now, all in a row;Munch away! crunch away! here we go!WHAT BOBBY SAID
I don't think it's right!I don't think it's fair!I don't like EasterAt all! so there!It's only becauseI'm young, you see,They think they can playTheir tricks upon me.They brought me an egg,And a beauty, too!All golden yellow,With stripes of blue.They said 'twas a true egg,A truly true!And, of course, I supposedIt was so all through;But when it was opened,Just think what a shame!'Twas just like the white ones,Just 'zactly the same!Part white and part yellow,No bit of it blue,And it tasted the sameAs the other ones, too.I don't think it's right,And I don't think it's fair,And I don't like EasterAt all! so there!MASTER JACK'S VIEWS
[After a lesson in astronomy.]The merry old World goes round, goes round,And round the old World does go;Day in, day out, from west to east,At a pace that is far from slow.And he's never been known to change his pace,Or swerve an inch from his course,Though his journey so easily shortened might be,By cutting his orbit across.If I were you, you silly old World,I know well what I 'd do:Break loose from that tiresome orbit-track,And go spinning the Universe through.I'd startle the stars from their morning nap,With a "How do you do to-day?"And before any one could take off his night-cap,I'd be millions of miles away.I'd warm my hands at the gate of the Sun,And cool them off at the Pole;Then off and away down the Milky Way,How merrily I would roll!I'd steal from Saturn his golden rings,From Mars his mantle of red;And I'd borrow the sword of Orion the brave,To cut off the Serpent's head.I'd saddle the Bear, and ride on his back,Nor dream of being afraid;And maybe I'd stop at the Archer's shop,To see how the rainbows are made.I'd race with the comets, I'd flirt with the moon,I'd waltz with the Northern Lights,Till the whole Solar System should hold up its handsAnd exclaim, "What remarkable sights!"But stay! to all these delightful thingsOne slight objection I see;For if the World should play these wonderful pranks.Pray, what would become of me?And what would become of papa and mamma?And what would become of you?And how should we like to go spinning about,And careering the Universe through?Well, the merry old World goes round, goes round,And round the old World does go;And a great deal better than you or I,The wise old World must know!EMILY JANE
Oh! Christmas time is coming again,And what shall I buy for Emily Jane?O Emily Jane, my love so true,Now what upon earth shall I buy for you?My Emily Jane, my doll so dear,I've loved you now for many a year,And still while there's anything left of you,My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!My Emily Jane has lost her head,And has a potato tied on instead;A hole for an eye, and a lump for a nose,It really looks better than you would suppose.My Emily Jane has lost her arms,The half of one leg's the extent of her charms;But still, while there's anything left of you,My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!And now, shall I bring you a fine new head,Or shall I bring you a leg instead?Or will you have arms, to hug me tight,When naughty 'Lizabeth calls you a fright?Or I'll buy you a dress of satin so fine,'Mong all the dolls to shimmer and shine;For oh! while there's anything left of you,My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!Mamma says, "Keep all your pennies, Sue,And I'll buy you a doll all whole and new;"But better I love my dear old doll,With her one half-leg and potato poll."The potato may rot, and the leg may fall?"Well, then I shall treasure the sawdust, that's all!For while there is anything left of you,My Emily Jane, I'll love you true!SONG OF THE MOTHER WHOSE CHILDREN ARE FOND OF DRAWING
