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PREFACE
"OUGHT I not to be grateful for all these blessings which I possess without deserving them ?" Such were the thoughts inculcated in the minds of good children of the days of Sandford and Merton. The more natural type of the " human boy " of this century, and perhaps of all time, is represented by Master Tommy Merton, "who had hitherto enjoyed all the good things of this life without reflecting from whom he had received them." Young readers of this selection will, we hope, thank those who present them with a copy of it; but we fear that only in the roundabout manner of tacit appreciation will they show gratitude to the authors of the poems.
The editors, however, must nol forgo the opportunity and the duty of thanking all*who have enabled them to compile this volume and make it as good as it is. To those who are no longer here to read our words we tender silent gratitude for the wealth they have left to us. But to those other poets who have so generously helped us, and are, happily, still in our midst, we wish to offer our very sincere thanks. In several cases not only have the authors granted us permission to make use of their poems, but their personal interest has been taken in the selection, and the proofs have been read by them.
Mr. Alfred Noyes for four poems; to Mr. A. St. John Adcock for one poem ; to Mr. Canton and Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton for three poems ; to Mr. Norman Gale for two poems; to Sir Everard Hastings Doyle for one poem ; to Mrs. Robertson-Glasgow for one poem ; to Mr. Walter de la Mare for three poems ; to Messrs. Allen and Sons for one poem by W. Gory ; to Mrs. Allingham for three poems by William Allingham ; to Mr. John Lane for two poems by Eugene Field. Acknowledgments are also gladly made to Messrs. Longmans for three poems by Stevenson ; to Messrs. Allen and Sons for four poems by George MacDonald; and to Mr. John Lane for three poems by W. Brighty Rands.
In some cases it has been extremely difficult to trace and find the author of a poem, but we sincerely hope that nothing has been used by us wrongfully; and if by chance we have been guilty of neglect .in acknowledging our obligations, we trust that our hokiest endeavours to trace all poems to their authors wilt be: accepted as our apology.
M. Q.-G.
L. Q.-G.
FAIRIES AND FANCIES
A PLEASANT SHIP
I saw a ship a-sailing,
A-sailing on the sea,
And oh! it was all laden
With pretty things for thee!
There were comfits in the cabin,
And apples in the hold ;
The sails were made of silk,
And the masts were made of gold.
The four-and-twenty sailors
That stood between the decks,
Were four-and-twenty white mice,
With chains about their necks.
The captain was a duck,
With a packet on his back,
And when the ship began to move
The captain said 'Quack! Quack!'Old Rhyme.
TOYS AT NIGHT
I
CUPBOARD LAND
Good-night, dear toys, we love you so,
But Mother's calling, we must go ;
The day has been so sweet and bright,
So go to sleep till morning light.
Good-night, dear Dolly, do not fear,
For good old Dobbin's watching near,
And now and then he'll give a bray,
And that will keep the ghosts away.
Good-night, dear Dobbin, stay awake
And watch o'er Dolly for my sake;
Don't let her fear—you understand,
But keep good watch in Cupboard Land.
Good-night, my dear old butcher's shop,
Good-night, dear drum, and flag, and top;
When day returns we'll have such fun,
Good-night, good-night, to every one!
FRED. E. WEATHERLY.
II
WHAT THE TOYS DO
The cupboard was closed, and the children had gone,
There were only the stars in the sky looking on ;
When up jumped the toys and peeped out on the sky,
For they always awake—when there's nobody by.
The children were far away saying their prayers,
So the toys lightly stole down the shadowy stairs,
And each said to each, "We'll be off, you and I,"
For the toys—they can speak,—when there's nobody by.
So off to the city they went, two and two,
To see if, perchance, any good they could do,
To cheer the poor children whose lives are so sad,
For the toys always try to make every one glad.
FRED. E. WEATHERLY.
III
FROM GOLDEN LAND
The city sleeps! the night is clear,
The moonlight lies like driven snow,
What little feet are these we hear,
That up the garret stairway go?
What little fingers these that stand
And lift the latch as in a spell?
They are the toys from Golden Land,
Where all the happy children dwell.
O see! the crazy door flings wide,
And in they patter two and two,
And there they stand from Golden Land,
All drest in gold and red and blue.
The poor cold room is filled with light,
The startled children ope their eyes,
Is it a band of fairies bright ?
Or angels from the starry skies?
Hark! hark! the merry laugh and shout,
As round and round the room they go;
The children stare with arms stretched out,
Forgetting all their want and woe.
