And tossed the colts' manes all over their | But the wind had swept on, and had met brows; Till, offended at such an unusual salute, They all turned their backs, and stood sulky and mute. So on it went capering and playing its pranks, Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks, Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray, Or the traveller grave on the king's high way. It was not too nice to hustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags; 'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig or the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gaily, "Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow!" And it made them bow without more ado, Or it cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm, Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm; And they ran out like bees in a mid summer swarm; There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. in a lane With a schoolboy, who panted and struggled in vain; For it tossed him and twirled him, then passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool and his shoes in the mud. Then away went the wind in its holiday glee, And now it was far on the billowy sea, And the lordly ships felt its staggering blow, And the little boats darted to and fro. But lo! it was night, and it sank to rest On the sea-bird's rock in the gleaming West, Laughing to think, in its fearful fun, How little of mischief it really had done. Ann Taylor (1782-1866) and Jane Taylor (1783-1824), English writers of verse and prose for children, have earned a permanent place in the history of juvenile literature on account of the real worth of their work and because they were among the first authors to write poetry especially for children. They published jointly three volumes of verse for children: Original Poems for Infant Minds, Rhymes for the Nursery, and Hymns for Infant Minds. Many of their poems seem a little too didactic, but they were genuine in their ethical earnestness and largely succeeded in putting things in terms of the child's own comprehension. The four poems given here represent them at their best, which was good enough to win the admiration of Sir Walter Scott. 309 THE COW ANN TAYLOR Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day and every night, Do not chew the hemlock rank, Where the purple violet grows, 310 MEDDLESOME MATTY ANN TAYLOR One ugly trick has often spoiled One ugly trick possessed, Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, To peep at what was in it; But turn your back a minute. Her grandmamma went out one day "Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, As soon as grandmamma is gone." Forthwith she placed upon her nose The snuff-box too she spied: "I know that grandmamma would say, And no one else is near: The mighty mischief did; Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth beside In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented. In vain she ran about for ease; To wipe her tingling eyes, 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, From meddling evermore. 311 "I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY" JANE TAYLOR I like little Pussy, Her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her She'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, Nor drive her away, But Pussy and I Very gently will play; She shall sit by my side, And I'll give her some food; And she'll love me because I am gentle and good. I'll pat little Pussy, And then she will purr, And thus show her thanks For my kindness to her; I'll not pinch her ears, Nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her To use her sharp claw; I never will vex her, Nor make her displeased, For Pussy can't bear To be worried or teased. 312 THE STAR JANE TAYLOR Twinkle, twinkle, little star, When the blazing sun is gone, Then the traveler in the dark In the dark blue sky you keep, As your bright and tiny spark Although Christina G. Rossetti (1830-1894) is not known primarily as a writer for children, her Sing-Song, from which the next seven poems are taken, is a juvenile classic. She ranks very high among the women poets of the nineteenth century, her only equal being Mrs. Browning. Besides the brief poems in Sing-Song, Miss Rossetti's "Goblin Market" and "Uphill" please young people of a contemplative mood. While there is an undercurrent of sadness in much of her work, it is a natural accompaniment of her themes and is not unduly emphasized. 313 SELDOM OR NEVER CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Seldom "can't," Seldom "don't"; Never "shan't," Never "won't." 314 AN EMERALD IS AS CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI An emerald is as green as grass; A ruby, red as blood; A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; A flint lies in the mud. A diamond is a brilliant stone To catch the world's desire; An opal holds a fiery spark; But a flint holds fire. 315 BOATS SAIL ON THE RIVERS CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Boats sail on the rivers, And ships sail on the seas; But clouds that sail across the sky Are prettier far than these. There are bridges on the rivers, As pretty as you please; But the bow that bridges heaven, And overtops the trees, And builds a road from earth to sky, Is prettier far than these. 316 A DIAMOND OR A COAL? CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI A diamond or a coal? A diamond, if you please; Who cares about a clumsy coal Beneath the summer trees? A diamond or a coal? A coal, sir, if you please; One comes to care about the coal At times when waters freeze. 317 THE SWALLOW CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Fly away, fly away over the sea, Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done; Come again, come again, come back to me, Bringing the summer and bringing the sun. 318 WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND? CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing thro'. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by. 319 MILKING TIME CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI When the cows come home the milk is coming; Honey's made while the bees are humming; Duck and drake on the rushy lake, 320 William Brighty Rands (1823-1882), an English author writing under the name of "Matthew Browne," produced in hist Lilliput Lyrics a juvenile masterpiece containing much verse worthy to live. The two poems that follow are decidedly successful in catching that elusive something called the child's point of view. THE PEDDLER'S CARAVAN WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS I wish I lived in a caravan His caravan has windows two, He has a wife, with a baby brown, Chairs to mend, and delf to sell! The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is like a bathing-machine; The world is round, and he can ride, Rumble and slash, to the other side! With the peddler-man I should like to roam, And write a book when I came home; All the people would read my book, Just like the Travels of Captain Cook! 321 THE WONDERFUL WORLD WILLIAM BRIGHTY RANDS Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled, And the wonderful grass upon your breast World, you are beautifully dressed! The wonderful air is over me, poem that has held its own in children's collections. Its quiet mood of industry at one with the gentler influences of nature is especially appealing. GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD- RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES A fair little girl sat under a tree, Then smoothed her work and folded it right And said, "Dear work, good-night, goodnight!" Such a number of rooks came over her head, And the wonderful wind is shaking the Crying "Caw! Caw!" on their way to bed, She said, as she watched their curious flight, "Little black things, good-night, goodnight!" The horses neighed, and the oxen lowed, The sheep's "Bleat! Bleat!" came over the road; "Good little girl, good-night, good-night!" All seeming to say, with a quiet delight, She did not say to the sun, "Goodnight!" Though she saw him there like a ball of light; For she knew he had God's time to keep All over the world and never could sleep. The tall pink foxglove bowed his head; The violets curtsied, and went to bed; And good little Lucy tied up her hair, And said, on her knees, her favorite prayer. And while on her pillow she softly lay, She knew nothing more till again it was day; |