Verses for Children Part 2

Mother said, and it's sadly true, "There are some wrong things one can never undo."

And nothing that we could do or say Would bring life back to the birds that day.

The bitterest tears that we could weep Wouldn't wake them out of their stiff cold sleep.

But then, We--Susan and Jem and I--mean never to be so selfish, and wilful, and cruel again.

And we three have buried those other three In a soft, green, moss-covered, flower-lined grave at the foot of the willow tree.

And all the leaves which its branches shed We think are tears because they are dead.

DOLLY'S LULLABY.

A NURSERY RHYME

Hush-a-by, Baby! _Your_ baby, Mamma, No one but p.u.s.s.y may go where you are; Soft-footed p.u.s.s.y alone may pa.s.s by, For, if he wakens, your baby will cry.

Hush-a-by, Dolly! My baby are you, Yellow-haired Dolly, with eyes of bright blue; Though I say "Hus.h.!.+" because Mother does so, You wouldn't cry like her baby, I know!

Hush-a-by, Baby! Mamma walks about, Sings to you softly, or rocks you without; If you slept sounder, then I might walk too, Sing to my Dolly, and rock her like you!

Hush-a-by Dolly! Sleep sweetly, my pet!

Dear Mamma made you this fine berceaunette, Muslin and rose-colour, ribbon and lace; When had a baby a cosier place?

Hush-a-by, Baby! the baby who cries.

Why, dear Mamma, don't you shut baby's eyes?

Pull down his wire, as I do, you see; Lay him by Dolly, and come out with me.

Hush-a-by, Dolly! Mamma will not speak; You, my dear baby, would sleep for a week.

Poor Mamma's baby allows her no rest, Hush-a-by, Dolly, of babies the best!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

A HERO TO HIS HOBBY-HORSE.

Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!

Time is it that you and I won something more than races.

I have got a fine c.o.c.ked hat, with feathers proudly waving; Out into the world we'll go, both death and danger braving.

Doubt not that I know the way--the garden-gate is clapping: Who forgot to lock it last deserves his fingers slapping.

When they find we can't be found, oh won't there be a chorus!

You and I may laugh at that, with all the world before us.

All the world, the great green world that lies beyond the paling!

All the sea, the great round sea where ducks and drakes are sailing!

I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander Out into that gra.s.sy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.

Months ago, my faithful steed, that Goose attacked your master; How it hissed, and how I cried! It ran, but I ran faster!

Down upon my face I fell, its awful wings were o'er me, Mother came and picked me up, and off to bed she bore me.

Months have pa.s.sed, my faithful steed, both you and I are older, Sheathless is my wooden sword, my heart I think is bolder.

Always ready bridled thou, with reins of crimson leather; Woe betide the Goose to-day who meets us both together!

Up then now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces!

Time it is that you and I won something more than races.

I a knight, my charger thou, together we will wander Out into that gra.s.sy waste where dwells the Goosey Gander.

THE DOLLS' WASH.

Sally is the laundress, and every Sat.u.r.day She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away.

Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk; When she's good-humoured we like to go and watch her at work.

She has tubs and a copper in the wash-house, and a great big fire and plenty of soap; And outside is the drying-ground with tall posts, and pegs bought from the gipsies, and long lines of rope.

The laundry is indoors with another big fire, and long tables, and a lot of irons, and a crimping-machine; And horses (not live ones with tails, but clothes-horses) and the same starch that is used by the Queen.

Sally wears pattens in the wash-house, and turns up her sleeves, and splashes, and rubs, And makes beautiful white lather which foams over the tops of the tubs, Like waves at the seaside das.h.i.+ng against the rocks, only not so strong.

If I were Sally I should sit and blow soap-bubbles all the day long.

Sally is angry sometimes because of the way we dirty our frocks, Making mud pies, and rolling down the lawn, and climbing trees, and scrambling over the rocks.

She says we do it on purpose, and never try to take care; But if things have got to go to the wash, what can it matter how dirty they are?

Last week Mary and I got a lot of kingcups from the bog, and I carried them home in my skirt; It was the end of the week, and our frocks were done, so we didn't mind about the dirt.

But Sally was as cross as two sticks, and won't wash our dolls'

clothes any more--so she said,-- But never mind, for we'll ask Mamma if we may have a real Dolls'

Wash of our own instead.

Mamma says we may on one condition, to which we agree; We're to _really_ wash the dolls' clothes, and make them just what clean clothes should be.

She says we must wash them thoroughly, which of course we intend to do, We mean to rub, wring, dry, mangle, starch, iron, and air them too.

A regular wash must be splendid fun, and everybody knows That any one in the world can wash out a few dirty clothes.

Well, we've had the Dolls' Wash, but it's only pretty good fun.

We're glad we've had it, you know, but we're gladder still that it's done.

As we wanted to have as big a wash as we could, we collected everything we could muster, From the dolls' bed dimity hangings to Victoria's dress, which I'd used as a duster.

It was going to the wash, and Mary and I were house-maids--fancy house-maids, I mean-- And I took it to dust the bookshelf, for I knew it would come back clean.

Well, we washed in the wash-hand-basin, which holds a good deal, as the things are small; We made a glorious lather, and splashed half over the floor; but the clothes weren't white after all.

However, we hung them out in our drying-ground in the garden, which we made with dahlia-sticks and long strings, And then Dash went and knocked over one of the posts, and down in the dirt went our things!

So we washed them again and hung them on the towel-horse, and most of them came all right, But Victoria's muslin dress--though I rinsed it again and again--will never dry white!

And the grease-spots on Mary's doll's dress don't seem to come out, and we can't think how they got there; Unless it was when we made that Maca.s.sar-oil, because she has real hair.

I knew mine was going to the wash, but I'm sorry I used it as a duster before it went; We think dirty clothes perhaps shouldn't be _too_ dirty before they are sent.

We had sad work in trying to make the starch--I wonder what the Queen does with hers?

I stirred mine up with a candle, like Sally, but it only made it worse; So we had to ask Mamma's leave to have ours made by Nurse.