_Strange Lands_
Where do you come from, Mr. Jay?
"From the land of Play, from the land of Play."
And where can that be, Mr. Jay?
"Far away--far away."
Where do you come from, Mrs. Dove?
"From the land of Love, from the land of Love."
And how do you get there, Mrs. Dove?
"Look above--look above."
Where do you come from, Baby Miss?
"From the land of Bliss, from the land of Bliss."
And what is the way there, Baby Miss?
"Mother"s kiss--mother"s kiss."
Laurence Alma Tadema.
_Guessing Song_
Oh ho! oh ho! Pray, who can I be?
I sweep o"er the land, I scour o"er the sea; I cuff the tall trees till they bow down their heads, And I rock the wee birdies asleep in their beds.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be, That sweep o"er the land and scour o"er the sea?
I rumple the breast of the gray-headed daw, I tip the rook"s tail up and make him cry "caw"; But though I love fun, I"m so big and so strong, At a puff of my breath the great ships sail along.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be, That sweep o"er the land and sail o"er the sea?
I swing all the weather-c.o.c.ks this way and that, I play hare-and-hounds with a runaway hat; But however I wander, I never can stray, For go where I will, I"ve a free right of way!
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be, That sweep o"er the land and scour o"er the sea?
I skim o"er the heather, I dance up the street, I"ve foes that I laugh at, and friends that I greet; I"m known in the country, I"m named in the town, For all the world over extends my renown.
Oh ho! oh ho! And who can I be, That sweep o"er the land and scour o"er the sea?
Henry Johnstone.
_The Rivulet_
Run, little rivulet, run!
Summer is fairly begun.
Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines, And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines; Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Sing to the fields of the sun That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold, Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal-cold; Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Sing of the flowers, every one,-- Of the delicate harebell and violet blue; Of the red mountain rose-bud, all dripping with dew; Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Carry the perfume you won From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray, To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay; Run, little rivulet, run!
Run, little rivulet, run!
Stay not till summer is done!
Carry the city the mountain-birds" glee; Carry the joy of the hills to the sea; Run, little rivulet, run!
Lucy Larcom.
_Jack Frost_
The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, And whispered, "Now, I shall be out of sight; So, through the valley, and over the height, In silence I"ll take my way.
I will not go on like that bl.u.s.tering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make such a bustle and noise in vain; But I"ll be as busy as they!"
So he flew to the mountain, and powdered its crest.
He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed With diamonds and pearls; and over the breast Of the quivering lake, he spread A coat of mail, that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear Which he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock could rear its head.
He went to the window of those who slept, And over each pane like a fairy crept: Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped, By the light of the morn were seen Most beautiful things!--there were flowers and trees, There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees; There were cities and temples and towers; and these All pictured in silvery sheen!
But he did one thing that was hardly fair-- He peeped in the cupboard: and finding there That all had forgotten for him to prepare.
"Now, just to set them a-thinking, I"ll bite this basket of fruit," said he, "This costly pitcher I"ll burst in three!
And the gla.s.s of water they"ve left for me, Shall "tchick" to tell them I"m drinking."
Hannah F. Gould.
_Snowflakes_[A]
Whenever a snowflake leaves the sky, It turns and turns to say "Good-by!
Good-by, dear clouds, so cool and gray!"
Then lightly travels on its way.
And when a snowflake finds a tree, "Good-day!" it says--"Good-day to thee!
Thou art so bare and lonely, dear, I"ll rest and call my comrades here."
But when a snowflake, brave and meek, Lights on a rosy maiden"s cheek, It starts--"How warm and soft the day!