They think no more of starving days,
Of crusts to beg, of rags to wear;
To-night they stand in Golden Land,
And life, for once, is bright and fair.
FRED. E. WEATHERLY.
THE OLD MAN IN THE MOON
" Say, where have you been, Frank—say, where have you
been ? "
"Oh! I've been a long way: I've been to the moon."
"But how did you get there? and what have you seen?"
"Oh! I went, to be sure, in my little balloon.
"And I've seen—why, I've seen the old man who lives there;
And his mouth, it grew bigger the nearer I got:
So I pulled off my hat, made a bow with an air,
And said, 'Sir, you inhabit a very bright spot.'
"And the old man he laughed, he laughed long and loud;
And he patted my cheek as he graciously said, '
You had better return, nor get lost in a cloud ;
And besides, it is time that we both were in bed.'
A.
TARTARY
If I were Lord of Tartary,
Myself and me alone,
My bed should be of ivory,
Of beaten gold my throne;
And in my court should peacocks flaunt,
And in my forests tigers haunt,
And in my pools great fishes slant
Their fins athwart the sun.
If I were Lord of Tartary,
Trumpeters every day
To all my meals should summon me,
And in my courtyards bray;
And in the evenings lamps should shine
Yellow as honey, red as wine,
While harp and flute and mandoline,
Made music sweet and gay.
If I were Lord of Tartary,
I'd wear a robe of beads,
White, and gold, and green they'd be—
And small, and thick as seeds ;
And ere should wane the morning-star,
I'd don my robe and scimitar,
And zebras seven should draw my car
Through Tartary's dark glades.
Lord of the fruits of Tartary,
Her rivers silver-pale!
Lord of the hills of Tartary,
Glen, thicket, wood, and dale!
Her flashing stars, her scented breeze,
Her trembling lakes, like foamless seas
Her bird-delighting citron-trees
In every purple vale!
W. DE LA MARE.
A LAKE AND A FAIRY BOAT
A lake and a fairy boat
To sail in the moonlight clear,—
And merrily we would float
From the dragons that watch us here!
Thy gown should be snow-white silk;
And strings of orient pearls,
Like gossamers dipped in milk,
Should twine with thy raven curls!
Red rubies should deck thy hands,
And diamonds should be thy dower—
But Fairies have broke their wands,
And wishing has lost its power!
THOMAS HOOD.
QUEEN MAB
A little fairy comes at night,
Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown,
With silver spots upon her wings,
And from the moon she flutters down.
She has a little silver wand,
And when a good child goes to bed
She waves her wand from right to left
And makes a circle round its head.
And then it dreams of pleasant things,
Of fountains filled with fairy fish,
And trees that bear delicious fruit,
And bow their branches at a wish:
Of arbours filled with dainty scents
From lovely flowers that never fade;
Bright flies that glitter in the sun,
And glow-worms shining in the shade.
And talking birds with gifted tongues,
For singing songs and telling tales,
And pretty dwarfs to show the way
Through fairy hills and fairy dales.
But when a bad child goes to bed,
From left to right she weaves her rings,
And then it dreams all through the night
Of only ugly horrid things!
Then lions come with glaring eyes,
And tigers growl, a dreadful noise,
And ogres draw their cruel knives,
To shed the blood of girls and boys.
Then stormy waves rush on to drown,
Or raging flames come scorching round
Fierce dragons hover in the air,
And serpents crawl along the ground.
Then wicked children wake and weep,
And wish the long black gloom away;
But good ones love the dark, and find
The night as pleasant as the day.
THOMAS HOOD.
CATCHING FAIRIES
They're sleeping beneath the roses ;
Oh! kiss them before they rise,
And tickle their tiny noses,
And sprinkle the dew on their eyes.
Make haste, make haste;
The fairies are caught;
Make haste.
We'll put them in silver cages,
And send them full-drest to court,
And maids of honour and pages
Shall turn the poor things to sport.
Be quick, be quick ;
Be quicker than thought;
Be quick.
Their scarves shall be pennons for lancers,
We'll tie up our flowers with their curls,
Their plumes will make fans for dancers,
Their tears shall be set with pearls.
Be wise, be wise,
Make the most of the prize;
Be wise.
They'll scatter sweet scents by winking,
With sparks from under their feet;
They'll save us the trouble of thinking,
Their voices will sound so sweet.
