The Posy Ring Part 18

William Cowper.

_Beau's Reply_

Sir, when I flew to seize the bird In spite of your command, A louder voice than yours I heard, And harder to withstand.

You cried--forbear!--but in my breast A mightier cried--proceed-- 'Twas Nature, Sir, whose strong behest Impell'd me to the deed.

Yet much as Nature I respect, I ventur'd once to break, (As you, perhaps, may recollect) Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day, Pa.s.sing his prison door, Had flutter'd all his strength away, And panting press'd the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing, Not destin'd to my tooth, I only kiss'd his ruffled wing, And lick'd the feathers smooth.

Let my obedience _then_ excuse My disobedience _now_, Nor some reproof yourself refuse From your aggriev'd Bow-wow; If killing birds be such a crime, (Which I can hardly see,) What think you, Sir, of killing Time With verse address'd to me?

William Cowper.

_Seal Lullaby_

Oh, hush thee, my baby, the night is behind us, And black are the waters that sparkled so green, The moon o'er the combers, looks downward to find us At rest in the hollows that rustle between.

Where billow meets billow, there soft be thy pillow; Ah, weary wee flipperling, curl at thy ease!

The storm shall not wake thee, nor shark overtake thee, Asleep in the arms of the slow-swinging seas.

Rudyard Kipling.

_Milking Time_

When the cows come home the milk is coming; Honey's made while the bees are humming; Duck and drake on the rushy lake, And the deer live safe in the breezy brake; And timid, funny, pert little bunny Winks his nose, and sits all sunny.

Christina G. Rossetti.

_Thank You, Pretty Cow_

Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day and every night, Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslip eat, That will make it very sweet.

Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the gra.s.s is fresh and fine, Pretty cow, go there and dine.

Jane Taylor.

_The Boy and the Sheep_

"Lazy sheep, pray tell me why In the pleasant field you lie, Eating gra.s.s and daisies white, From the morning till the night: Everything can something do; But what kind of use are you?"

"Nay, my little master, nay, Do not serve me so, I pray!

Don't you see the wool that grows On my back to make your clothes?

Cold, ah, very cold you'd be, If you had not wool from me.

"True, it seems a pleasant thing Nipping daisies in the spring; But what chilly nights I pa.s.s On the cold and dewy gra.s.s, Or pick my scanty dinner where All the ground is brown and bare!

"Then the farmer comes at last, When the merry spring is past, Cuts my woolly fleece away, For your coat in wintry day.

Little master, this is why In the pleasant fields I lie."

Ann Taylor.

_Lambs in the Meadow_

O little lambs! the month is cold, The sky is very gray; You s.h.i.+ver in the misty gra.s.s And bleat at all the winds that pa.s.s; Wait! when I'm big--some day-- I'll build a roof to every fold.

But now that I am small I'll pray At mother's knee for you; Perhaps the angels with their wings; Will come and warm you, little things; I'm sure that, if G.o.d knew, He'd let the lambs be born in May.

Laurence Alma Tadema.

_The Pet Lamb_

The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink; I heard a voice; it said, "Drink, pretty creature, drink!"

And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain-lamb, with a maiden at its side.

Nor sheep nor kine were near; the lamb was all alone, And by a slender cord was tethered to a stone.