ONCE UPON A TIME AND OTHER CHILD-VERSES
By Mary E. Wilkins
Author Of "The Pot Of Gold," "Jane Field," "A New England Nun," "An Humble Romance," "Pembroke," Etc.
Illustrated By Etheldred B. Barry
Boston:
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
1897
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CONTENTS
[ THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS. ]
[ THE BALLAD OF THE BLACK-SMITH'S SONS. ]
[ THE GIFT THAT NONE COULD SEE. ]
[ THE YOUNGEST TELLS HER STORY. ]
[ THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF MAMMA. ]
[ THE TRUE AND LAST STORY OF LITTLE BOY BLUE. ]
PREFACE
TRUSTING to the sweet charity of little folk
To find some grace, in spite of halting rhyme
And frequent telling, in these little tales,
I say again:—Now, once upon a time!
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ONCE UPON A TIME
NOW, once upon a time, a nest of fairies
Was in a meadow 'neath a wild rose-
tree;
And, once upon a time, the violets clustered
So thick around it one could scarcely see;
And, once upon a time, a troop of children
Came dancing by upon the flowery ground;
And, once upon a time, the nest of fairies,
With shouts of joy and wonderment they
found;
And, once upon a time, the fairies fluttered
On purple winglets, shimmering in the sun;
And, once upon a time, the nest forsaking,
They flew off thro' the violets, every one;
And, once upon a time, the children followed
With loud halloos along the meadow green;
And, once upon a time, the fairies vanished,
And never more could one of them be seen;
And, once upon a time, the children sought
them
For many a day, but fruitless was their quest,
For, once upon a time, amid the violets,
They only found the fairies' empty nest.
THE SICK FAIRY.
BREW some tea o' cowslips, make some
poppy-gruel,
Serve it in a buttercup—ah, 'tis very cruel,
That she is so ailing, pretty Violetta!
Locust, stop your violin, till she's feeling better.
THE ENCHANTED TALE OF BANBURY CROSS.
"Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross,
To see an old woman jump on a white horse;
With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes,
She shall make music wherever she goes."
—Old Nursery Rhyme.
PRAY show the way to Banbury Cross,"
Silver bells are ringing ;
"To find the place I'm at a loss,"
Silver bells are ringing.
"Pass six tall hollyhocks red and white;
Then, turn the corner toward the right,
Pass four white roses; turn once more,
Go by a bed of gilly-flower,
And one of primrose; turn again
Where, glittering with silver rain,
There is a violet-bank; then pass
A meadow green with velvet grass,
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Where lovely lights and shadows play,
And white lambs frolic all the day,
Where blooming trees their branches toss—-
Then will you come to Banbury Cross."
The white horse arched his slender neck,
Silver bells are ringing;
Snow-white he was without a speck,
Silver bells are ringing.
An old wife held his bridle-rein,
(The king was there with all his train),
Her gray hair fluttered in the wind,
Her gaze turned inward on her mind;
And not one face seemed she to see
In all that goodly company.
Gems sparkled on her withered hands;
Her ankles gleamed with silver bands
On which sweet silver bells were hung,
And always, when she stirred, they rung.
The white horse waited for the start,
Silver bells are ringing;
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Before him leapt his fiery heart,
Silver bells are ringing.
Up on his back the old wife sprung,
Her silver bells, how sweet
they rung!
She gave her milk-white
steed the rein,
And round they swept,
and round again.
A merry sight it was
to see,
And the silver bells
The Old Wife.
rang lustily.
The gallant horse with gold was shod;
So fleetly leapt he o'er the sod,
He passed the king before he knew,
And past his flying shadow flew.
A pretty sight it was, forsooth,
Silver bells are ringing;
For dame and children, maid and youth,
Silver bells are ringing.
The princess laughed out with delight,
And clapped her hands, so lily-white—
The darling princess, sweet was she
As any flowering hawthorn-tree.
