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diff --git a/42947-0.txt b/42947-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4156f16 --- /dev/null +++ b/42947-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1984 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42947 *** + +LITTLE ANN AND OTHER POEMS + +[Illustration] + +[Illustration] + + + + + +LITTLE ANN AND OTHER POEMS + +BY JANE AND ANN TAYLOR + +[Illustration] + +ILLUSTRATED BY KATE GREENAWAY + +[Illustration] + + LONDON + FREDERICK WARNE & CO. LTD. + & NEW YORK + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration: + + DEDICATED TO + GODFREY, DOROTHY, OLIVER & MAUD + CHILDREN OF FREDERICK LOCKER ESQ.] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + A True Story 7 + The Boys and the Apple-Tree 9 + Sophia's Fool's-Cap 11 + Frances Keeps Her Promise 12 + Careless Matilda 14 + The Violet 16 + The Orphan 17 + The Disappointment 18 + James and the Shoulder of Mutton 19 + The Good-Natured Girls 21 + To a Little Girl that has Told a Lie 22 + Dirty Jim 24 + Meddlesome Matty 25 + The Butterfly 27 + The Gaudy Flower 28 + George and the Chimney-Sweep 29 + Deaf Martha 31 + The Little Cripple's Complaint 33 + Negligent Mary 35 + The Spider 36 + For a Naughty Little Girl 37 + The Child's Monitor 39 + The Chatterbox 40 + Jane and Eliza 41 + Sleepy Harry 42 + Washing and Dressing 43 + The Vulgar Little Lady 44 + The Wooden Doll and the Wax Doll 46 + The Baby's Dance 48 + The Pin 49 + The Cow 50 + Come and Play in the Garden 50 + Little Girls Must Not Fret 52 + The Field Daisy 53 + Learning to Go Alone 54 + Finery 55 + Greedy Richard 56 + The Holidays 58 + The Village Green 59 + Mischief 61 + About the Little Girl that Beat Her Sister 62 + The Apple-Tree 63 + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +A TRUE STORY. + + + Little Ann and her mother were walking one day + Through London's wide city so fair, + And business obliged them to go by the way + That led them through Cavendish Square. + + And as they pass'd by the great house of a Lord, + A beautiful chariot there came, + To take some most elegant ladies abroad, + Who straightway got into the same. + + The ladies in feathers and jewels were seen, + The chariot was painted all o'er, + The footmen behind were in silver and green, + The horses were prancing before. + + Little Ann by her mother walk'd silent and sad, + A tear trickled down from her eye, + Till her mother said, "Ann, I should be very glad + To know what it is makes you cry." + + "Mamma," said the child, "see that carriage so fair, + All cover'd with varnish and gold, + Those ladies are riding so charmingly there + While we have to walk in the cold. + + "You say God is kind to the folks that are good, + But surely it cannot be true; + Or else I am certain, almost, that He would + Give such a fine carriage to you." + + "Look there, little girl," said her mother, "and see + What stands at that very coach door; + A poor ragged beggar, and listen how she + A halfpenny tries to implore. + + "All pale is her face, and deep sunk is her eye, + And her hands look like skeleton's bones; + She has got a few rags, just about her to tie, + And her naked feet bleed on the stones." + + 'Dear ladies,' she cries, and the tears trickle down, + 'Relieve a poor beggar, I pray; + I've wander'd all hungry about this wide town, + And not ate a morsel to-day. + + 'My father and mother are long ago dead, + My brother sails over the sea, + And I've scarcely a rag, or a morsel of bread, + As plainly, I'm sure, you may see. + + 'A fever I caught, which was terrible bad, + But no nurse or physic had I; + An old dirty shed was the house that I had, + And only on straw could I lie. + + 'And now that I'm better, yet feeble and faint, + And famish'd, and naked, and cold, + I wander about with my grievous complaint, + And seldom get aught but a scold. + + 'Some will not attend to my pitiful call, + Some think me a vagabond cheat; + And scarcely a creature relieves me, of all + The thousands that traverse the street. + + 'Then ladies, dear ladies, your pity bestow:'-- + Just then a tall footman came round, + And asking the ladies which way they would go, + The chariot turn'd off with a bound. + + "Ah! see, little girl," then her mother replied, + "How foolish those murmurs have been; + You have but to look on the contrary side, + To learn both your folly and sin. + + "This poor little beggar is hungry and cold, + No mother awaits her return; + And while such an object as this you behold, + Your heart should with gratitude burn. + + "Your house and its comforts, your food and your friends, + 'Tis favour in God to confer, + Have you any claim to the bounty He sends, + Who makes you to differ from her? + + "A coach, and a footman, and gaudy attire, + Give little true joy to the breast; + To be good is the thing you should chiefly desire, + And then leave to GOD all the rest." + + + + +THE BOYS AND THE APPLE-TREE + + + As William and Thomas were walking one day, + They came by a fine orchard's side: + They would rather eat apples than spell, read, or play, + And Thomas to William then cried: + + "O brother, look yonder! what clusters hang there! + I'll try and climb over the wall: + I must have an apple; I will have a pear; + Although it should cost me a fall!" + + Said William to Thomas, "To steal is a sin, + Mamma has oft told this to thee: + I never have stolen, nor will I begin, + So the apples may hang on the tree." + + "You are a good boy, as you ever have been," + Said Thomas, "let's walk on, my lad: + We'll call on our schoolfellow, Benjamin Green, + Who to see us I know will be glad." + +[Illustration] + + They came to the house, and ask'd at the gate, + "Is Benjamin Green now at home?" + But Benjamin did not allow them to wait, + And brought them both into the room. + + And he smiled, and he laugh'd, and caper'd with joy, + His little companions to greet: + "And we too are happy," said each little boy, + "Our playfellow dear thus to meet." + + "Come, walk in our garden, this morning so fine, + We may, for my father gives leave; + And more, he invites you to stay here and dine: + And a most happy day we shall have!" + + But when in the garden, they found 'twas the same + They saw as they walk'd in the road; + And near the high wall when those little boys came, + They started as if from a toad: + + "That large ring of iron, you see on the ground, + With terrible teeth like a saw," + Said their friend, "the guard of our garden is found, + And it keeps all intruders in awe. + + "If any the warning