Now all of you
Now all of you give heed unto,
The tale I now relate,
About two girls and one small boy,
A cat and a green gate.
Alack! Since I began to speak,
And what I say is true.
It’s all gone out of my poor head,
And so goodbye to you.
North West passage
1. Good-Night
When the bright lamp is carried in,
The sunless hours again begin;
O’er all without, in field and lane,
The haunted night returns again.
Now we behold the embers flee
About the firelit hearth; and see
Our faces painted as we pass,
Like pictures, on the window glass.
Must we to bed indeed? Well then,
Let us arise and go like men,
And face with an undaunted tread
The long black passage up to bed.
Farewell, O brother, sister, sire!
O pleasant party round the fire!
The songs you sing, the tales you tell,
Till far to-morrow, fare you well!
2. Shadow March
All around the house is the jet-black night;
It stares through the window-pane;
It crawls in the corners, hiding from the light,
And it moves with the moving flame.
Now my little heart goes a beating like a drum,
With the breath of the Bogies in my hair;
And all around the candle the crooked shadows come,
And go marching along up the stair.
The shadow of the balusters, the shadow of the lamp,
The shadow of the child that goes to bed,
All the wicked shadows coming tramp, tramp, tramp,
With the black night overhead.
3. In Port
Last, to the chamber where I lie
My fearful footsteps patter nigh,
And come out from the cold and gloom
Into my warm and cheerful room.
There, safe arrived, we turn about
To keep the coming shadows out,
And close the happy door at last
On all the perils that we past.
Then, when mamma goes by to bed,
She shall come in with tip-toe tread,
And see me lying warm and fast
And in the land of Nod at last.
Now
Now all of you, give heed unto
The tale I now relate,
About two girls and one small boy,
A cat, and a green gate.
Alack! Since I began to speak
And what I say is true
It’s all gone out of my poor head.
And so good-bye to you!
Norse lullaby
The sky is dark and the hills are white
As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night;
And this is the song the storm-king sings,
As over the world his cloak he flings:
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;”
He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:
“Sleep, little one, sleep.”
On yonder mountain-side a vine
Clings at the foot of a mother pine;
The tree bends over the trembling thing,
And only the vine can hear her sing:
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
What shall you fear when I am here?
Sleep, little one, sleep.”
The king may sing in his bitter flight,
The pine may croon to the vine to-night,
But the little snowflake at my breast
Liketh the song I sing the best,–
“Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
Weary thou art, anext my heart;
Sleep, little one, sleep.”
Nonsense
There was an old Man with a beard,
Who said, “It is just as I feared!
Two owls and a hen,
Four larks and a wren,
Have all built their nests In my beard!”
There was an Old lady of Chertsey,
Who made a remarkable curtsey,
She twirled round and round,
Till she sank underground,
Which distressed all the people of Chertsey
There was an Old Man in a tree,
Who was horribly bored by a bee;
When they said, ‘Does it buzz?’
He replied, ‘Yes, it does!
It’s a regular brute of a bee!’
There was an Old Man who said,
‘How Shall I flee from this horrible cow?
I will sit on this stile,
And continue to smile,
Which may soften the heart of that cow.’
There was an Old Man who said, ‘Hush!
I perceive a young bird in this bush!’
When they said, ‘Is it small?’
He replied, ‘Not at all!
It is four times as big as the bush!’
There was an Old Person of Gretna,
Who rushed down the crater of Etna;
when they said, ‘Is it hot?’
He replied, ‘No, it’s not!’
That mendacious Old Person of Gretna.
There is a Young Lady, whose nose
Continually prospers and grows;
when it grew out of sight,
She exclaimed in a fright,
‘Oh I Farewell to the end of my nose!’
There was an Old Man of Dumbree,
Who taught little owls to drink tea;
For he said, ‘To eat mice,
Is not proper or nice,’
That amiable Man of Dumbree.