She stood beside her sire, the king,
And heard the silvery music ring,
And watched the white horse, o'er the
Sweep round, and round, and round again
Until the old wife slacked his pace
Before the princess' wondering face,
Then snatched her up before they knew,
Silver bells are ringing;
And with her from their vision flew,
Silver bells are ringing.
The nobles to their saddles spring
And follow, headed by the king!
But, when they reach it, it is gone
The white dew falls, the sun is set,
And no trace of the princess yet.
They gallop over meadows green;
They leap the bars that lie between;
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Thro' the cool woodland ride they now,
'Neath rustling branches, bending low;
The silver music draws them
Along the beams of moonlight pale,
Silver bells are ringing;
In violet shadows in the vale,
Silver bells are ringing.
"Return with us, oh, gracious king!
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This search is but a bootless thing.
A spell is laid upon our minds,
Our thoughts are tossed as by the winds,
And deeper o'er our senses swells
The music of those silver bells!
Return, oh, king, ere 'tis
late;
The Wise Man by the
palace gate
Will give to thee his
kindly aid,
So shalt thou find the
royal maid."
They galloped back o'er hill and dale,
Silver bells are ringing;
In soft gusts came the southern gale,
Silver bells are ringing.
The trembling king knelt down before
The Wise Man at the palace-door:
"Oh, Wise Man! art thou truly wise—
Find out my child with thy bright eyes!"
"Thy daughter clings to carven stone,
White dove-wings from her shoulders
grown;
In downy dove-plumes is she drest;
They shine like jewels on her breast;
She sits beneath the minster eaves,
Amongst the clustering ivy leaves."
"She was so full of angel-love,"
Silver bells are ringing;
"They could but make her a white dove,"
Silver bells are ringing.
The king stood 'neath the minster wall,
And loudly on his child did call.
A snow-white dove beneath the eaves,
Looked down from 'mongst the ivy leaves,
Then flew down to the monarch's breast,
And, sorely panting, there did rest.
Then spake the Wise Man by his side:
"Oh, king, canst thou subdue thy pride,
And hang thy crown beneath the eaves,
Amongst the clustering ivy leaves
"In thine unhappy daughter's place?"
Silver bells are ringing;
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"For thus she'll find her maiden grace,"
Silver bells are ringing.
The jewels in the royal
crown,
Out from the dark
green ivy shone!
The white dove softly
folds her wings,
Then lightly to the ground
she springs—
A princess, sweeter than before,
For being a white dove an hour.
They went home through the happy town,
The king forgot his royal crown,
And soon, beneath the minster eaves,
'Twas hidden by the ivy leaves.
A-BERRYING.
NOW Susan Jane a-berrying goes,
With her dipper and pail a-berry-
ing goes—
Now Susan Jane creeps dolefully home, and
mournfully hangs her head;
For she tumbled down and bumped her
nose,
She tore her frock and she stubbed her toes,
And the blueberries all were green, alas! and
the blackberries all were red!
TWO MOODS.
MEADOWS shadowy and sunny,
Pink with clover, sweet with honey,
Green with grass that shakes and swings,
Rustling 'till it almost sings,
From her open window show
For a pleasant mile or so.
She with earnest, pensive look,
Bending o'er an open book,
Her own happy self forgets
Following a story-child's
Pretty pleasures and regrets.
Straightening up her golden head,
Now she sees the fields instead,
Where the grass and clover stir,
And her glad self and her day
Radiantly come back to her.
THE THREE MARGERY DAWS.
SEE-SAW, see-saw, up and down we gay-
ly go!
See-saw, see-saw, such a lovely teeter, O!
See-saw, see-saw,
grass across a daisy-stalk—
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Up and down the robins teetered with their
silvery talk.
See-saw, see-saw! robins, they know how to
play
See-saw, see-saw, as well as children any day;
See-saw, see-saw! lads and lassies, don't you
know,
Grass across a daisy-stalk makes a lovely
teeter, O!
A LITTLE SEAMSTRESS.
SHE sat in her little rocking-chair, a-sigh-
ing and twirling her thumbs:
"Oh, everything for my doll is done, and
never to mending comes!
