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These pretty babes with hand in hand
Went wandering up and down ; But never more they saw the man
Approaching from the town. Their pretty lips with blackberries
Were all besmeared and dyed, And when they saw the darksome night,
They sat them down and cried.
Thus wandered these two pretty babes,
Till death did end their grief; In one another's arms they died,
As babes wanting relief;
Of any man receives,
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God
Upon their uncle fell;
His conscience felt a hell;
His lands were barren made, His cattle died within the field,
And nothing with him stayed.
And in the voyage of Portugal,
Two of his sons did die ;
To extreme misery.
Did by this means come out.
THE USE OF FLOWERS.
The fellow that did take in hand
These children for to kill
As was God's blessed will ;
The which is here expressed ;
In prison long did rest.
All you that be executors made,
And overseers eke
And infants mild and meek,
And yield to each his right;
Your wicked minds requite.
THE USE OF FLOWERS. - Mary Howitt.
God might have bade the earth bring forth
Enough for great and small,
Without a flower at all.
We might have had enough, enough
For every want of ours,
And yet have had no flowers.
The ore within the mountain mine
Requireth none to grow ;
To make the river flow.
The clouds might give abundant rain,
The nightly dews might fall,
Might yet have drunk them all.
Then wherefore, wherefore were they made,
All dyed with rainbow light,
Upspringing day and night, —
Springing in valleys green and low,
And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness
Where no man passes by ?
Our outward life requires them not, —
Then wherefore had they birth? To minister delight to man,
To beautify the earth;
To comfort man, to whisper hope
Whene'er his faith is dim;
Will much more care for him.
TO MY LITTLE COUSIN WITH HER FIRST
BONNET. - Mrs. Southey.
FAIRIES! guard the baby's bonnet,
Watch and ward set all about,
As may consort with modesty, -
THE YOUNG LETTER-WRITER. – Miss Lamb.
DEAR Sir, Dear Madam, or Dear Friend,
With ease are written at the top ; When those two happy words are penned,
A youthful writer oft will stop,
And bite his pen, and lift his eyes,
As if he thinks to find in air
To fix his thoughts by fixed stare.
But haply all in vain, — the next
Two words may be so long before They 'll come, the writer, sore perplext,
Gives in despair the matter o'er;