Oh, could I find the forestWhere the pencil-trees grow!Oh, might I see their stately stemsAll standing in a row!I'd hie me to their grateful shade;In deep, in deepest bliss;For then I need not hourly hearA chorus such as this:Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, please, Mamma!Oh, draw me some houses and trees, Mamma!Oh, make me a floppyGreat poppy to copy,And a horsey that prances and gees, Mamma!The branches of the pencil-treeAre pointed every one;Ay! each one has a glancing pointThat glitters in the sun.The leaves are leaves of paper white,All fluttering in the breeze;Ah! could I pluck one rustling bough,I'd silence cries like these:Chorus. Oh, lend me a pencil, do, Mamma!I've got mine all stuck in the glue, Mamma!Oh, make me a prettyBig barn and a city,And a cow and a steam-engine too, Mamma!The fruit upon the pencil-treeHangs ripening in the sun,In clusters bright of pocket-knives, —Three blades to every one.Ah! might I pluck one shining fruit,And plant it by my door,The pleading cries, the longing sighs,Would trouble me no more.Chorus. Oh, sharpen a pencil for me, Mamma!'Cause Johnny and Baby have three, Mamma!And this isn't fine!And Hal sat down on mine!So do it bee-yu-ti-ful-lee, Mamma!THE SEVEN LITTLE TIGERS AND THE AGED COOK
Seven little tigers they sat them in a row,Their seven little dinners for to eat;And each of the troop had a little plate of soup,The effect of which was singularly neat.They were feeling rather cross, for they hadn't any sauceTo eat with their pudding or their pie;So they rumpled up their hair, in a spasm of despair,And vowed that the aged cook should die.Then they called the aged cook, and a frying-pan they took,To fry him very nicely for their supper;He was ninety-six years old, on authority I'm told,And his name was Peter Sparrow-piper Tupper."Mr. Sparrow-piper Tup, we intend on you to sup!"Said the eldest little tiger very sweetly;But this naughty aged cook, just remarking, "Only look!"Chopped the little tiger's head off very neatly.Then he said unto the rest, "It has always been confessedThat a tiger's better eating than a man;So I'll fry him for you now, and you all will find, I trow,That to eat him will be much the better plan."So they tried it in a trice, and found that it was nice,And with rapture they embracèd one another;And they said, "By hook or crook, we must keep this aged cook;So we'll ask him to become our elder brother."[Which they accordingly did.]AGAMEMNON
About a king I have to tell,Of all the woes that him befellThrough those who should have served him well,Poor Agamemnon!How he was huffed and cuffed about,And tossed from windows, in and out,With jest and gibe and eldritch shout,Poor Agamemnon!Of worsted was the monarch made,Of gayest colors neatly laidIn each imaginable shade,Poor Agamemnon!His trousers were of scarlet hue,His jacket of celestial blue,With snow-white tunic peeping through,Poor Agamemnon!When he was young and in his prime,On Christmas tree, in Christmas time,He glowed like bird of tropic clime,Poor Agamemnon!His swarthy cheek, his beard of brown,His gay attire and golden crown,Showed him a king of high renown,Poor Agamemnon!The children, learning then to poreO'er Father Homer's god-like lore,Cried, "See! the king of men once more,Great Agamemnon!Now, when we play the siege of Troy,Achilles, Hector, Ajax boy,With us the fighting he'll enjoy,Great Agamemnon!"But well-a-day! the war began,And Greek and Trojan, man to man,In god-like fury raged and ran,Poor Agamemnon!'Twas Ajax seized the king, I trow,And, using him as weapon now,Did smite bold Hector on the brow,Poor Agamemnon!Then fierce and fell the contest grew;From hand to hand the monarch flew,Still clutched and hurled with fury new,Poor Agamemnon!His beaded eyes wept tears of shame,His worsted cheeks with wrath did flame;In vain he called each hero's name,Poor Agamemnon!At length great Hector seized the kingAnd gave his mighty arm a swing,Then upward soared with sudden fling,Poor Agamemnon!Upon the high-pitched roof fell he,And there, from Greek and Trojan free,He lay for all the world to see,Poor Agamemnon!The fierce sun beat upon his head,The rain washed white his trousers red,The moon looked down on him and said,"Poor Agamemnon!"His gold and blue were gray and brown,When Ajax, chief of high renown,The roof-tree scaled, and brought him down,Poor Agamemnon!And now within the nursery,In doll-house parlor you may seeHis dim and faded majesty,Poor Agamemnon!And still each little naughty boy,Ranging the cupboards for some toy,Cries out, "Aha! the siege of Troy!Poor Agamemnon!"