I haven't a morsel of sewing!—dear mother,
in all the town,
Can't you find me one doll, no matter how
small, who will wear out her gown?"
THE GOLDEN SLIPPERS.
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MY lady's ready for the ball;
But she's lost her golden slippers,
And the servants scurry all,
From the pantry, from the hall,
Brooms in hand, and spoons and dippers.
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!
Footman, cook, and housemaid—run!
Hunt ye nimbly, every one!
Round they whirl, the lightsome trippers,
And the music has begun:
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!
Hurry, hurry; for she yet,
If ye find her golden slippers,
May lead off the minuet
With the Prince of Popinet,
Foremost of the stately steppers.
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!
Guess ye where they found them all!
Dancing bravely at the ball,
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Of themselves, these frisky slippers,
Wheeling at the fiddle's call—
Ah, my lady's golden slippers!
THE TITHING-MAN.
BONNY sweet-marjoram was in flower,
The pinks had come with their spices
sweet;
Thro' the village sounded the Sabbath-bell,
And the reverent people flocked down the
street.
Little Elizabeth, prim and pale,
A decorous little Puritan maid,
Walked soberly up the meeting-house hill,
With a look on her face as if she prayed.
Her catechism was in her hand,
Unvexed was she by the scholar's art;
Her simple lesson she simply learned,
And loved the Father with all her heart.
Her little kerchief was white as snow,
Like a rose she looked in her Sunday gown
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As she soberly climbed the meeting-house
hill,
With her pretty eyes east meekly down.
Little Elizabeth sat alone
In the queer old-fashioned oaken pew,
And earnestly on the parson bent
Her modest, innocent eyes of blue.
But, ah! the sermon was deep and long,
The parson spoke with a weary drone;
And she heard the honey-bees out of doors
Hum, in a drowsy monotone;
The very wind had a sleepy sound—
Little Elizabeth began to nod,
Though she told herself 'twas a dreadful thing
To fall asleep in the house of God.
"My fourthly is," the parson droned;—
"I pray the Lord my soul to keep,"
Mused little Elizabeth in a maze—
And then—ah me! she fell asleep.
The tithing-man crept down the aisle
In solemn state, with his awful rod,
To chide the folk in the meeting-house
Who dared to whisper, or smile, or nod.
Little Elizabeth soundly slept,
All by herself, in the oaken pew,
With the heavy gold-fringed eyelids drooped
Over her innocent eyes of blue.
Close to her tiptoed the tithing-man,
And over her reached his awful rod,
And poked the little Puritan maid
For falling asleep in the house of God.
Dear little Elizabeth, prim and pale!
How her poor heart jumped when she
woke and found
The dreaded tithing-man at her side,
And the queer poke-bonnets all turning
round!
Then she sat straight up in the old oak pew,
Grave and pale as a lily-flower;
But she thought the people all looked at her,
While all their eyes did lower and glower;
And, going home, she fancied the birds
Called back and forth, with a knowing nod:
"There's the little maid whom the tithing-
man
Caught fast asleep in the house of God."
THE BARLEY-CANDY BOY.
O THE Barley-Candy Boy! O the Bar-
ley-Candy Boy!
Who lived in the toy-man's window, 'tis little
he had of joy!
For he could not eat a bit of sweet, nor any
sugar at all,
Unless he ran a fearful risk of being a can-
nibal.
DOWN IN THE CLOVER.
( A Duet, with Sheep Obligato.)
MID feeding lambs and springing grass
There sat a little lad and lass,
A green umbrella overhead,
The flickering shade of boughs instead,
And read a book of fairy rhyme,
All in their gay vacation time.
Quoth he: "The dearest, queerest story
Was that one of the fairy prince,
Who sailed down stream in his pearl dory,
Neath boughs of rose and flowering quince,
To save the lovely princess whom
The wicked, white-haired, old witch-lady
Kept in a tower of awful gloom,
Deep in a magic forest shady:
How proud he tossed his plumèd head
Before the witch's door, and said "—
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Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Honey-sweet the clover's
blowing
Ba-a, ba-a! Juicy-green the grass is
growing.