without set at naught, + Their legs then this man-trap must tear:" + Said William to Thomas, "So you'd have been caught, + If you had leapt over just there." + + Cried Thomas in terror of what now he saw, + "With my faults I will heartily grapple; + For I learn what may happen by breaking a law, + Although but in stealing an apple." + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +SOPHIA'S FOOL'S-CAP. + + + Sophia was a little child, + Obliging, good, and very mild, + Yet lest of dress she should be vain, + Mamma still dress'd her well, but plain. + Her parents, sensible and kind, + Wish'd only to adorn her mind; + No other dress, when good, had she, + But useful, neat simplicity. + + Though seldom, yet when she was rude, + Or ever in a naughty mood, + Her punishment was this disgrace, + A large fine cap, adorn'd with lace, + With feathers and with ribbons too; + The work was neat, the fashion new, + Yet, as a fool's-cap was its name, + She dreaded much to wear the same. + + A lady, fashionably gay, + Did to mamma a visit pay: + Sophia stared, then whisp'ring said, + "Why, dear mamma, look at her head! + To be so tall and wicked too, + The strangest thing I ever knew: + What naughty tricks, pray, has she done, + That they have put that fool's-cap on?" + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +FRANCES KEEPS HER PROMISE + + + "My Fanny, I have news to tell, + Your diligence quite pleases me; + You've work'd so neatly, read so well, + With cousin Jane you may take tea. + + "But pray remember this, my love, + Although to stay you should incline, + And none but you should think to move, + I wish you to return at nine." + + With many thanks the attentive child + Assured mamma she would obey: + Whom tenderly she kiss'd, and smiled, + And with the maid then went away. + + Arrived, the little girl was shown + To where she met the merry band; + And when her coming was made known, + All greet her with a welcome bland. + + They dance, they play, and sweetly sing, + In every sport each one partakes; + And now the servants sweetmeats bring, + With wine and jellies, fruit and cakes. + + Then comes papa, who says, "My dears, + The magic lantern if you'd see, + And that which on the wall appears, + Leave off your play, and follow me." + + While Frances too enjoy'd the sight, + Where moving figures all combine + To raise her wonder and delight, + She hears, alas! the clock strike nine. + + "Miss Fanny's maid for her is come."-- + "Oh dear, how soon!" the children cry; + They press, but Fanny will go home, + And bids her little friends good bye. + + "See, dear mamma, I have not stay'd." + "Good girl, indeed," mamma replies, + "I knew you'd do as you had said, + And now you'll find you've won a prize. + + "So come, my love, and see the man + Whom I desired at nine to call." + Down stairs young Frances quickly ran, + And found him waiting in the hall. + + "Here, Miss, are pretty birds to buy, + A parrot or macaw so gay; + A speckled dove with scarlet eye: + A linnet or a chattering jay. + + "Would you a Java sparrow love?" + "No, no, I thank you," said the child; + "I'll have a beauteous cooing dove, + So harmless, innocent, and mild." + + "Your choice, my Fanny, I commend, + Few birds can with the dove compare; + But, lest it pine without a friend, + I give you leave to choose a pair." + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +CARELESS MATILDA. + + + "Again, Matilda, is your work undone! + Your scissors, where are they? your thimble, gone? + Your needles, pins, and thread and tapes all lost; + Your housewife here, and there your workbag toss'd. + + "Fie, fie, my child! indeed this will not do, + Your hair uncomb'd, your frock in tatters, too; + I'm now resolved no more delays to grant, + To learn of her, I'll send you to your aunt." + In vain Matilda wept, entreated, pray'd, + In vain a promise of amendment made. + + Arrived at Austere Hall, Matilda sigh'd, + By Lady Rigid when severely eyed: + "You read and write, and work well, as I'm told, + Are gentle, kind, good-natured, and not bold; + But very careless, negligent, and wild-- + You'll leave me, as I hope, a different child." + + The little girl next morn a favour asks; + "I wish to take a walk."--"Go, learn your tasks," + Replies her aunt, "nor fruitlessly repine: + Your room you'll leave not till you're call'd to dine." + As there Matilda sat, o'erwhelm'd with shame, + A dame appear'd, Disorder was her name: + Her hair and dress neglected--soil'd her face, + Her mien unseemly, and devoid of grace. + + "Here, child," said she, "my mistress sends you this, + A bag of silks--a flower, not work'd amiss-- + A polyanthus bright, and wondrous gay, + You'll copy it by noon, she bade me say." + Disorder grinn'd, and shuffling walk'd away. + + Entangled were the silks of every hue, + Confused and mix'd were shades of pink, green, blue; + She took a thread, compared it with the flower: + "To finish this is not within my power. + Well-sorted silks had Lady Rigid sent, + I might have work'd, if such was her intent." + She sigh'd, and melted into sobs and tears: + She hears a step, and at the door appears + A pretty maiden, clean, well-dress'd, and neat, + Her voice was soft, her looks sedate, yet sweet. + "My name is Order: do not cry, my love; + Attend to me, and thus you may improve." + She took the silks, and drew out shade by shade, + In separate skeins, and each with care she laid; + Then smiling kindly, left the little maid. + + She leaves the room--"I've done my task," she cries, + The lady look'd, and scarce believed her eyes; + Yet soon her harshness changed to glad surprise: + "Why, this is well, a very pretty flower, + Work'd so exact, and done within the hour! + And now amuse yourself, and walk, or play." + Thus pass'd Matilda this much dreaded day. + At all her tasks, Disorder would attend; + At all her tasks, still Order stood her friend. + With tears and sighs her studies oft began, + These into smiles were changed by Order's plan. + No longer Lady Rigid seem'd severe: + The negligent alone her eye need fear. + + And now the day, the wish'd-for day, is come, + When young Matilda may revisit home. + "You quit me, child, but oft to mind recall + The time you spent with me at Austere Hall. + And now, my dear, I'll give you one of these + To be your maid--take with you which you please. + What! from Disorder do you frighten'd start?" + Matilda clasp'd sweet Order to her heart, + And said, "From thee, best friend, I'll never part." + + + + +THE VIOLET. + + + Down in a green and shady bed, + A modest violet grew; + Its stalk was bent, it hung its head + As if to hide from view. + + And yet it was a lovely flower, + Its colour bright and fair; + It might have graced a rosy bower, + Instead of hiding there. + + Yet thus it was content to bloom, + In modest tints arrayed; + And there diffused a sweet perfume + Within the silent shade. + + Then let me to the valley go + This pretty flower to see; + That I may also learn to grow + In sweet humility. