Rhymes Old and New Part 7

Horatio, of ideal courage vain, Was flouris.h.i.+ng in air his father's cane, And, as the fumes of valour swelled his pate, Now thought himself this hero, and now that; "And now," he cried, "I will Achilles be; My sword I brandish; see, the Trojans flee!

Now, I'll be Hector, when his angry blade A lane through heaps of slaughter'd Grecians made!

And now my deeds still braver I'll evince, I am no less than Edward the Black Prince.

"Give way, ye coward French!" As this he spoke, And aim'd in fancy a sufficient stroke To fix the fate of Cressy or Poitiers (The Muse relates the Hero's fate with tears), He struck his milk-white hand against a nail, Sees his own blood, and feels his courage fail.

Ah! where is now that boasted valour flown, That in the tented field so late was shown?

Achilles weeps, great Hector hangs his head, And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed.

ON READING

"And so you do not like to spell, Mary, my dear; oh, very well: 'Tis dull and troublesome, you say, And you would rather be at play.

"Then bring me all your books again, Nay, Mary, why do you complain?

For as you do not choose to read, You shall not have your books indeed.

"So as you wish to be a dunce, Pray go and fetch me them at once; For if you will not learn to spell, 'Tis vain to think of reading well.

"Now, don't you think you'll blush to own, When you become a woman grown, Without one good excuse to plead, That you have never learned to read?"

"Oh, dear mamma," said Mary then, "Do let me have my books again; I'll not fret any more indeed, If you will let me learn to read."

Maria had an aunt at Leeds, For whom she made a purse of beads; 'Twas neatly done, by all allow'd, And praise soon made her vain and proud.

Her mother, willing to repress This strong conceit of cleverness, Said, "I will show you, if you please, A honeycomb, the work of bees!

"Yes, look within their hive, and then Examine well your purse again; Compare your merits, and you will Admit the insect's greater skill."

Knit, Dorothy, knit, The sunbeams round thee flit, So merry the minutes go by, go by, While fast thy fingers fly, they fly.

Knit, Dorothy, knit.

Sing, Dorothy, sing, The birds are on the wing, 'Tis better to sing than to sigh, to sigh, While fast thy fingers fly, they fly.

Sing, Dorothy, sing.

HOW TO HEAL A BURN

"Oh, we have had a sad mishap!

As Clara lay in nurse's lap, Too near the fire the chair did stand-- A coal flew out and burnt her hand.

"It must have flown above the guard, It came so quick, and hit so hard; And, would you think it? raised a blister: Oh, how she cried! poor little sister!

"Poor thing! I grieved to see it swell;"

"What will you do to make it well?"

"Why," said Mamma, "I really think Some sc.r.a.ped potato, or some ink.

"A little vinegar or brandy, Whichever nurse can find most handy, All these are good, my little daughter, But nothing's better than cold water."

REBELLIOUS FRANCES

The babe was in the cradle laid, And Tom had said his prayers, When Frances told the nursery-maid She would not go upstairs!

She cried so loud, her mother came To ask the reason why, And said, "Oh, Frances, fie for shame!

Oh fie! oh fie! oh fie!"

But Frances was more naughty still, And Betty sadly nipp'd; Until her mother said, "I will-- I must have Frances whipp'd.

"For, oh! how naughty 'tis to cry, But worse, much worse, to fight, Instead of running readily, And calling out, 'Good-night!'"

POISONOUS FRUIT

As Tommy and his sister Jane Were walking down a shady lane, They saw some berries, bright and red, That hung around and overhead.

And soon the bough they bended down, To make the scarlet fruit their own; And part they ate, and part in play, They threw about and flung away.

But long they had not been at home, Before poor Jane and little Tom Were taken sick, and ill to bed, And since, I've heard they both are dead.

Alas! had Tommy understood That fruit in lanes is seldom good, He might have walked with little Jane Again along the shady lane.

BEASTS, BIRDS, Etc.

MARY HAD A LITTLE LAMB

Little Mary was given a woolly-nosed lamb, And she fed it on ginger and gooseberry jam.

One day Mary was hungry, and longed for lamb chops, So into the oven her lambkin she pops.

When the oven was opened, Mary opened her eyes, For, what do you think? There was such a surprise; In her hurry the oven she'd forgotten to heat, So out jumped the lamb, and forgetting to bleat, It said, "Mary, my dear, if there's _no_ gooseberry jam, I can lunch very well on potatoes and ham."

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice!

Little lamb, who made thee?

Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a lamb.

He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child.

I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name.

Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!

Little lamb, G.o.d bless thee!

THE RAM OF DERBY