Types of Children's Literature
Edited by Walter Barnes
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Application of the world's knowledge to the world's needs is the guiding aim of this publishing house, and it is in conformity to this aim that Types of Children's Literature is published. There is need of helpful direction for parents and teachers who wish to place within reach of every child the beauty, wisdom, and knowledge stored up in the world's best literature for children. The domain is so vast, so rich, and so varied that a single volume which presents specimens of all the different types for study and analysis by older readers and for reading by the children themselves, may hope to make easy and natural for children the entrance to the pleasant land of books


This collection of specimens of children's literature has evolved itself naturally and, as it were, inevitably out of the editor's experience in teaching classes in children's literature in normal school and college, and it is published in the belief that other teachers of this subject find the same need of such a book that the editor has experienced. For it is obvious that if we are to conduct classes in children's literature either for general culture or for specific training of teachers, we must have specimens of children's literature readily accessible to the students. We must bring students to a knowledge and appreciation of any author, period, or type by having them study representative selections, and this principle applies as logically to courses in children's literature as to courses in other kinds of literature.

Types of Children's Literature is intended to provide students of the subject with a single-volume anthology of prose and poetry illustrative of the different types, styles, interests, periods, authors, etc., of writings for children. There are, of course, many collections of specimens of children's literature; but they are all made as reading books for children and, consequently, are unsatisfactory, in some important respect or other, as source books. Moreover, these collections are published in several volumes and contain much that is mediocre and trivial. As far as the editor has been able to discover, there is but a single one-volume collection, and that collection, having been compiled solely for juvenile readers, is impracticable as a text for college and normal school classes. In teaching classes in children's literature the present editor has had to use, as the only possible text, such sets of literary readers as the Heart of Oak series or such miniature libraries as the ten-volume The Children's Hour or the eight- volume Children's Classics. This procedure has been both expensive and inconvenient for teacher and students, besides not supplying some of the material desirable in any symmetrical outline of study.

In compiling the book the editor kept in mind several guiding aims. Foremost was the wish to include in the collection at least one selection—and that a masterpiece—of each type and kind of children's literature in the English language. The different species of prose and poetry; the various kinds of stories, such as fables, myths, and fairy stories; the fundamental forms of discourse, such as narration, description, the sketch, the essay, the oration, letters— nearly all the molds, so to speak, into which the molten literary stream has flowed all these types are represented by the choicest specimens in the range of children's literature.

A careful inspection of the selections in this volume will reveal the rich variety of the material. Specimens are to be found of folk literature and modern literature, of the romantic, of the realistic, of the crude and naive, of the artistic and sophisticated, of the humorous and the pathetic. The editor has tried to find specimens presenting as many themes, as many interests, as many emotions as possible, characteristic specimens of the most important authors for children, of all the civilizations that have produced literatures which have become a part of the English-speaking child's heritage. The collection contains literature for the little child and literature for the boy or girl in the early 'teens, and it ranges from primitive times down to this present decade. Moreover, since a considerable part of the body of children's literature is made up of original selections made over for children, a few masterpieces of translations, re-tellings, abridgments, and reproductions have been included.

The editor hopes that he has allotted a proportionate and equitable amount of space and emphasis to each type, department, and section of the collection. He had it in mind, at least, to give as many pages over to poetry, for example, in proportion to prose, as many pages to fairy stories, for example, in proportion to myths, as would indicate roughly the average child's interests. If this proportion is not due and just, as the editor sometimes fears, it is to be hoped that critics will realize the web of difficulties in which such a task as this is entangled.

A word as to the classification and nomenclature. The editor realizes that this is neither original nor accurate. It is certainly not scientific, as the types overlap here and there, and the names are based partly on form and partly on content. But classification and class names were indispensable in a book of this nature, and it seemed a better policy to employ the classification and the names already firmly established in common use than to attempt to subject to a new system of scientific terms that which is by nature not amenable to scientific laws and scientific precision. The classification appears only in the Contents; it does not stand forth in the book itself.