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE ORPHAN. + + + My father and mother are dead, + Nor friend, nor relation I know; + And now the cold earth is their bed, + And daisies will over them grow. + + I cast my eyes into the tomb, + The sight made me bitterly cry; + I said, "And is this the dark room, + Where my father and mother must lie?" + + I cast my eyes round me again, + In hopes some protector to see; + Alas! but the search was in vain, + For none had compassion on me. + + I cast my eyes up to the sky, + I groan'd, though I said not a word; + Yet God was not deaf to my cry, + The Friend of the fatherless heard. + + For since I have trusted his care, + And learn'd on his word to depend, + He has kept me from every snare, + And been my best Father and Friend. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE DISAPPOINTMENT. + + + In tears to her mother poor Harriet came, + Let us listen to hear what she says: + "O see, dear mamma, it is pouring with rain, + We cannot go out in the chaise. + + "All the week I have long'd for this holiday so, + And fancied the minutes were hours; + And now that I'm dress'd and all ready to go, + Do look at those terrible showers!" + + "I'm sorry, my dear," her kind mother replied, + The rain disappoints us to-day; + But sorrow still more that you fret for a ride, + In such an extravagant way. + + "These slight disappointments are sent to prepare + For what may hereafter befall; + For seasons of _real_ disappointment and care, + Which commonly happen to all. + + "For just like to-day with its holiday lost, + Is life and its comforts at best: + Our pleasures are blighted, our purposes cross'd, + To teach us it is not our rest. + + "And when those distresses and crosses appear, + With which you may shortly be tried, + You'll wonder that ever you wasted a tear + On merely the loss of a ride. + + "But though the world's pleasures are fleeting and vain, + Religion is lasting and true; + Real pleasure and peace in her paths you may gain, + Nor will disappointment ensue." + + + + +JAMES AND THE SHOULDER OF MUTTON. + + + Young Jem at noon return'd from school, + As hungry as could be, + He cried to Sue, the servant-maid, + "My dinner give to me." + + Said Sue, "It is not yet come home; + Besides, it is not late." + "No matter that," cries little Jem, + "I do not like to wait." + + Quick to the baker's Jemmy went + And ask'd, "Is dinner done?" + "It is," replied the baker's man. + "Then home I'll with it run." + + "Nay, Sir," replied he prudently, + "I tell you 'tis too hot, + And much too heavy 'tis for you." + "I tell you it is not. + + "Papa, mamma, are both gone out, + And I for dinner long; + So give it me, it is all mine, + And, baker, hold your tongue. + + "A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice! + And batter-pudding too; + I'm glad of that, it is so good; + How clever is our Sue!" + +[Illustration] + + Now near the door young Jem was come, + He round the corner turn'd, + But oh, sad fate! unlucky chance! + The dish his fingers burn'd. + + Now in the kennel down fell dish, + And down fell all the meat; + Swift went the pudding in the stream, + And sail'd along the street. + + The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd + At mutton's hapless fall; + But though ashamed, young Jemmy cried. + "Better lose part than all." + + The shoulder by the knuckle seized, + His hands both grasp'd it fast, + And deaf to all their gibes and cries, + He gain'd his home at last. + + "Impatience is a fault," cries Jem, + "The baker told me true; + In future I will patient be, + And mind what says our Sue." + + + + +THE GOOD-NATURED GIRLS. + + + Two good little children, named Mary and Ann, + Both happily live, as good girls always can; + And though they are not either sullen or mute, + They seldom or never are heard to dispute. + +[Illustration] + + If one wants a thing that the other would like-- + Well,--what do they do? Must they quarrel and strike? + No, each is so willing to give up her own, + That such disagreements are there never known. + + If one of them happens to have something nice, + Directly she offers her sister a slice; + And never, like some greedy children, would try + To eat in a corner with nobody by! + + When papa or mamma has a job to be done, + These good little children immediately run; + Nor dispute whether this or the other should go, + They _would_ be ashamed to behave themselves so! + + Whatever occurs, in their work or their play, + They are willing to yield, and give up their own way: + Then now let us try their example to mind, + And always, like them, be obliging and kind. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +TO A LITTLE GIRL THAT HAS TOLD A LIE. + + + And has my darling told a lie? + Did she forget that GOD was by? + That GOD, who saw the things she did, + From whom no action can be hid; + Did she forget that GOD could see + And hear, wherever she might be? + + He made your eyes, and can discern + Whichever way you think to turn; + He made your ears, and he can hear + When you think nobody is near; + In every place, by night or day, + He watches all you do and say. + + Oh, how I wish you would but try + To act, as shall not need a lie; + And when you wish a thing to do, + That has been once forbidden you, + Remember that, nor ever dare + To disobey--for GOD is there. + +[Illustration] + + Why should you fear the truth to tell? + Does falsehood ever do so well? + Can you be satisfied to know, + There's something wrong to hide below? + No! let your fault be what it may, + To own it is the happy way. + + So long as you your crime conceal, + You cannot light and gladsome feel: + Your little heart will seem oppress'd, + As if a weight were on your breast; + And e'en your mother's eye to meet, + Will tinge your face with shame and heat. + + Yes, GOD has made your duty clear, + By every blush, by every fear; + And conscience, like an angel kind, + Keeps watch to bring it to your mind: + Its friendly warnings ever heed, + And neither tell a lie--nor need. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +DIRTY JIM. + + + There was one little Jim, + 'Tis reported of him, + And must be to his lasting disgrace, + That he never was seen + With hands at all clean, + Nor yet ever clean was his face. + + His friends were much hurt + To see so much dirt, + And often they made him quite clean; + But all was in vain, + He got dirty again, + And not at all fit to be seen. + + It gave him no pain + To hear them complain, + Nor his own dirty clothes to survey: + His indolent mind + No pleasure could find + In tidy and wholesome array. + + The idle and bad, + Like this little lad, + May love dirty ways, to be sure; + But good boys are seen + To be decent and clean, + Although they are ever so poor. + +[Illustration] + + + + +MEDDLESOME MATTY. + + + One ugly trick has often spoil'd + The sweetest and the best; + Matilda, though a pleasant child, + One ugly trick possess'd, + Which, like a cloud before the skies, + Hid all her better qualities. + + Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, + To peep at what was in it; + Or tilt the kettle, if you did + But turn your back a minute. + In vain you told her not to touch, + Her trick of meddling grew so much. + + Her grandmamma went out one day, + And by mistake she laid + Her spectacles and snuff-box gay + Too near the little maid; + "Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, + As soon as grandmamma is gone." + + Forthwith she placed upon her nose + The glasses large and wide; + And looking round, as I suppose, + The snuff-box too she spied: + "Oh! what a pretty box is that; + I'll open it," said little Matt. + + "I know that grandmamma would say, + 'Don't meddle with it, dear;' + But then, she's far enough away, + And no one else is near: + Besides, what can there be amiss + In opening such a box as this?" + + So thumb and finger went to work + To move the stubborn lid, + And presently a mighty jerk + The mighty mischief did; + For all at once, ah! woful case, + The snuff came puffing in her face. + + Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside + A dismal sight presented; + In vain, as bitterly she cried, + Her folly she repented. + In vain she ran about for ease; + She could do nothing now but sneeze. + + She dash'd the spectacles away, + To wipe her tingling eyes, + And as in twenty bits they lay, + Her grandmamma she spies. + "Heyday! and what's the matter now?" + Says grandmamma, with lifted brow. + + Matilda, smarting with the pain, + And tingling still, and sore, + Made many a promise to refrain + From meddling evermore. + And 'tis a fact, as I have heard, + She ever since has kept her word. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE BUTTERFLY. + + + The Butterfly, an idle thing, + Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing, + As do the bee and bird; + Nor does it, like the prudent ant, + Lay up the grain for times of want, + A wise and cautious hoard. + + My youth is but a summer's day: + Then like the bee and ant I'll lay + A store of learning by; + And though from flower to flower I rove, + My stock of wisdom I'll improve + Nor be a butterfly. + + + + +THE GAUDY FLOWER. + + + Why does my Anna toss her head, + And look so scornfully around, + As if she scarcely deign'd to tread + Upon the daisy-dappled ground? + + Does fancied beauty fire thine eye, + The brilliant tint, the satin skin? + Does the loved glass, in passing by, + Reflect a graceful form and thin? + +[Illustration] + + Alas! that form, and brilliant fire, + Will never win beholder's love; + It may, indeed, make fools admire, + But ne'er the wise and good can move. + + So grows the tulip, gay and bold, + The broadest sunshine its delight + Like rubies, or like burnish'd gold, + It shows its petals, glossy bright. + + But who the gaudy floweret crops, + As if to court a sweet perfume! + Admired it blows, neglected drops, + And sinks unheeded to its doom. + + The virtues of the heart may move + Affections of a genial kind; + While beauty fails to stir our love, + And wins the eye, but not the mind. + +[Illustration] + + + + +GEORGE AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. + + + His petticoats now George cast off, + For he was four years old; + His trousers were of nankeen stuff, + With buttons bright as gold. + "May I," said George, "just go abroad, + My pretty clothes to show? + May I, mamma? but speak the word;" + The answer was, "No, no." + + "Go, run below, George, in the court. + But go not in the street, + Lest boys with you should make some sport, + Or gipsies you should meet." + Yet, though forbidden, he went out, + That other boys might spy, + And proudly there he walk'd about, + And thought--"How fine am I!" + +[Illustration] + + But whilst he strutted through the street, + With looks both vain and pert, + A sweep-boy pass'd, whom not to meet, + He slipp'd--into the dirt. + The sooty lad, whose heart was kind, + To help him quickly ran, + And grasp'd his arm, with--"Never mind, + You're up, my little man." + + Sweep wiped his clothes with labour vain, + And begg'd him not to cry; + And when he'd blacken'd every stain, + Said, "Little sir, good-bye." + Poor George, almost as dark as sweep, + And smear'd in dress and face, + Bemoans with sobs, both loud and deep, + His well-deserved disgrace. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +DEAF MARTHA. + + + Poor Martha is old, and her hair is turn'd grey, + And her hearing has left her for many a year; + Ten to one if she knows what it is that you say, + Though she puts her poor wither'd hand close to her ear + + I've seen naughty children run after her fast, + And cry, "Martha, run, there's a bullock so bold;" + And when she was frighten'd,--laugh at her at last, + Because she believed the sad stories they told. + + I've seen others put their mouths close to her ear, + And make signs as if they had something to say; + And when she said, "Master, I'm deaf, and can't hear," + Point at her and mock her, and scamper away. + + Ah! wicked the children poor Martha to tease, + As if she had not enough else to endure; + They rather should try her affliction to ease, + And soothe a disorder that nothing can cure. + + One day, when those children themselves are grown old, + And one may be deaf, and another be lame, + Perhaps they may find that some children, as bold, + May tease them, and mock them, and serve them the same. + + Then, when they reflect on the days of their youth, + A faithful account will their consciences keep, + And teach them, with shame and with sorrow, the truth, + That "what a man soweth, the same shall he