FOUR YEARS OLD.-A NURSERY SONG.
AH! little ranting Johnny!
For ever blithe and bonny,
And singing "Nonny, nonny,"
With hat just thrown upon ye;
Or whistling like the thrushes
With voice in silver gushes;
Or twisting random posies
With daisies, weeds, and roses;
And strutting in and out so,
Or dancing all about so,
With cock-up nose so lightsome,
And sidelong eyes so brightsome,
And cheeks as ripe as apples,
And head as rough as Dapple's,
And mouth that smiles so truly,
Heav'n seems t' have made it newly,
It breaks into such sweetness,
With merry-tipped completeness.
One cannot turn a minute,
But mischief-there, you're in it!
A-getting at my books, John,
With mighty bustling looks, John,
Or poking at the roses,
In midst of which your nose is;
Or climbing on a table,
No matter how unstable;
And turning up your quaint eye
And half-shut teeth, with "Mayn't I?' Or else you're off at play, John,
Just as you'd be all day, John,
With hat or not, as happens,
And there you dance and clap hands
Or on the grass go rolling,
Or plucking flowers, or bowling,
And getting me expenses
With losing balls o'er fences;
Or, as the constant trade is,
Are fondled by the ladies,
With "What a young rogue this is!" Reforming him with kisses;
Till suddenly you cry out,
As if you had an eye out,
So desperately tearful,
The sound is really fearful;
When lo! directly after,
It bubbles into laughter.
Ah, rogue and do you know, John,
Why 'tis we love you so, John?
And how it is they let ye
Do what they like, and pet ye,
Though all who look upon ye
Exclaim, "Ah, Johnny, Johnny!"
It is because you please 'em
Still more, John, than you tease 'em ;
Because, too, when not present,
The thought of you is pleasant;
Because, though such an elf, John,
They think that if yourself, John,
Had something to condemn too,
You'd be as kind to them too;
In short, because you're very
Good-tempered, Jack, and merry,
And are as quick at giving
As easy at receiving;
And in the midst of pleasure
Are certain to find leisure
To think, my boy, of ours,
And bring us lumps of flowers.
But see, the sun shines brightly;
Come, put your hat on rightly,
And we'll among the bushes,
And hear your friends, the thrushes,
And see what flowers the weather
Has rendered fit to gather.
And when we home must jog, you
Shall ride my back, you rogue, you;
Your hat adorned with fine leaves,
Horse-chesnut, oak, and vine leaves;
And so, with green o'erhead, John,
Shall whistle home to bed, John.
A LAW there is of ancient fame,
By Nature's self in every land implanted, Lex Talionis is its Latin name;
But if an English term be wanted,
Give your next neighbour but a pat,
He'll give you back as good, and tell you―tit for tat.
This tit for tat, it seems, not men alone,
But elephants, for legal justice own;
In proof of this a story I shall tell ye,
Imported from the famous town of Delhi.
A mighty elephant that swelled the state
Öf Aurengzebe the Great,
One day was taken by his driver
To drink and cool him in the river;
The driver on his neck was seated,
And, as he rode along,
By some acquaintance in the throng
With a ripe cocoa-nut was treated.
A cocoa-nut's a pretty fruit enough,
But guarded by a shell both hard and tough.
The fellow tried, and tried, and tried,
Working and sweating,
Pishing and fretting,
To find out its inside,
And pick the kernel for his eating.
At length, quite out of patience grown,
"Who'll reach me up," he cries, "a stone
To break this plaguey shell ?—
But stay, I've here a solid bone
May do perhaps as well."
So half in earnest, half in jest,
He banged it on the forehead of his beast.
An elephant, they say, has human feeling,
And full as well as we he knows
The difference 'tween words and blows,
Between horse-play and civil dealing.
Use him but well, he'll do his best,
And serve you faithfully and truly;
But insults unprovoked he can't digest,
He studies o'er them, and repays them duly.
"To make my head an anvil," thought the creature, Was never, certainly, the will of Nature;
So, master mine! you may repent:
Then, shaking his broad ears, away he went:
The driver took him to the water,
And thought no more about the matter;
But Elephant within his memory hid it;
He felt the wrong,-the other only did it.
A week or two elapsed, one market day
Again the beast and driver took their way;
Through rows of shops and booths they passed
With eatables and trinkets stored,
Till to a gard'ner's stall they came at last,
Where eocoa-nuts lay piled upon the board.
"Ha!" thought the elephant, 'tis now my turn
To show this method of nut-breaking;
My friend above will like to learn,
Though at the cost of a head-aching."
Then in his curling trunk he took a heap,
And waved it o'er his neck a sudden sweep,
And on the hapless driver's sconce
He laid a blow so hard and full,
That cracked the nuts at once,
But with them cracked his skull.
Young folks, whene'er you feel inclined
To rompish sports and freedoms rough,
Bear tit for tat in mind,
Nor give an elephant a cuff,
To be repaid in kind.
THE VOICE OF SPRING.
1 COME, I come, ye have called me long,
I come o'er the mountains with light and song;
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet's birth,
By the primrose stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.
I have breathed on the South, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest-bowers:
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veiled with wreaths on Italian plains.
But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin or the tomb!
I have passed o'er the hills of the stormy North,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth,
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the reindeer bounds through the pasture free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my step has been.
I have sent through the wood-paths a gentle sigh,
And called out each voice of the deep-blue sky,
From the night-bird's lay through the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan's wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.
From the streams and founts I have loosed the chain;
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain-brows,
They are flinging spray on the forest-boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their sparry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.
Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie may now be your home.
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding, footstep to meet me fly;
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay.
|