It should be said, further, that the order in which the different types are placed in the book is more or less arbitrary, having been determined largely by the succession in which children take them up from year to year, beginning with the simpler forms and more childish themes, and somewhat by the principle of similarity and contrast in the types themselves. Needless to say, teachers will change the order in which the species and specimens are studied in accordance with any well-defined plan of their own.

A distinct service has been rendered, the editor hopes, by presenting the definitive and authoritative versions of all the selections given. This has meant a painstaking reading of every line in every selection and the collation with editions that are trustworthy. Every student of children's literature knows that it has been almost impossible to find exact readings, and that most selections have been distorted and garbled to suit the purposes of editors. No changes from the originals have here been made except to abridge in a few instances where it seemed imperative in a book intended for reading and discussion in classes of both sexes. The editions used and the changes made are given in the Notes.

The problems involved in selecting the best versions of certain stories and the best translations from other languages have been difficult. In general, the editor endeavored to choose the form which seemed to have the highest literary value. In cases where two translations seemed to possess equal merit, both are represented.

Every specimen of literature in this collection is a complete unit or is at least a section easily detached—like an Uncle Remus or an Arabian Nights story—from its original setting. This principle precluded the inclusion of extracts from such children's classics as Gulliver's Travels, Robinson Crusoe, and Treasure Island. No survey of children's literature is complete without an examination of such books as these; but they can easily be supplied in inexpensive editions and used as supplementary to this collection.

It is evident that not every masterpiece of writing for children could be included in this volume; but it is believed that no selection has been included that is not a masterpiece. This belief is based primarily on the fact that most of the specimens have been chosen and approved by generation after generation of children, culled out from the light and worthless as by an unerring hand, through the most pragmatic of tests.

The only distinct type of children's literature not represented in this collection is the drama, which is omitted because the editor was not able to find a dramatic unit that would satisfy the ideal he had in mind: that it be dramatic, that it be literary, that it be brief, yet complete within itself, and that it be an original selection, not a dramatization of some classic. For a similar reason no story of American Indian life was put into the collection, though this exclusion does not mean the omission of a type of literature. A large number of Indian stories, both of Indian folklore and myth, and of adventures with Indians, were carefully read; but not one of them, in the editor's opinion, came up to the standard of a masterpiece and was, at the same time, brief enough to be practicable for this book. Some undoubted masterpieces from literatures lying outside the recognized circle of the American child's "culture"—such, for example, as the Japanese folk stories—also have been omitted. Other splendid specimens of juvenile literature, as stories from Kipling's Jungle Books and essays from Burroughs, have been omitted because of copyright restrictions.

No one realizes more clearly than does the editor of this collection that no single book can include all the material that a class studying children's literature should have before it. There are dozens of children's books, for example, that a class should know or know about. An appendix has therefore been placed at the end of this collection, which lists the reading indispensable to a student of children's literature. These books should be in the school library, easily accessible to the students, and they should be considered as an integral part of the body of children's literature.

As a compendium of good literature for children it is hoped that this book may interest parents and teachers, quite independently of the fact that it was prepared for classes of young men and women studying children's literature, and that it may be put into the hands of children.

There remains but the pleasant duty of acknowledging the advice and encouragement received from many persons interested in this subject. To the publishing houses who have granted permission to use copyrighted material and to the Librarian of Congress thanks are due for courtesies extended. To Mr. David Dale Johnson of West Virginia University for collating; to Mr. Hunter Whiting for a great deal of copying and collating; and especially to Professor Franklin T. Baker of Teachers College, Columbia University, Professor James F. Hosic of the Chicago Normal College, and Mr. John Cotton Dana of the Newark, New Jersey, Free Public Library, for advice and criticism on the manuscript,—to all of these the editor hereby expresses his gratitude.