"I think," quoth she, "there's one that's
better:
About that little fairy girl,
Who bound the ogre with a fetter
Of spiderwort and grass and pearl;
Then singing in the gateway sat,
Till up the road the prince came prancing,
A jewelled feather in his hat,
And set the cherry-boughs a-dancing.
How low he bent his handsome head
Before the fairy girl, and said "—
Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Who the day so sweetly
passes
As a lamb who never stops,
But from dawn to twilight crops
Clover-heads and dewy grasses?
"Well, by and by I think I'll be
A fairy prince as brave as he:
I'll wind a silver bugle clear,
Low and dim you'll hear it, dear;
A sword with jewelled hilt I'll bear,
A cap and heron-plume I'll wear,
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And I will rescue you," quoth
he.
"Fast to the witch's tower I'll
And beat upon the gate, and
cry
Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Sweet the
simple life we're leading,
In the sweet green pasture
feeding!
Then quoth the little reader
fair.
"I've changed my mind, for I don't dare
To stay there in the witch's tower;
I'll be the dame who found a flower
Of gold and rubies—in the tale—
And sold it for a fairy veil,
Which made her look so sweet and true
That she was dearly loved; then you "—
Sheep: Ba-a, ba-a! Turn the juicy morsel over.
Who would be a lad or lass,
If he could his summer pass
As the sheep amongst the clover?
Grasshoppers on daisies teeter,
Dew-drops clovers sweeten sweeter.
Who can care for stupid tales,
Fairy horns and f airy veils,
Fairy princess, fairy prince?
Yet we must not blame them, since
( Turn the juicy morsel over)
They cannot be sheep in clover.
THE BALLAD OF THE BLACK-SMITH'S SONS.
I.
CLING, clang,—"Whoa, my bonny gray
mare!
Whoa,"—cling, clang,—"my bay!
But the black and the sorrel must stay unshod,
While my two fair sons are away."
II.
While the blacksmith spake, his fair sons
came,
And stood in the smithy door—
"Now where have ye been, my two fair sons,
For your father has missed ye sore? "
III.
Then pleasantly spake the younger son,
With the eyes of dreamy blue:
"O Father, we've been in a land as bright
As the glint o' the morning dew! "
IV.
Then his brother twinkled his gay black eyes,
And he spake up merry and bold:
"Hey, Father, we've been in the fairy land,
Where the horses are shod wi' gold!"
V.
"An' what did ye there in Fairyland,
O my two fair sons, I pray?"
"We shod for them, Father, their fairy steeds,
All in a month an' a day.
VI.
"An', Father, we shod them wi' virgin gold;
Each nail had a diamond head;
All the steeds were as white as the clear moon-
light,
An' in fields o' lilies they fed."
"An' what was the sum o' the fairy hire,
O my two fair sons, I pray?"
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"A seed of a wonderful fairy flower,
They gave to us each for pay! "
VIII.
"An' what will ye do wi' the seeds, fair
sons?"
"We will sow i' the light, green spring,
An' maybe a golden rose will toss,
Or a silver lily will swing."
IX.
"Now,"—cling, clang,—"whoa, my bonny
gray mare!
Whoa,"—cling, clang,—"my bay!
An' the sorrel an' black, now my sons are
back,
Can be shod "—cling, clang,—"to-day."
X.
Oh! the smith's sons planted the fairy seeds
When the light, green spring came round,
Through the sunlit hours, 'twixt the April
showers,
In the best of the garden ground.
XI.
Then the white rains wove with the long
light-beams,
Till a stalk, like a slim green flame,
Pierced the garden mould: a leaf unrolled;
And another beside it came.
XII.
Then the brothers tended their fairy plants
Till they shot up brave and tall,
And the leaves grew thick. "Now soon shall
we pick
A rose like a golden ball;
XIII.