reap." + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE LITTLE CRIPPLE'S COMPLAINT. + + + I'm a helpless cripple child, + Gentle Christians, pity me; + Once, in rosy health I smiled, + Blithe and gay as you can be, + And upon the village green + First in every sport was seen. + + Now, alas! I'm weak and low, + Cannot either work or play; + Tottering on my crutches, slow, + Thus I drag my weary way: + Now no longer dance and sing, + Gaily, in the merry ring. + + Many sleepless nights I live, + Turning on my weary bed; + Softest pillows cannot give + Slumber to my aching head; + Constant anguish makes it fly + From my heavy, wakeful eye. + + And, when morning beams return, + Still no comfort beams for me: + Still my limbs with fever burn + Painful still my crippled knee. + And another tedious day + Passes slow and sad away. + + From my chamber-window high, + Lifted to my easy-chair, + I the village-green can spy, + Once _I_ used to frolic there, + March, or beat my new-bought drum; + Happy times! no more to come. + + There I see my fellows gay, + Sporting on the daisied turf, + And, amidst their cheerful play, + Stopp'd by many a merry laugh; + But the sight I scarce can bear, + Leaning in my easy-chair. + + Let not then the scoffing eye + Laugh, my twisted leg to see: + Gentle Christians, passing by, + Stop awhile, and pity me, + And for you I'll breathe a prayer, + Leaning in my easy-chair. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +NEGLIGENT MARY. + + + Ah, Mary! what, do you for dolly not care? + And why is she left on the floor? + Forsaken, and cover'd with dust, I declare; + With you I must trust her no more. + + I thought you were pleased, as you took her so gladly, + When on your birthday she was sent; + Did I ever suppose you would use her so sadly? + Was that, do you think, what I meant? + + With her bonnet of straw you once were delighted, + And trimm'd it so pretty with pink; + But now it is crumpled, and dolly is slighted: + Her nurse quite forgets her, I think. + + Suppose now--for Mary is _dolly_ to me, + Whom I love to see tidy and fair-- + Suppose I should leave you, as dolly I see, + In tatters, and comfortless there. + + But dolly feels nothing, as you do, my dear, + Nor cares for her negligent nurse: + If I were as careless as you are, I fear, + Your lot, and my fault, would be worse. + + And therefore it is, in my Mary, I strive + To check every fault that I see: + Mary's doll is but waxen--mamma's is alive, + And of far more importance than she. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE SPIDER. + + + "Oh, look at that great ugly spider!" said Ann; + And screaming, she brush'd it away with her fan; + "'Tis a frightful black creature as ever can be, + I wish that it would not come crawling on me." + + "Indeed," said her mother, "I'll venture to say, + The poor thing will try to keep out of your way; + For after the fright, and the fall, and the pain, + It has much more occasion than you to complain. + + "But why should you dread the poor insect, my dear? + If it _hurt_ you, there'd be some excuse for your fear; + But its little black legs, as it hurried away, + Did but tickle your arm, as they went, I dare say. + + "For _them_ to fear _us_ we must grant to be just, + Who in less than a moment can tread them to dust; + But certainly _we_ have no cause for alarm; + For, were they to try, they could do us no harm. + + "Now look! it has got to its home; do you see + What a delicate web it has spun in the tree? + Why here, my dear Ann, is a lesson for you: + Come learn from this spider what patience can do! + + "And when at your business you're tempted to play, + Recollect what you see in this insect to-day, + Or else, to your shame, it may seem to be true, + That a poor little spider is wiser than you." + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +FOR A NAUGHTY LITTLE GIRL. + + + My sweet little girl should be cheerful and mild, + She must not be fretful and cry! + Oh! why is this passion? remember, my child, + GOD sees you, who lives in the sky. + + That dear little face, that I like so to kiss, + How alter'd and sad it appears! + Do you think I can love you so naughty as this, + Or kiss you, all wetted with tears? + + Remember, though GOD is in Heaven, my love, + He sees you within and without, + And always looks down, from His glory above, + To notice what you are about. + +[Illustration] + + If I am not with you, or if it be dark, + And nobody is in the way, + His eye is as able your doings to mark, + In the night as it is in the day. + + Then dry up your tears and look smiling again, + And never do things that are wrong; + For I'm sure you must feel it a terrible pain, + To be naughty and crying so long. + + We'll pray, then, that GOD may your passion forgive, + And teach you from evil to fly; + And then you'll be happy as long as you live, + And happy whenever you die. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE CHILD'S MONITOR. + + + The wind blows down the largest tree, + And yet the wind I cannot see! + Playmates far off, who have been kind, + My thought can bring before my mind; + The past by it is present brought, + And yet I cannot see my thought; + The charming rose scents all the air, + Yet I can see no perfume there. + Blithe Robin's notes how sweet, how clear! + From his small bill they reach my ear, + And whilst upon the air they float, + I hear, yet cannot see a note. + When I would do what is forbid, + By _something_ in my heart I'm chid; + When good, I think, then quick and pat, + That _something_ says, "My child, do that:" + When I too near the stream would go, + So pleased to see the waters flow, + That _something_ says, without a sound, + "Take care, dear child, you may be drown'd:" + And for the poor whene'er I grieve, + That _something_ says, "A penny give." + + Thus _something_ very near must be, + Although invisible to me; + Whate'er I do, it sees me still: + O then, good Spirit, guide my will. + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE CHATTERBOX. + + + From morning till night it was Lucy's delight + To chatter and talk without stopping: + There was not a day but she rattled away, + Like water for ever a-dropping. + + No matter at all if the subjects were small, + Or not worth the trouble of saying, + 'Twas equal to her, she would talking prefer + To working, or reading, or playing. + + You'll think now, perhaps, that there would have been gaps, + If she had not been wonderfully clever: + That her sense was so great, and so witty her pate, + It would be forthcoming for ever; + + But