CHARACTER SKETCHES Little Miss Muffet Diddle, diddle, dumpling Let's go to bed Jack Sprat There was a little girl

SCENES AND INCIDENTS Jack and Jill Hickory, dickory, dock There was an old woman Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater Little Jack Horner

TALES Old Mother Hubbard Little Bo-peep The Babes in the Woods

NONSENSE AND HUMOROUS RHYMES Old Dan Tucker Old Man John We're all in the dumps I had a little horse

SATIRES AND TAUNTS Georgy-porgy April fool Johnny's mad Cry, baby, cry Tell-tale-tit

TONGUE TWISTERS Peter Piper Swan swam over the sea

COUNTING-OUT JINGLES Ickity, pickity One-ery, two-ery Inty, minty Intery, mintery

GESTURE AND ACTION SONGS Trit-trot Hippity-hop This little mouse Here we go up, up, up

RIDDLES A Cherry A Fodder Field, a Hog, and a Dog Hens A Churn An Egg A Star

CATCHES There, was a man who had no eyes I am a gold lock As I was going to St. Ives

CHARMS AND SUPERSTITIONS Star of light Marble, marble, roll away Honest and true Come, butter, come Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Mole on the neck

WEATHER WISDOM Rain before seven Evening red When the fog goes up the hill When the bees all homeward fly

AIDS TO MEMORY One, two, three, four Naught, one In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Thirty days hath September

PROVERBS Birds of a feather He that would thrive Little strokes See a pin and pick it up For every evil under the sun

PEDDLER'S CRIES Pease porridge hot Hot-cross buns


WILLIAM BLAKE Piping down the valleys wild The Lamb Laughing Song

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI The Wind The City Mouse and the Garden Mouse Lullaby A Flint The Sisters

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON The Wind Windy Nights The Whole Duty of Children My Bed Is a Boat The Land of Counterpane The Land of Storybooks

LUCY LARCOM If I Were a Sunbeam The Rivulet The Brown Thrush

ANN AND JANE TAYLOR Meddlesome Matty The Violet The Star The Way to be Happy

ISAAC WATTS Against Idleness and Mischief A Morning Song A Cradle Hymn

LEWIS CARROLL Jabberwocky You Are Old, Father William The Walrus and the Carpenter

EDWARD LEAR There was an Old Man of the West There was an Old Man with a beard There was an Old Person of Dean There was a Young Lady whose chin There is a Young Lady whose nose The Owl and the Pussy-Cat The Jumblies


POPULAR Bonny Barbara Allan Sir Patrick Spence Robin Hood and Allin a Dale Kinmont Willie

MODERN The Wreck of the Hesperus, Longfellow La Belle Dame sans Merci, Keats Lord Ullin's Daughter, Campbell Young Lochinvar, Scott How They Brought the Good News, Browning The Revenge, Tennyson


OUR COUNTRY America, Smith My Native Land, Scott Columbus, Miller Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, Hemans Concord Hymn, Emerson Old Ironsides, Holmes O Captain! My Captain!, Whitman

LOVE LYRICS To Lucasta, Lovelace She Walks in Beauty, Byron A Red, Red Rose, Burns

POEMS OF NATURE The Greenwood Tree, Shakespeare A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, Cunningham I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, Wordsworth The Rhodora, Emerson To the Fringed Genlian, Bryant The Eagle, Tennyson On the Grasshopper and Cricket, Keats

LESSONS FROM NATURE To a Waterfowl, Bryant The Chambered Nautilus, Holmes The Bugle Song, Tennyson

SONGS OF LIFE The Noble Nature, Jonson The Character of a Happy Life, Wotton Say Not the Struggle Nought Availeth, Clough For A' That and A' That, Burns Invictus, Henley Opportunity, Sill A Psalm of Life, Longfellow




FABLES The Dog and the Shadow, AEsop The Fox and the Grapes, AEsop The Hare and the Tortoise, AEsop The Shepherd's Boy, AEsop The Husbandman and the Stork, AEsop The Wind and the Sun, AEsop The Tortoise and the Geese, Bidpai The Partridge and the Crow, Bidpai The Fox and the Grapes, La Fontaine The Wolf and the Stork, La Fontaine



THE ACCUMULATIVE TALE The Old Woman and Her Pig, Jacobs

THE ANIMAL STORY The Three Little Pigs, Jacobs

THE NOODLE STORY Hans in Luck, Grimm

THE HUMBLE HERO STORY The Valiant Little Tailor, Grimm Cinderella, Perrault Whittington and His Cat, Old Chapbook

