In My Nursery Part 25

Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs, They both went a-fis.h.i.+ng for pollothywogs; They both went a-fis.h.i.+ng Because they were wis.h.i.+ng To see how the creatures would turn into frogs.

Timothy Tiggs and Tomothy Toggs, They both got stuck in the bogothybogs; They caught a small minnow, And said 'twas a sin oh!

That things with no legs should pretend to be frogs.

LADY'S SLIPPER.

My lady she rose from her bower, her bower, All under the linden tree.

'Twas midnight past, and the fairies' hour, And up and away must she.

She's pulled on her slippers of golden yellow, Her mantle of gossamer green; And she's away to the elfin court, To wait on the elfin queen.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper, Oh hey! my lady's shoe.

She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow, A-tripping it over the dew.

And now she flitted, and now she stepped, Through dells of the woodland deep, Where owls were flying awake, awake, And birds were sitting asleep.

And now she flitted, and now she trod, Where the mist hung shadowy-white; And the river lay gleaming, sleeping, dreaming, Under the sweet moonlight.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper, Oh hey! my lady's shoe.

She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow, A-tripping it over the dew.

And now she pa.s.sed through the wild marsh-land, Where the marsh-elves lay asleep; And a heron blue was their watchman true, Good watch and ward for to keep.

But Jack-in-the-Pulpit was wake, awake, And saw my lady gay; And he reached his hand as she fluttered past, And caught her slipper away.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper, Oh hey! my lady's shoe.

She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow, A-tripping it over the dew.

Oh! long that lady she searched and prayed, And long she wept and besought; But all would not do, and with one wee shoe She must dance at the elfin court.

But she _might_ have found her slipper, her slipper, It shone so golden-gay; For I am no elf, yet I found it myself, And I brought it home to-day.

Oh hone! my lady's slipper, Oh hey! my lady's shoe.

She's lost its fellow, so golden yellow, A-tripping it over the dew.

A LITTLE SONG TO SING TO A LITTLE MAID IN A SWING.

If I were a fairy king, (Swinging high, swinging low,) I would give to you a ring, (Swinging oh!) With a diamond set so bright That the s.h.i.+ning of its light Should make morning of the night, (Swinging high, swinging low,) Should make morning of the night.

(Swinging oh!)

On each ringlet as it fell (Swinging high, swinging low,) I would tie a golden bell; (Swinging oh!) And the golden bells would chime In a little merry rhyme, In the merry summer-time,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) In the happy summer-time.

(Swinging oh!)

You should wear a satin gown (Swinging high, swinging low,) All with ribbons falling down; (Swinging oh!) And your little darling feet, Oh, my Pretty and my Sweet, Should be shod with silver neat,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) Shod with silver slippers neat.

(Swinging oh!)

All the flowers in the land (Swinging high, swinging low,) You should hold in either hand; (Swinging oh!) And the myrtle and the rose Should spring up beneath your toes, For to gratify your nose,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) For to gratify your nose.

(Swinging oh!)

But I'm not a fairy, Pet, (Swinging high, swinging low,) Am not even a king as yet; (Swinging oh!) So all that I can do Is to kiss your little shoe, And to make a queen of you,-- (Swinging high, swinging low,) Make a fairy queen of you.

(Swinging oh!)

BETTY IN BLOSSOM-TIME.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, our Lady of Blossoming, Here as she sits on the apple-tree seat.

Has she not gathered the summer about her?

Look, how it laughs from her lips and her eyes!

Think you the sun there would s.h.i.+ne on without her?

Nay! 'tis her smile keeps the gray from the skies.

Fire of the rose and snow of the jessamine, Gold of the lily-dust hid in her hair; Day holds his breath and Night comes up to look at her, Leaving their strife for a vision so rare.

Snow, snow, down from the apple-trees, Pink and white drifting of petals sweet, Kiss her and crown her, and flutter a-down her, And carpet the ground for her dear little feet.

BETTY'S SONG.

Little Two-shoes, Little Toddle-toes, Like a little pretty pinky winky rose, Come to me, now, And we'll see, now, How the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

With a heigh ho, And a by-low, And a swinging, swinging softly to and fro; With a sleepy croon, All about the moon, How she puts the sleepy stars to beddy oh!

With a hey-day, And a rock-away, And a patting down the hands that want to play; With a swing swong In the drowsy song, That forgets the drowsy words it has to say.

Now the lids close, Just when no one knows, And the dimpled flush grows deeper, rose on rose.

Little Two-shoes, Little Toddle-toes, With the rocking-chair away to By-land goes.

A NONSENSE TRAGEDY.

Brown owl sat on a caraway tree, Ruffly, puffly, great big owl; Who so learned and wise as he?