Kissed me twice, and once again,
And the others shouted when
On my cheek uprose a berry
Somewhat like a mole, mayhap,
But the kiss-mark of that chap
Ganderfeather, passing merry-
Humorsome, but kindly, very!
I was just a tiny thing
When the prankish Ganderfeather
Brought this curious gift to me
With his fairy kisses three;
Yet with honest pride I sing
That same gift he chose to bring
Out of yonder haunted heather.
Other charms and friendships fly-
Constant friends this mole and I,
Who have been so long together.
Thank you, little Ganderfeather!
BAMBINO in his cradle slept;
And by his side his grandam grim Bent down and smiled upon the child, And sung this lullaby to him,This "ninna and anninia":
"When thou art older, thou shalt mind
To traverse countries far and wide,
And thou shalt go where roses blow
And balmy waters singing glide-
So ninna and anninia!
"And thou shalt wear, trimmed up in points,
A famous jacket edged in red,
And, more than that, a peaked hat,
All decked in gold, upon thy head-
Ah! ninna and anninia!
"Then shalt thou carry gun and knife,
Nor shall the soldiers bully thee;
Perchance, beset by wrong or debt,
A mighty bandit thou shalt be—
So ninna and anninia!
'No woman yet of our proud race
Lived to her fourteenth year unwed;
The brazen churl that eyed a girl
Bought her the ring or paid his head-
So ninna and anninia!
"But once came spies (I know the thieves!)
And brought disaster to our race;
God heard us when our fifteen men
Were hanged within the market-place-
But ninna and anninia!
'Good men they were, my babe, and true,-
Right worthy fellows all, and strong;
Live thou and be for them and me
Avenger of that deadly wrong-
So ninna and anninia!"
AFTER dear old grandma died,
Hunting through an oaken chest
In the attic, we espied
What repaid our childish quest;
'T was a homely little slate,
Seemingly of ancient date.
On its quaint and battered face
Was the picture of a cart,
Drawn with all that awkward grace
Which betokens childish art;
But what meant this legend, pray:
"Homer drew this yesterday"?
Mother recollected then
What the years were fain to hide-
She was but a baby when
Little Homer lived and died;
Forty years, so mother said,
Little Homer had been dead.
This one secret through those years
Grandma kept from all apart,
Hallowed by her lonely tears.
And the breaking of her heart;
While each year that sped away
Seemed to her but yesterday.
So the homely little slate
Grandma's baby's fingers pressed,
To a memory consecrate,
Lieth in the oaken chest,
Where, unwilling we should know,
Grandma put it, years ago.
THE Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street
Comes stealing; comes creeping;
The poppies they hang from her head to her feet
And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet-
She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet,
When she findeth you sleeping!
There is one little dream of a beautiful drum
"Rub-a-dub!" it goeth;
There is one little dream of a big sugar-plum,
And lo! thick and fast the other dreams come
Of popguns that bang, and tin tops that hum,
And a trumpet that bloweth!
And dollies peep out of those wee little dreams
With laughter and singing;
And boats go a-floating on silvery streams,
And the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams,
And up, up, and up, where the Mother Moon beams,
The fairies go winging!
Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet?
They'll come to you sleeping;
So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet,
For the Rock-a-By Lady from Hushaby street,
With poppies that hang from her head to her feet,
Comes stealing; comes creeping.
ON afternoons, when baby boy has had a splendid nap,
And sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap,
In some such wise my handkerchief I hold before my face,
And cautiously and quietly I move about the place;
Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view,
And you should hear him laugh and crow when I say “Booh!”
Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared,
And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared;
And then his under lip came out and farther out it came,
Till mamma and the nurse agreed it was a "cruel shame”-
But now what does that same wee, toddling, lisping baby do
But laugh and kick his little heels when I say "Booh!"
He laughs and kicks his little heels in rapturous glee, and then In shrill, despotic treble bids me "do it all aden!"
And I of course I do it; for, as his progenitor,
It is such pretty, pleasant play as this that I am for!
And it is, oh, such fun! and I am sure that we shall rue
The time when we are both too old to play the game of "Booh!"
WHEN our babe he goeth walking in his garden,
Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play;
The posies they are good to him,
And bow them as they should to him,
As fareth he upon his kingly way;
And birdlings of the wood to him.
Make music, gentle music, all the day,
When our babe he goeth walking in his garden.
When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle,
Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down;
The little stars are kind to him,
The moon she hath a mind to him
And layeth on his head a golden crown;
And singeth then the wind to him
A song, the gentle song of Bethle'm-town,
When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle.
HAVE you ever heard the wind go "Yooooo"!
"T is a pitiful sound to hear!
It seems to chill you through and through
With a strange and speechless fear.
"T is the voice of the night that broods outside
When folk should be asleep,
And many and many 's the time I've cried
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