that's quite absurd, for have you not heard + That much tongue and few brains are connected? + That they are supposed to think least who talk most, + And their wisdom is always suspected? + + While Lucy was young, had she bridled her tongue, + With a little good sense and exertion, + Who knows, but she might now have been our delight, + Instead of our jest and aversion? + + + + +JANE AND ELIZA. + + + There were two little girls, neither handsome nor plain; + One's name was Eliza, the other's was Jane: + They were both of one height, as I've heard people say, + They were both of one age, I believe, to a day. + + 'Twas fancied by some, who but slightly had seen them, + That scarcely a difference was there between them; + But no one for long in this notion persisted, + So great a distinction there really existed. + + Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing, + While fretting and fuming, while sulky or teasing; + And therefore in company artfully tried, + Not to _break_ her bad habits, but only to _hide_. + + So, when she was out, with much labour and pain, + She contrived to look almost as pleasant as Jane; + But then you might see, that in forcing a smile, + Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all the while. + + And in spite of her care, it would sometimes befall, + That some cross event happen'd to ruin it all; + And because it might chance that her share was the worst, + Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed. + + But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide, + And therefore these troublesome arts never tried, + Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing, + But her face always show'd what her bosom was feeling. + + At home or abroad there was peace in her smile, + A cheerful good nature that needed no guile. + And Eliza work'd hard, but could never obtain + The affection that freely was given to Jane. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +SLEEPY HARRY. + + + "I do not like to go to bed," + Sleepy little Harry said; + "Go, naughty Betty, go away, + I will not come at all, I say!" + + Oh, silly child! what is he saying? + As if he could be always playing! + Then, Betty, you must come and carry + This very foolish little Harry. + + The little birds are better taught, + They go to roosting when they ought; + And all the ducks, and fowls, you know, + _They_ went to bed an hour ago. + + The little beggar in the street, + Who wanders with his naked feet, + And has not where to lay his head, + Oh, he'd be glad to go to bed. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +WASHING AND DRESSING. + + + Ah! why will my dear little girl be so cross, + And cry, and look sulky, and pout? + To lose her sweet smile is a terrible loss, + I can't even kiss her without. + + You say you don't like to be wash'd and be dress'd, + But would you not wish to be clean? + Come, drive that long sob from your dear little breast, + This face is not fit to be seen. + + If the water is cold, and the brush hurts your head, + And the soap has got into your eye, + Will the water grow warmer for all that you've said? + And what good will it do you to cry? + + It is not to tease you and hurt you, my sweet, + But only for kindness and care, + That I wash you, and dress you, and make you look neat, + And comb out your tanglesome hair. + + I don't mind the trouble, if you would not cry, + But pay me for all with a kiss; + That's right--take the towel and wipe your wet eye, + I thought you'd be good after this. + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE VULGAR LITTLE LADY. + + + "But, mamma, now," said Charlotte, "pray, don't you believe + That I'm better than Jenny, my nurse? + Only see my red shoes, and the lace on my sleeve; + Her clothes are a thousand times worse. + + "I ride in my coach, and have nothing to do, + And the country folks stare at me so; + And nobody dares to control me but you + Because I'm a lady, you know. + +[Illustration] + + "Then, servants are vulgar, and I am genteel; + So, really, 'tis out of the way, + To think that I should not be better a deal + Than maids, and such people as they." + + "Gentility, Charlotte," her mother replied, + "Belongs to no station or place; + And nothing's so vulgar as folly and pride, + Though dress'd in red slippers and lace. + + "Not all the fine things that fine ladies possess + Should teach them the poor to despise; + For 'tis in good manners, and not in good dress, + That the truest gentility lies." + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE WOODEN DOLL AND THE WAX DOLL. + + + There were two friends, a very charming pair, + Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine the fair; + And she to love Brunette did constantly incline, + Nor less did Brunette love sweet Blanchidine. + Brunette in dress was neat, yet always plain; + But Blanchidine of finery was vain. + Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made-- + A little girl most sumptuously array'd, + In plumes and ribbons, gaudy to behold, + And India frock, with spots of shining gold. + Said Blanchidine, "A girl so richly dress'd, + Should surely be by everyone caress'd, + To play with me if she will condescend, + Henceforth 'tis she alone shall be my friend." + And so for this new friend in silks adorn'd, + Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorn'd. + Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys, + A wooden doll her every thought employs; + Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red-- + She kiss'd, she fondled, and she took to bed. + Mamma now brought her home a doll of wax, + Its hair in ringlets white, and soft as flax; + Its eyes could open and its eyes could shut; + And on it, too, with taste its clothes were put. + "My dear wax doll!" sweet Blanchidine would cry-- + Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by. + One summer's day, 'twas in the month of June, + The sun blazed out in all the heat of noon: + "My waxen doll," she cried, "my dear, my charmer! + What, are you cold? but you shall soon be warmer." + She laid it in the sun--misfortune dire! + The wax ran down as if before the fire! + Each beauteous feature quickly disappear'd, + And melting, left a blank all soil'd and smear'd. + Her doll disfigured, she beheld amazed, + And thus express'd her sorrow as she gazed: + "Is it for you my heart I have estranged + From that I fondly loved, which has not changed? + Just so may change my new acquaintance fine, + For whom I left Brunette that friend of mine. + No more by outside show will I be lured; + Of such capricious whims I think I'm cured: + To plain old friends my heart shall still be true, + Nor change for every face because 'tis new." + Her slighted wooden doll resumed its charms, + And wronged Brunette she clasp'd within her arms. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE BABY'S DANCE. + + + Dance, little baby, dance up high: + Never mind, baby, mother is by; + Crow and caper, caper and crow, + There, little baby, there you go; + Up to the ceiling, down to the ground, + Backwards and forwards, round and round: + Then dance, little baby, and mother shall sing, + While the gay merry coral goes ding-a-ding, ding. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE PIN. + + + "Dear me! what signifies a pin! + I'll leave it on the floor; + My pincushion has others in, + Mamma has plenty more: + A miser will I never be," + Said little heedless Emily. + + So tripping on to giddy play, + She left the pin behind, + For Betty's broom to whisk away, + Or some one else to find; + She never gave a thought, indeed, + To what she might to-morrow need. + + Next day a party was to ride, + To see an air-balloon! + And all the company beside + Were dress'd and ready soon: + But she, poor girl, she could not stir, + For just a pin to finish her. + + 'Twas vainly now, with eye and hand, + She did to search begin; + There was not one--not one, the band + Of her pelisse to pin! + She cut her pincushion in two, + But not a pin had slidden through! + + At last, as hunting on the floor, + Over a crack she lay, + The carriage rattled to the door, + Then rattled fast away. + Poor Emily! she was not in, + For want of just--a single pin! + + There's hardly anything so small, + So trifling or so mean, + That we may never want at all, + For service unforeseen: + And those who venture wilful waste, + May woful want expect to taste. + + + + +THE 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 cowslips eat; + They perhaps will make it sweet. + + Where the purple violet grows, + Where the bubbling water flows, + Where the grass is fresh and fine, + Pretty cow, go there and dine. + +[Illustration] + + + + +COME AND PLAY IN THE GARDEN. + + + Little sister, come away, + And let us in the garden play, + For it is a pleasant day. + + On the grass-plat let us sit, + Or, if you please, we'll play a bit, + And run about all over it. + + But the fruit we will not pick, + For that would be a naughty trick, + And very likely make us sick. + + Nor will we pluck the pretty flowers + That grow about the beds and bowers, + Because you know they are not ours. + +[Illustration] + + We'll take the daisies, white and red, + Because mamma has often said + That we may gather them instead. + + And much I hope we always may + Our very dear mamma obey, + And mind whatever she may say. + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +LITTLE GIRLS MUST NOT FRET. + + + What is it that makes little Emily cry? + Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye: + There--lay down your head on my bosom--that's right, + And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night. + + What! Emmy is sleepy, and tired with play? + Come, Betty, make haste then, and fetch her away; + But do not be fretful, my darling; you know + Mamma cannot love little girls that are so. + + She shall soon go to bed and forget it all there-- + Ah! here's her sweet smile come again, I declare: + That's right, for I thought you quite naughty before. + Good night, my dear child, but don't fret any more. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE FIELD DAISY. + + + I'm a pretty little thing, + Always coming with the spring; + In the meadows green I'm found, + Peeping just above the ground, + And my stalk is cover'd flat + With a white and yellow hat. + + Little Mary, when you pass + Lightly o'er the tender grass, + Skip about, but do not tread + On my bright but lowly head, + For I always seem to say, + "Surely winter's gone away." + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +LEARNING TO GO ALONE. + + + Come, my darling, come away. + Take a pretty walk to-day; + Run along, and never fear, + I'll take care of baby dear: + Up and down with little feet, + That's the way to walk, my sweet. + + Now it is so very near, + Soon she'll get to mother dear. + There she comes along at last: + Here's my finger, hold it fast + Now one pretty little kiss, + After such a walk as this. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +FINERY. + + + In an elegant frock, trimm'd with beautiful lace, + And hair nicely curl'd, hanging over her face, + Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend, + With a large _little_ party the evening to spend. + + "Ah! how they will all be delighted, I guess, + And stare with surprise at my handsome new dress!" + Thus said the vain girl, and her little heart beat, + Impatient the happy young party to meet. + + But, alas! they were all too intent on their play + To observe the fine clothes of this lady so gay, + And thus all her trouble quite lost its design;-- + For they saw she was proud, but forgot she was fine. + + 'Twas Lucy, though only in simple white clad, + (Nor trimmings, nor laces, nor jewels, she had,) + Whose cheerful good-nature delighted them more + Than Fanny and all the fine garments she wore. + + 'Tis better to have a sweet smile on one's face, + Than to wear a fine frock with an elegant lace, + For the good-natured girl is loved best in the main, + If her dress is but decent, though ever so plain. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +GREEDY RICHARD. + + + "I think I want some pies this morning," + Said Dick, stretching himself and yawning; + So down he threw his slate and books, + And saunter'd to the pastry-cook's. + + And there he cast his greedy eyes + Round on the jellies and the pies, + So to select, with anxious care, + The very nicest that was there. + + At last the point was thus decided: + As his opinion was divided + 'Twixt pie and jelly, being loth + Either to leave, he took them both. + + Now Richard never could be pleased + To stop when hunger was appeased, + But would go on to eat still more + When he had had an ample store. + + "No, not another now," said Dick; + "Dear me, I feel extremely sick: + I cannot even eat this bit; + I wish I had not tasted it." + + Then slowly rising from his seat, + He threw his cheesecake in the street, + And left the tempting pastry-cook's + With very discontented looks. + + Just then a man with wooden leg + Met Dick, and held his hat to beg; + And while he told his mournful