Oh stay, oh stay:
They're up and away;
Oh stay!
WILLIAM CORY.
THE FAIRIES
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore,
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow-tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole Little Bridget
For seven years long ;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the crazy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men ;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.
PIGWIGGIN ARMS HIMSELF
He quickly arms him for the field,
A little cockle-shell his shield,
Which he could very bravely wield,
Yet could it not be pierced.
His spear a bent both stiff and strong,
And well-near of two inches long:
The pile was of a horsefly's tongue,
Whose sharpness nought reversed.
And puts him on a coat of mail,
Which was of a fish's scale,
That when his foe should him assail,
No point should be prevailing:
His rapier was a hornet's sting;
It was a very dangerous thing,
For if he chanced to hurt the king,
It would be long in healing.
His helmet was a beetle's head,
Most horrible and full of dread,
That able was to strike one dead,
Yet did it well become him.
And for a plume a horse's hair
Which, being tossed with the air,
Had force to strike his foe with fear,
And turn his weapon from him.
Himself he on an earwig set,
Yet scarce he on his back could get,
So oft and high he did curvet,
Ere he himself could settle :
He made him turn, and stop, and bound,
To gallop and to trot the round,
He scarce could stand on any ground,
He was so full of mettle.
MICHAEL DRAYTON
QUEEN MAB SETTING FORTH
Her chariot ready straight is made,
Each thing therein is fitting laid,
That she by nothing might be stayed,
For nought must be her letting;
Four nimble gnats the horses were,
Their harnesses of gossamer,
Fly Cranion the Charioteer
Upon the coach-box getting.
Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excel,
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning ;
The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover, gallantly to see,
The wing of a pied butterfly;
I trow 'twas simple trimming.
The wheels composed of crickets' bones,
And daintily made for the nonce,
For fear of rattling on the stones
With thistle-down they shod it;
For all her maidens much did fear
If Oberon had chance to hear
That Mab his Queen should have been there,
He would not have abode it.
She mounts her chariot with a trice,
Nor would she stay, for no advice,
Until her maids that were so nice
To wait on her were fitted ;
But ran herself away alone,
Which when they heard, there was not one
But hasted after to be gone,
As he had been diswitted.
Hop and Mop and Drop so clear,
Pip and Trip and Skip that were
To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear,
Her special maids of honour;
Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin,
Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin,
Tit and Nit and Wap and Win,
The train that wait upon her.
Upon a grasshopper they got
And, what with amble, what with trot,
For hedge and ditch they spared not,
But after her they hie them ;
A cobweb over them they throw
To shield the wind if it should blow,
Themselves they wisely could bestow
Lest any should espy them.
MICHAEL DRAYTON.
ARIEL'S SONG
Gome unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands :
Curtsied when you have, and kissed
The wild waves whist,
Foot it featly here and there ;
And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.
Hark, hark! Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark:
Bow-wow.
Hark, hark ! I hear
The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Gock-a-diddle-dow.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
PUCK'S SONG
Now the hungry lion roars,
And the wolf behowls the moon;
Whilst the heavy ploughman snores,
All with weary task fordone.
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night,
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprite,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate's team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic ; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow'd house :
I am sent with broom before
To sweep the dust behind the door.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
THE FAIRY'S SONG
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moones sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green.
The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
In their gold coats spots you see;
Those be rubies, fairy favours,
In those freckles live their savours.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.
THE FLOWER OF OLD JAPAN
You that have known the wonder zone
Of islands far away,
You that have heard the dinky bird
And roamed in rich Cathay,
You that have sailed o'er unknown seas
To woods of Amfalula trees
Where craggy dragons play,
Oh, girl or woman, boy or man,
You've plucked the flower of Old Japan !
Do you remember the blue stream,
The bridge of pale bamboo,
The path that seemed a twisted dream
Where everything came true;
The purple cherry-trees, the house
With jutting eaves below the boughs,
The mandarins in blue,
With tiny tapping, tilted toes,
And curious curved mustachios?
The road to old Japan! you cry,
And is it far or near?
Some never find it till they die,
Some find it everywhere,
The road where restful
Time forgets His weary thoughts and wild regrets,
And calls the golden year
Back in a fairy dream to smile
On young and old a little while.
Some seek it with a blazing sword,
And some with old blue plates,
Some with a miser's golden hoard,
Some with a book of dates,
Some with a box of paints ; a few
Whose loads of truth would ne'er pass through
The first white fairy gates,
And, O, how shocked they are to find
That truths are false when left behind!