"Or else we shall see a lily, maybe,
With a bell o' bright silver cast,"
They thought; and they cried with joy and
When the blossom-buds shaped at last.
XIV.
"Now, heyday!" shouted the elder son,
And he danced in the garden walk,
"A hat I will buy, as a steeple high,
An' the neighbors will stare an' talk.
XV.
"Heyday! I will buy me a brave gold chain,
An' a waistcoat o' satin fine,
A ruff o' lace, an' a pony an' chaise,
An' a bottle o' red old wine!"
XVI.
But his brother looked up in the blue spring
sky,
And his yellow curls shone in the sun—
"O joy! If I hold but my fairy gold,
My father's toil is done!
XVII.
"He shall hammer no more with his tired
old hands,
He shall shoe not the bay nor the gray;
But shall live as he please, an' sit at his ease,
A-resting the livelong day."
XVIII.
Alas, and alas! When it came to pass
That the bud to a flower was grown,
It was pallid and green,—no blossom so mean
In the country side was known.
XIX.
Then angrily hurried the elder son,
And hustled his up by the root;
And it gave out a sound, as it left the ground,
Like the shriek of a fairy flute.
XX.
But he flung it over the garden wall;
And he cried, with a scowling brow:
"No waistcoat fine, an' no bottle o' wine—
I have labored for naught, I trow! "
XXI.
"Now,"—cling, clang,—"whoa,my bonny
gray mare!
Cling, clang,—"whoa, my bay!
But the sorrel an' white must wait to-night,
For one son sulks all day."
XXII
But the blue-eyed son till the summer was
done
Cared well for his fairy-flower;
He weeded and watered, and killed the
grub
Would its delicate leaves devour.
XXIII.
Then forth to his garden he went one day,
And the fairy plant was dead;
The leaves were black in the white frost-
light,
And the stalk was a shrivelled shred.
XXIV.
"Now, never a rose like a golden ball,
Nor a silver lily shall blow;
But never I'll mind, for I'm sure to find
More gold, if I work, I know."
XXV
Then he tenderly pulled up the fairy plant,
And lo, in the frosty mould,
Like a star from the skies to his dazzled eyes,
Was blazing a bulb of gold!
XXVI.
"Now,"—cling, clang,—"whoa, my bonny
gray mare!
Or gallop or trot, as ye may!
This happy old smith will shoe ye no more,
For he sits at his ease, all day! "
A VALENTINE FOR BABY.
The rose is red, the violet's blue,
Pinks are pretty, and so are you."
THE rose is red, my rosy dear;
But that you as yet hardly know,
Since you have only been with us
Four of the times when roses blow.
The violet's blue, my blue-eyed love;
Yet that, perhaps, you hardly knew,
Since you have only four times passed
The violets in their hoods of blue.
The pinks are pretty, baby queen,
And so are you; but that, also,
From being here so short a time,
Perhaps you've hardly learned to know.
THE FAIRY FLAG.
A Skye Folk-lore Story.
BEYOND the purple gloom of moors,
Beyond the blueness of the sea,
Beyond the range of chalk-white cliffs,
The sun was setting peacefully.
The fairy, on a grassy knoll,
Sat dreaming, singing to the cows:
"Knee-deep in clumps of plumy ferns,
Knee-deep in rustling grasses browse!
"The chieftain slays his foeman's clan,
The lady broiders in the hall;
I sit here singing to the cows,
And am the gayest one of all!
"Now of the clumps of spicy fern,
Now of the juicy grasses taste!"
The fairy wore a grass-green gown,
With golden girdle at her waist;
Her winsome little face upturned,
Her soft gold hair all round her streamed;
Her small pink cheeks like roses burned,
Her wild blue eyes like jewels beamed.
She struck a little harp o' pearl,
As to the browsing kine she sung:
All lightly o'er the fairy bridge
Beyond, a bonnie laddie sprung.
He had Prince Charlie's yellow locks,
His gay blue eyes and lovesome way:
Son of the great Macleod was he—
The castle just beyond him lay.