Nine Little Goblins
They all climbed up on a high board-fence,
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes,
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn’t tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat,
And I asked them what they were staring at.
And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red,
“This is what this little arm is fer!”
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
“How on earth do you scratch your head ?”
Nine Little Goblins
And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge,
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he clicked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.
And the third little Goblin leered round at me,
And there were no lids on his eyes at all
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
“What is the style of your socks this fall?”
And he clapped his heels and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.
Then a bald-faced Goblin, grey and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain,
“Would, Ah, would I’d me brows again!”
And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs that they used to know,
Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.
And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
Fixed on me with a stony stare,
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
As you’ve heard the lid of a snuff-box do.
And they sang “You’re asleep! There is no board-fence,
And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!
“Tis only a vision the mind invents
After a supper of cold mince-pies,
And you’re doomed to dream this way,” they said,
“And you sha’n't wake up till you’re clean plum dead!”
Night and day
When the golden day is done,
Through the closing portal,
Child and garden, flower and sun,
Vanish all things mortal.
As the building shadows fall
As the rays diminish,
Under evening’s cloak they all
Roll away and vanish.
Garden darkened, daisy shut,
Child in bed, they slumber,
Glow-worm in the hallway rut,
Mice among the lumber.
In the darkness houses shine,
Parents move the candles;
Till on all the night divine
Turns the bedroom handles.
Till at last the day begins
In the east a-breaking,
In the hedges and the whins
Sleeping birds a-waking.
In the darkness shapes of things,
Houses, trees and hedges,
Clearer grow; and sparrow’s wings
Beat on window ledges.
These shall wake the yawning maid;
She the door shall open
Finding dew on garden glade
And the morning broken.
There my garden grows again
Green and rosy painted,
As at eve behind the pane
From my eyes it fainted.
Just as it was shut away,
Toy-like, in the even,
Here I see it glow with day
Under glowing heaven.
Every path and every plot,
Every blush of roses,
Every blue forget-me-not
Where the dew reposes,
“Up!” they cry, “the day is come
On the smiling valleys:
We have beat the morning drum;
Playmate, join your allies!”
Nest Eggs
Birds all the sunny day
Flutter and quarrel
Here in the arbour-like
Tent of the laurel.
Here in the fork
The brown nest is seated;
Four little blue eggs
The mother keeps heated.
While we stand watching her
Staring like gabies,
Safe in each egg are the
Bird’s little babies.
Soon the frail eggs they shall
Chip, and upspringing
Make all the April woods
Merry with singing.
Younger than we are,
O children, and frailer,
Soon in the blue air they’ll be,
Singer and sailor.
We, so much older,
Taller and stronger,
We shall look down on the
Birdies no longer.
They shall go flying
With musical speeches
High overhead in the
Tops of the beeches.
In spite of our wisdom
And sensible talking,
We on our feet must go
Plodding and walking.
A needle and a thread
Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye,
And a long tail which she let fly;
And every time she went through a gap,
A bit of her tail she left in a trap.
Naughty baby
Baby, baby, naughty baby,
Hush, you squalling thing, I say.
Peace this moment, peace, or maybe
Bonaparte will pass this way.
Baby, baby, he’s a giant,
Tall and black as Rouen steeple,
And he breakfasts, dines, rely on’t,
Every day on naughty people.
Baby, baby, if he hears you,
As he gallops past the house,
Limb from limb at once he’ll tear you,
Just as pussy tears a mouse.
And he’ll beat you, beat you, beat you,
And he’ll beat you all to pap,
And he’ll eat you, eat you, eat you,
Every morsel snap, snap, snap.
Nancy Dawson
Nancy Dawson was so fine
She wouldn’t get up to serve the swine;
She lies in bed till eight or nine,
So it’s Oh, poor Nancy Dawson.
And do ye ken Nancy Dawson, honey?
The wife who sells the barley, honey?
She won’t get up to feed her swine,
And do ye ken Nancy Dawson, honey?