Do you remember all the tales
That Tusitala* told,
When first we plunged thro' purple vales
In quest of buried gold?
Do you remember how he said
That if we fell and hurt our head
Our hearts must still be bold,
And we must never mind the pain
But rise up and go on again?
Do you remember ? Yes;
I know You must remember still.
He left us, not so long ago,
Carolling with a will,
Because he knew that he should lie
Under the comfortable sky
Upon a lonely hill,
In Old Japan, when day was done,
"Dear Robert Louis Stevenson."
* The Samoan name for R. L. Stevenson.
And there he knew that we should find
The hills that haunt us now,
The whaups* that cried upon the wind
His heart remembered how:
And friends he loved and left, to roam
Far from the pleasant hearth of home,
Should touch his dreaming brow ;
Where fishes fly and birds have fins,
And children teach the mandarins.
Ah, let us follow, follow far
Beyond the purple seas,
Beyond the rosy foaming bar,
The coral reef, the trees,
The land of parrots, and the wild
That rolls before the fearless child
Its ancient mysteries :
Onward and onward, if we can,
To Old Japan—to Old Japan.
ALFRED NOYES.
* Curlews.
PETERKIN
Hush! if you remember how we sailed to Old Japan,
Peterkin was with us then, our little brother Peterkin!
Now we've lost him, so they say : I think the tall thin man
Must have come and touched him with his curious twinkling fan
And taken him away again, our merry little Peterkin;
He'll be frightened all alone ; we'll find him if we can;
Come and look for Peterkin, poor little Peterkin.
No one would believe us if we told them what we know,
Or they wouldn't grieve for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin ;
If they'd only watched us roaming through the streets of Miyako,
And travelling in a palanquin where parents never go,
And seen the golden gardens where we wandered once with Peterkin,
And smelt the purple orchards where the cherry-blossoms blow,
They wouldn't mourn for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin.
Put away your muskets, lay aside the drum,
Hang it by the wooden sword we made for little Peterkin!
He was once our trumpeter, now his bugle's dumb,
Pile your arms beneath it, for the owlet light is come,
We'll wander through the roses where we marched of old with Peterkin.
We'll search the summer sunset where the Hybla beehives hum,
And—if we meet a fairy there—we'll ask for news of Peterkin.
He was once our cabin-boy and cooked the sweets for tea;
And O, we've sailed around the world with laughing little
From nursery floor to pantry door we've roamed the mighty sea,
And come to port below the stairs in distant Garibee;
But wheresoe'er we sailed we took our little lubber Peterkin,
Because his wide grey eyes believed much more than ours could see,
And so we liked our Peterkin, our trusty little Peterkin.
Peterkin, Peterkin, I think if you came back
The captain of our host to-day should be the bugler Peterkin,
And he should lead our smugglers up that steep and narrow track,
A band of noble brigands, bearing each a mighty pack
Crammed with lace and jewels to the secret cave of Peterkin,
And he should wear the biggest boots and make his pistol crack,—
The Spanish cloak, the velvet mask, we'd give them all to Peterkin.
Come, my brother pirates, I am tired of play ;
Come and look for Peterkin, little brother Peterkin,
Our merry little comrade that the fairies took away,
For people think we've lost him, and when we come to say
Our good-night prayers to Mother, if we pray for little Peterkin
Her eyes are very sorrowful, she turns her head away.
Come and look for Peterkin, merry little Peterkin.
God bless little Peterkin, wherever he may be!
Come and look for Peterkin, lonely little Peterkin:
I wonder if they've taken him again across the sea
From the town of Wonder-Wander and the Amfalula tree,
To the land of many marvels where we roamed of old with Peterkin,
The land of blue pagodas and the flowery fields of tea!
Come and look for Peterkin, poor little Peterkin.
ALFRED NOYES.
THE RAINBOW FAIRIES
Two little clouds one summer's day
Went flying through the sky.
They went so fast they bumped their heads,
And both began to cry.
Old Father Sun looked out and said,
" Oh, never mind, my dears,
I'll send my little fairy folk
To dry your falling tears."
One fairy came in violet,
And one in indigo,
In blue, green, yellow, orange, red,—
They made a pretty row.
They wiped the cloud tears all away,
And then, from out the sky,
Upon a line the sunbeams made,
They hung their gowns to dry.
LIZZIE M. HADLEY.