The fairy lilted loud and sweet,
The laddie turned him round to see;
She lifted up her little face,
And sweet, and sweet, and sweet, smiled
she.
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The laddie thro' the heather
ran,
His tartan blowing out behind,
The little fairy, gowned in green,
Wi' little harp o' pearl, to find.
And since you are a mortal bairn,
And yet have shunned me not," she said,
A fairy gift I'll give to thee,
To-morrow, when the west is red.
"And since you have a bonny face,
I'll give to thee a fairy kiss,
To take the bitter from thy woe,
And add a sweetness to thy bliss."
She kissed the laddie's blushing cheek,
And all the air grew sweet around,
As if a million flowers bloomed out—
And then she vanished from the ground.
The western sky all roses was,
And round the "Macleod's Maidens'" feet
Foam-wreaths to wreaths of roses turned.
The fairy lilted loud and sweet;
The laddie o'er the fairy bridge,
Came running lightly to her side:
"And have you brought the fairy gift
You promised me last night?" he cried.
The flag was green as springtide sward
What time the sun upon it lies,
And shot with threads of glittering gold,
And filled with spots of gold, like eyes.
She put it in the laddie's hand:
"Once waved, 'twill bring thee thy desire,
And twice, and thrice—but not again;
Then cast it, worthless, in the fire!"
A shadow o'er her gown o' green,
A shadow o'er her winsome face,
A shadow o'er her golden hair,
Came softly creeping on apace.
The fairy through the shadow shone,
And struck her little harp o' pearl;
Then vanished in the shadow's heart,
Wi' golden and wi' rosy swirl.
The laddie held the fairy flag,
Alone in twilight gray and cold;
And stood and looked, his wond'ring eyes
All filled with dancing motes of gold.
The laddie's yellow beard had grown;
He'd wedded with a lady fair;
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And he had got a little son,
With his same bonnie yellow hair.
And alway had the fairy's kiss,
She gave to him so long ago,
Added a sweetness to his bliss,
And ta'en the bitter from his woe.
But never yet the fairy flag
Had waved upon the castle wall;
For with his stalwart arm and sword,
His troubles he had breasted all.
"Oh, where's my little laddie gone?"
The lady left her 'broidery frame;
Through every castle window peered,
With tearful eyes, the gentle dame.
Then Macleod called his followers out,
And loud the castle trumpets blew:
"Oh, Macleod's heir is strayed awa',
And on the heather falls the dew,
"And on the heather falls the dew;
Shadows are floating o'er the sea.
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Oh, where's my little laddie gone:
I pray ye bring him back to me!
They searched along the chalk-white cliffs,
Upon the dizzy hanging paths;
They sought him on their breezy tops,
Along the strips of grassy straths.
They called "Macleod" adown the hill;
They called "Macleod" adown the vale;
They hailed the shepherd with his flock,
The maiden with her milking-pail.
They searched Dunvergan castle thro';
Each dungeon in the thick stone wall
They peered within, but only found
The prisoned foemen, grim and tall.
His mother looked out o'er the sea,
To where the "Macleod's Maidens" stand,
To see, above the foam-wreaths, rise
His yellow head and waving hand.
The laddie came not, when the moon
With all the stars sailed out in sight,
And "Macleod's Tables," tops of snow,
Were cloth of silver in her light.
"Bring out, bring out the fairy flag!
I'll wave it from the topmost tower!
There'll come no direr need than this,
For Macleod's race has lost its flower!"
Macleod then waved the fairy flag;
It looked a net of golden wire;
Its streaks of gold and spots of gold
All linked and curled like tongues of fire.
There came a twang o' pearly harp,
There came a lilting loud and sweet;
And softly o'er the fairy bridge
There came the dance o' slender feet.
There danced along the fairy bridge
A spot i' the golden light apace:
The laddie at the castle gate
Stood lifting up his bonnie face.
"Oh, I ha' wandered by the burn,
And I ha' wandered by the glen;
A little leddy all in green,"
He said, "has led me home again."