THE SYMBOLISTIC STORY The Ugly Duckling, Andersen The Flax, Andersen

THE STORY OF HORROR Blue Beard, Perrault

THE GIANT STORY Jack and the Beanstalk, Jacobs

MISCELLANEOUS STORIES The Elves, Grimm Te Frog-Prince, Grimm The Quern at the Bottom of the Sea, Asbjornsen

THE NEGRO FOLK TALE Brother Rabbit and Brother Bull-Frog, Harris

MODERN Brownie and the Cook, Craik The King of the Golden River, Ruskin

THE ORIENTAL WONDER STORY The Story of Aladdin, Arabian Nights


CLASSIC The Gorgon's Head, Hawthorne Theseus, Kingsley

GERMANIC Thor Goes a-Fishing, Mabie Baldur, Keary-Morss

THE HERO STORY Sir William Wallace, Scott

THE REPRODUCTION The Tempest, Shakespeare-Lamb

DIDACTIC STORIES The Purple Jar, Edgeworth Difference and Agreement, Aiken and Barbauld Eyes and No Eyes, Aiken and Barbauld

ANIMAL SKETCHES AND STORIES Rab and His Friends, Brown The Busy Blue Jay, Miller A Cry in the Night, Long

SELECTIONS FROM THE BIBLE The Story of Joseph The Story of Samson David's Psalms: First, Nineteenth, Twenty-third Christ's Sermon on the Mount Paul's Discourse on Charity


LETTERS Lewis Carroll to Miss Standen Thomas Hood to Miss Elliot Charles Dickens to Master Hughes

ESSAYS Traits of Indian Character, Irving Of Studies, Bacon The American Boy, Roosevelt

ORATIONS Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, Henry Supposed Speech of John Adams, Webster Gettysburg Address, Lincoln






Little Miss Muffet Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and whey; Along came a spider And sat down beside her, Which frightened Miss Muffet away.

* * * * *

Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John Went to bed with his stockings on; One shoe off, the other shoe on, Diddle, diddle, dumpling, my son John.

* * * * *

"Let's go to bed," Says Sleepy-head; "Let's stay awhile," says Slow; "Put on the pot," Says Greedy-sot, "We'll sup before we go."

* * * * *

Jack Sprat could eat no fat, His wife could eat no lean: And so betwixt them both, you see, They licked the platter clean.

* * * * *

There was a little girl, And she had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead; When she was good, She was very, very good; But when she was bad—she was horrid.

[Footnote: Attributed to Longfellow.]

* * * * *

Jack and Jill went up the hill To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down and broke his crown, And Jill came tumbling after.

* * * * *

Hickory, dickory, dock, The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck one, And down he run, Hickory, dickory, dock

* * * * *

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe; She had so many children she didn't know what to do. She gave them some broth without any bread, And whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.

* * * * *

Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, Had a wife and couldn't keep her. He put her in a pumpkin shell, And there he kept her very well.

* * * * *

Little Jack Horner Sat in a corner, Eating a Christmas pie: He put in his thumb And pulled out a plum And said, "What a good boy am I!"

* * * * *

Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard To get her poor dog a bone; But when she got there, The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none.

She went to the baker's To buy him some bread; And when she came back, The poor dog was dead.

She went to the joiner's To buy him a coffin; And when she came back, The doggy was laughin'.

She went to the butcher's To buy him some tripe; And when she came back, He was smoking his pipe.

She went to the hatter's To buy him a hat; And when she came back, He was feeding the cat.

She went to the barber's To buy him a wig; And when she came back, He was dancing a jig.

She went to the tailor's To buy him a coat; And when she came back, He was riding a goat.

She went to the cobbler's To buy him some shoes; And when she came back, He was reading the news.

* * * * *

Little Bo-peep She lost her sheep, And couldn't tell where to find them. "Let them alone And they'll come home, Wagging their tails behind them."

Little Bo-peep Fell fast asleep And dreamt she heard them bleating, But when she awoke, She found it a joke, For still they all were fleeting.

Then up she took Her little crook, Determined for to find them.

She found them indeed, But it made her heart bleed,— For they'd left their tails behind them.

