I"ll sing you a song; "Tis about a little bird; He sat upon a tree, And he sang to me, And I never spoke a word.
Ding dong! ding dong!
I"ll sing you a song; "Tis about a little mouse; He looked very cunning, As I saw him running About my father"s house.
Ding dong! ding dong!
I"ll sing you a song About my little kitty; She"s speckled all over, And I know you"ll love her, For she is very pretty.
273
Mrs. Prentiss (1818-1878) was the author of _The Susy Books_, published from 1853 to 1856, forerunners of many series of such juvenile publications. The following poem has retained its hold on the affections of children.
THE LITTLE KITTY
ELIZABETH PRENTISS
Once there was a little kitty Whiter than snow; In a barn she used to frolic, Long time ago.
In the barn a little mousie Ran to and fro; For she heard the kitty coming, Long time ago.
Two eyes had little kitty Black as a sloe; And they spied the little mousie, Long time ago.
Four paws had little kitty, Paws soft as dough; And they caught the little mousie, Long time ago.
Nine teeth had little kitty, All in a row; And they bit the little mousie, Long time ago.
When the teeth bit little mousie, Little mouse cried, "Oh!"
But she got away from kitty, Long time ago.
274
Mrs. Hale (1788-1879), left a widow with five children to support, devoted herself to a literary career. She wrote fiction, edited the _Ladies" Magazine_ of Boston, afterward the _Ladies" Book_ of Philadelphia, compiled a book of poetical quotations, and biographies of celebrated women. Most of her work was ephemeral in character, and she lives for us in the one poem that follows. It is usually printed without the last stanza which is here restored. Younger children, as a rule, do not object to such moralizing.
MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB
SARA J. HALE
Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow, And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go.
He followed her to school one day, That was against the rule; It made the children laugh and play, To see a lamb at school.
And so the Teacher turned him out, But still he lingered near, And waited patiently about, Till Mary did appear:
And then he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm, As if he said, "I"m not afraid, You"ll save me from all harm."
"What makes the lamb love Mary so?"
The eager children cry-- "Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know,"
The Teacher did reply.
And you each gentle animal In confidence may bind, And make them follow at your will, If you are only kind.
275
Theodore Tilton (1835-1907) was a very brilliant New York orator, poet, and journalist. His poetry, published in a complete volume in 1897, contains some really distinguished verse. He is largely known to the new generation, however, by some stanzas from the following poem, which are usually found in readers and poetic compilations for children.
The entire poem is given here. Does our "Swat the fly" campaign of recent years negate the kindly att.i.tude emphasized in the poem?
BABY BYE
THEODORE TILTON
Baby bye, Here"s a fly; Let us watch him, you and I.
How he crawls Up the walls, Yet he never falls!
I believe with six such legs You and I could walk on eggs.
There he goes On his toes, Tickling baby"s nose.
Spots of red Dot his head; Rainbows on his back are spread; That small speck Is his neck; See him nod and beck.
I can show you, if you choose, Where to look to find his shoes,-- Three small pairs, Made of hairs; These he always wears.
Black and brown Is his gown; He can wear it upside down; It is laced Round his waist; I admire his taste.
Yet though tight his clothes are made He will lose them, I"m afraid, If to-night He gets sight Of the candle-light.
In the sun Webs are spun; What if he gets into one?
When it rains He complains On the window-panes.
Tongue to talk have you and I; G.o.d has given the little fly No such things, So he sings With his buzzing wings.
He can eat Bread and meat; There"s his mouth between his feet.
On his back Is a pack Like a pedler"s sack.
Does the baby understand?
Then the fly shall kiss her hand; Put a crumb On her thumb, Maybe he will come.
Catch him? No, Let him go, Never hurt an insect so; But no doubt He flies out Just to gad about.
Now you see his wings of silk Drabbled in the baby"s milk; Fie, oh fie, Foolish fly!
How will he get dry?
All wet flies Twist their thighs, Thus they wipe their head and eyes; Cats, you know, Wash just so, Then their whiskers grow.
Flies have hair too short to comb, So they fly bareheaded home; But the gnat Wears a hat, Do you believe that?
Flies can see More than we.
So how bright their eyes must be!
Little fly, Ope your eye; Spiders are near by.
For a secret I can tell,-- Spiders never use flies well.