SANTA CLAUS
He comes in the night! He comes in the night!
He softly, silently comes ;
While the little brown heads on the pillows so white
Are dreaming of bugles and drums.
He cuts through the snow like a ship through the foam,
While the white flakes around him whirl;
Who tells him I know not, but he findeth the home
Of each good little boy and girl.
His sleigh it is long, and deep, and wide ;
It will carry a host of things,
While dozens of drums hang over the side,
With the sticks sticking under the strings.
And yet not the sound of a drum is heard,
Not a bugle blast is blown,
As he mounts to the chimney-top like a bird,
And drops to the hearth like a stone.
The little red stockings he silently fills,
Till the stockings will hold no more ;
The bright little sleds for the great snow hills
Are quickly set down on the floor.
Then Santa Glaus mounts to the roof like a bird,
And glides to his seat in the sleigh ;
Not the sound of a bugle or drum is heard
As he noiselessly gallops away.
He rides to the east, and he rides to the west,
Of his goodies he toucheth not one ;
He eateth the crumbs of the Christmas feast
When the dear little folks are done.
Old Santa Glaus doeth all that he can ;
This beautiful mission is his ;
Then, children, be good to the little old man,
When you find who the little man is.
UNKNOWN.
LITTLE BOY BLUE
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
Now, don't you go till I come," he said,
"And don't you make any noise!"
So toddling off to his trundle-bed,
He dreamt of the pretty toys;
And, as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue—
Oh! the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Aye faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place—
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face;
And they Bonder, as waiting the long years through
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue,
Since he kissed them and put them there.
EUGENE FIELD.
FAIRY-DAYS
Beside the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee,
Of happy fairy days—what tales were told to me !
I thought the world was once—all peopled with princesses,
And my heart would beat to hear—their loves and theirdistresses ;
And many a quiet night,—in slumber sweet and deep,
The pretty fairy people—would visit me in sleep.
I saw them in my dreams—come flying east and west,
With wondrous fairy gifts—the new-born babe they blessed:
One has brought a jewel—and one a crown of gold,
And one has brought a curse—but she is wrinkled and old.
The gentle queen turns pale—to hear those words of sin,
But the king he only laughs—and bids the dance begin.
The babe has grown to be—the fairest of the land,
And rides the forest green—a hawk upon her hand,
An ambling palfrey white—a golden robe and crown :
I've seen her in my dreams—riding up and down :
And heard the ogre laugh—as she fell into his snare,
At the tender little creature—who wept and tore her hair !
But ever when it seemed—her need was at the sorest,
A prince in shining mail—comes prancing through the forest,
A waving ostrich plume—a buckler burnished bright;
I've seen him in my dreams—good sooth! a gallant knight.
His lips are coral red—beneath his dark moustache ;
See how he waves his hand—and how his blue eyes flash !
Come forth, thou Paynim knight! "—he shouts in accents clear.
The giant and the maid—both tremble his voice to hear.
Saint Mary guard him well!—he draws his falchion keen,
The giant and the knight—are fighting on the green.
I see them in my dreams—his blade gives stroke for stroke,
The giant pants and reels—and tumbles like an oak!
With what a blushing grace—he falls upon his knee,
And takes the lady's hand—and whispers, "You are free!'
Ah ! happy childish tales—of knight and faerie!
I waken from my dreams—but there's ne'er a knight for me.
I waken from my dreams—and wish that I could be
A child by the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee!
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
THE FAIRY QUEEN
Come follow, follow me,
You fairy elves that be :
Which circle on the green
Come follow Mab your queen.
Hand in hand lets dance around,
For this place is fairy ground.
When mortals are at rest,
And snoring in their nest
Unheard and unespied,
Through keyholes we do glide ;
Over tables, stools and shelves,
We trip it with our fairy elves.
And if the house be foul
With platter, dish or bowl,
Upstairs we nimbly creep,
And find the sluts asleep :
Then we pinch their arms and thighs ;
None escapes, nor none espies.
But if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,
And duly she is paid :
For we use before we go
To drop a tester in her shoe.
Upon a mushroom's head
Our table-cloth we spread ;
A grain of rye or wheat
Is rnanchet, which we eat;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn-cups filled to the brink.
The grasshopper, gnat and fly
Serve for our minstrelsy;
Grace said, we dance awhile,
And so the time beguile:
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.
On tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk
Ne'er bends when we do walk;
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.
From Percy's "Reliques."