case, + Look'd at him with imploring face. + + Dick, wishing to relieve his pain, + His pockets search'd, but search'd in vain; + And so at last he did declare, + He had not left a farthing there. + + The beggar turn'd with face of grief, + And look of patient unbelief, + While Richard now his folly blamed, + And felt both sorry and ashamed. + + "I wish," said he (but wishing's vain), + "I had my money back again, + And had not spent my last, to pay + For what I only threw away. + + "Another time I'll take advice, + And not buy things because they're nice; + But rather save my little store, + To give to those who want it more." + +[Illustration] + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE HOLIDAYS. + + + "Ah! don't you remember, 'tis almost December, + And soon will the holidays come; + Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money, + I'll buy me a sword and a drum." + + Thus said little Harry, unwilling to tarry, + Impatient from school to depart; + But we shall discover, this holiday lover + Knew little what was in his heart. + + For when on returning, he gave up his learning, + Away from his sums and his books, + Though playthings surrounded, and sweetmeats abounded, + Chagrin still appear'd in his looks. + + Though first they delighted, his toys were now slighted, + And thrown away out of his sight; + He spent every morning in stretching and yawning, + Yet went to bed weary at night. + + He had not that treasure which really makes pleasure, + (A secret discover'd by few). + You'll take it for granted, more playthings he wanted; + Oh no--it was something to do. + + We must have employment to give us enjoyment + And pass the time cheerfully away; + And study and reading give pleasure, exceeding + The pleasures of toys and of play. + + To school now returning--to study and learning + With eagerness Harry applied; + He felt no aversion to books or exertion, + Nor yet for the holidays sigh'd. + +[Illustration] + + + + +THE VILLAGE GREEN. + + + On the cheerful village green, + Skirted round with houses small, + All the boys and girls are seen, + Playing there with hoop and ball. + + Now they frolic hand in hand, + Making many a merry chain; + Then they form a warlike band, + Marching o'er the level plain. + + Now ascends the worsted ball, + High it rises in the air, + Or against the cottage wall, + Up and down it bounces there. + + Then the hoop, with even pace, + Runs before the merry throngs; + Joy is seen in every face, + Joy is heard in cheerful songs. + +[Illustration] + + Rich array, and mansions proud, + Gilded toys, and costly fare, + Would not make the little crowd + Half so happy as they are. + + Then, contented with my state, + Where true pleasure may be seen + Let me envy not the great, + On a cheerful village green. + +[Illustration] + + + + +MISCHIEF. + + + Let those who're fond of idle tricks, + Of throwing stones, and hurling bricks, + And all that sort of fun, + Now hear a tale of idle Jim, + That warning they may take by him, + Nor do as he has done. + + In harmless sport or healthful play + He did not pass his time away, + Nor took his pleasure in it; + For mischief was his only joy: + No book, or work, or even toy, + Could please him for a minute. + + A neighbour's house he'd slyly pass, + And throw a stone to break the glass, + And then enjoy the joke! + Or, if a window open stood, + He'd throw in stones, or bits of wood, + To frighten all the folk. + + If travellers passing chanced to stay, + Of idle Jim to ask the way, + He never told them right; + And then, quite harden'd in his sin, + Rejoiced to see them taken in, + And laugh'd with all his might. + + He'd tie a string across the street, + Just to entangle people's feet, + And make them tumble down: + Indeed, he was disliked so much, + That no good boy would play with such + A nuisance to the town. + + At last the neighbours, in despair, + This mischief would no longer bear: + And so--to end the tale, + This lad, to cure him of his ways, + Was sent to spend some dismal days + Within the county jail. + +[Illustration] + + + + +ABOUT THE LITTLE GIRL THAT BEAT HER SISTER. + + + Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss + Your little sister dear; + I must not have such things as this, + And noisy quarrels here. + +[Illustration] + + What! little children scratch and fight, + That ought to be so mild; + Oh! Mary, it's a shocking sight + To see an angry child. + + I can't imagine, for my part, + The reason of your folly; + She did not do you any hurt + By playing with your dolly. + + See, see, the little tears that run + Fast from her watery eye: + Come, my sweet innocent, have done, + 'Twill do no good to cry. + + Go, Mary, wipe her tears away, + And make it up with kisses: + And never turn a pretty play + To such a pet as this is. + + + + +THE APPLE-TREE. + + + Old John had an apple-tree, healthy and green, + Which bore the best codlins that ever were seen, + So juicy, so mellow, and red; + And when they were ripe, he disposed of his store, + To children or any who pass'd by his door, + To buy him a morsel of bread. + + Little Dick, his next neighbour, one often might see, + With longing eye viewing this fine apple-tree, + And wishing a codlin might fall: + One day as he stood in the heat of the sun, + He began thinking whether he might not take one, + And then he look'd over the wall. + + And as he again cast his eye on the tree, + He said to himself, "Oh, how nice they would be, + So cool and refreshing to-day! + The tree is so full, and one only I'll take, + And John cannot see if I give it a shake, + And nobody is in the way." + + But stop, little boy, take your hand from the bough, + Remember, though John cannot see you just now, + And no one to chide you is nigh, + There is One, who by night, just as well as by day, + Can see all you do, and can hear all you say, + From his glorious throne in the sky. + + O then little boy, come away from the tree, + Lest tempted to this wicked act you should be: + 'Twere better to starve than to steal; + For the great GOD, who even through darkness can look, + Writes down every crime we commit, in His book; + Nor forgets what we try to conceal. + +[Illustration] + + * * * * * + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Obvious punctuation errors repaired. + +Page 10, blank line placed before the stanza beginning (Come, walk in +our garden) + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Ann and Other Poems, by +Jane Taylor and Ann Taylor + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42947 *** |