Macleod close furled the fairy flag:
"Ye've served me once in blessed stead,
But sorely I'll be pressed again
Ere I will wave ye twice!" he said.
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All day the chief had held the field,
Nor quailed until the sun sank low:
His followers, bleeding, round him lay,
And he was hemmed in by the foe.
Oh, life is sweet! "exclaimed Macleod;
"I love my bairn and lady dear:
I'll wave again the fairy flag—
But will it bring me succor here?"
Macleod waved high the fairy flag;
H is foemen reeled back at the sight;
For in their cruel eyes there danced
Great spots and bars of golden light.
There came a twang o' pearly harp,
There came a lilting loud and sweet;
And Macleod's foemen turned and fled,
The hills all rang with flying feet.
Macleod furled close the fairy flag:
"Ye've served me twice in blessed stead,
But I shall in the churchyard lie
Ere I will wave ye thrice!" he said.
"For if I thrice should wave the flag,
And thrice should get my heart's desire,
Next day might come a sorer need,
When it were ashes in the fire."
Macleod kept well his word: he fought
For life on many a bloody plain;
He tossed in peril on the sea,
Nor waved the fairy flag again.
The hand that waved the fairy flag,
The lips the fairy kissed, are still:
Macleod low in the churchyard lies,
And deaf to lilting sweet and shrill.
But still his kin in misty Skye
The fairy flag in keeping hold;
And sometime from the castle wall
May flash its spots and bars of gold.
But dire indeed shall be the need,
And every other hope be slain,
Before a Macleod of the Isle
Shall wave the fairy flag again.
THE SPOILED DARLING.
OH the ruffles there were on that little
dress, Fanny!
Her mamma does dress her so sweetly, you
know;
And the prettiest sash of pale rose-colored
satin
Tied at her waist in a butterfly-bow.
And her soft, flossy hair, almost a rose-yellow,
Like the roses we had in our garden last year,
Cut short round the fairest blue-veined little
forehead—
Oh, if Miss Marion wasn't a dear!
Just perfect she was, the mite of a darling,
From her flower of a head to her pink
slipper-toes!
You will laugh, but she seemed as I looked
at her, Fanny,
A little girl copied right after a rose!
Well, you know how it is: they have petted
the darling,
Her papa and mamma, her uncles and
aunts—
Till, saving the moon, which they can't get
for princes,
There isn't a thing but she has if she wants.
So, last night at the Christmas-tree, Fanny,
—It was so funny I laugh at it now—
There was Miss Marion sweeter than honey,
All in her ruffles and butterfly-bow;
She had presents, I thought, enough for a
dozen,
But she seemed heavy-hearted in spite of
it all;
Her sweet little mouth was all of a quiver,
And there was a teardrop just ready to
fall.
The aunts and the cousins all round her came
crowding;
"And what is the matter, my darling, my
dear?"
She didn't look sulky, but grieved; and I
saw it
Roll down her pink cheek, that trembling
tear;
And she lisped out so honest, "Mamie and
Bessie,
And the rest, have pwesents—and 'twas
my Tristmas-tree;
And when I tame in, I fought that the pwes-
ents—
The whole of them on it—of tourse were
for me! "
I scarcely could blame her—she didn't seem
angry,
But grieved to the heart, the queer little
mite!
And 'twasn't her fault—she'd been fed so
much honey,
All the sweet in the world she took as her
right.
THE BROWNIE'S XMAS.
THE Brownie who lives in the forest,
Oh, the Christmas bells they ring!
Has done for the farmer's children
Full many a kindly thing:
When their cows were lost in the gloaming,
He has driven them safely home;
He has led their bees to the flowers,
To fill up their golden comb;
At her spinning the little sister
Had napped till the setting sun—
She awoke, and the kindly Brownie
Had gotten it neatly done;
Oh, the Christmas bells they are ringing!
The mother she was away,
And the Brownie played with the baby,
And tended it all the day;
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The Brownie who lives in the torest,