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Who can tell?"
Started a green linnet Out of the croft; Wake, little ladies, The sun is aloft!
--ALFRED LORD TENNYSON.
THE LAMB
Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice; Little Lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.
Little Lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb:--
He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child: I, a child, and thou, a lamb, We are called by His name.
Little Lamb, G.o.d bless thee; Little Lamb, G.o.d bless thee.
--WILLIAM BLAKE.
THE FAIRIES
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky sh.o.r.e Some make their home: They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.
By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!
--WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
SPRING
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!
--THOMAS NASH.
LADY MOON
"I love the moon and the moon loves me; G.o.d bless the moon and G.o.d bless me."--Old Song.
"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?"
"Over the sea."
"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?"
"All that love me."
"Are you not tired with rolling, and never Resting to sleep?
Why look so pale and so sad as forever Wis.h.i.+ng to weep?"
"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me; You are too bold.
I must obey the great Father above me, And do as I'm told."
--LORD HOUGHTON.
SONG TO NAOMI
Entreat me not to leave thee, Or to return from following after thee; For whither thou goest, I will go; And where thou lodgest, I will lodge; Thy people shall be my people, And thy G.o.d my G.o.d; Where thou diest, will I die, And there will I be buried; The Lord do so to me, And more also, If aught but death part thee and me.
--RUTH THE MOABITESS.
THIRD YEAR
THE WIND
I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pa.s.s, Like ladies' skirts across the gra.s.s; O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid.
I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all: O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
O you that are so strong and cold, O blower, are you young or old?
Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me?
O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!
--ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
ARIEL'S SONGS
I
Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry.
On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily.
Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
II
Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands: Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd The wild waves whist,-- Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark!
Bow-wow.