* * * * *

My dear, do you know A long time ago Two poor little children, Whose names I don't know, Were taken away on a bright summer day And left in the woods, as I've heard people say.

And when it was night, How sad was their plight! The sun it went down And the stars hid their light. They sobbed and they sighed and sadly they cried, Till the poor little things at last lay down and died.

And when they were dead, The robins so red Brought beech and oak leaves And over them spread. And all the day long, the branches among, They sang to them softly, and this was their song: "Poor babes in the woods, poor babes in the woods, Oh, who will come find the poor babes in the woods?"

* * * * *

Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man; He washed his face in a frying pan, He combed his hair with a wagon wheel, And died with the toothache in his heel.

* * * * *

Old Man John sitting down by the spring; He's a Jew, he's a ring, He's a many pretty thing. He's a hammer with nine nails, He's a cat with nine tails. Whip jack, spur Tom, Blow the bellows for Old Man John.

* * * * *

We're all in the dumps, For diamonds are trumps; The kittens are gone to St. Paul's; The babies are bit, The moon's in a fit, And the houses are built without walls.

* * * * *

I had a little horse, his name was Dapple Gray; His legs were made of cornstalks, his body made of hay. I saddled him and bridled him and rode him off to town; Up came a puff of wind, and blew him up and down. The saddle flew off, and I let go,— Now didn't my horse make a pretty little show?

* * * * *

Georgy-porgy, pudding and pie, Kissed the girls and made them cry. When the boys came out to play, Georgy-porgy ran away.

* * * * *

April fool, go to school, Sit on a two-legged stool. Too wise you are, too wise you be; You are not too wise for me.

* * * * *

Johnny's mad, and I am glad, And I know what will please him: A bottle of wine to make him shine, And Mary Jones to squeeze him.

* * * * *

Cry, baby, cry, Stick your finger in your eye And tell your mother 'twasn't I.

* * * * *

Tell-tale-tit, Your tongue shall be slit, And all the dogs about the town Shall have a little bit.

Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked. If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, Where is the peck of peppers Peter Piper picked?

* * * * *

Swan swam over the sea, Swim, swan, swim; Swan swam back again, Well swum, swan.

* * * * *

Ickity, pickity, ally gadaw, Dicks, do, ally gamaw, Okus, pokus, pelly gaw, Franz.

* * * * *

One-ery, two-ery, three-ery, thum, Backsley, Billy, Nicholas, Bum, One-a-tirry, Dick and Sirry, Pot ban, riddle man, Link, Pink, Sink.

* * * * *

Inly, minly, dibbity fig, Delia, Dolia, dominig, Otcha, potcha, dominotcha, Ella Bella boo, Out goes you.

* * * * *

Intery, mintery, cutery corn, Apple seed and apple thorn, Wire, brier, limber lock, Three geese in a flock; Along came Tod, With his long rod, And scared them all to Migly-wod. One flew east, one flew west, One flew over the cuckoo's nest.— Make your way home, Jack.

* * * * *

Trit-trot, trit-trot, To buy a penny cake; Home again, home again, I met a black-snake. Pick up a stone And breaky backy-bone Trit-trot, trit-trot All the way home.

* * * * *

Hippity—hop to the barber shop, To buy a stick of candy; One for you, and one for me, And one for Brother Andy.

* * * * *

This little mouse got caught in a trap, And this little mouse she heard it snap, This little mouse did loudly squeak out, And this little mouse did run all about, This little mouse said, "Do not bewail And let us take hold and pull him out by the tail."

[Footnote: Recited on the baby's fingers or toes.]

* * * * *

Here we go up, up, up, Here we go down, down, down-y; Here we go up, and here we go down, And here we go round, round, round-y.

* * * * *

As I went through the garden gap, Whom should I meet but Dick Red-cap,— A stick in his hand, A stone in his throat,— If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a gold fiddle. (A cherry)

* * * * *

One day I went to my whirly-whicker-whacker, (Fodder field) I met bow-backer, (A hog) I called Tom-tacker (A dog) To drive bow-backer Out of my whirly-whicker-whacker.

* * * * *

One day I went to Body-tot, I met three ladies in a trot, With green heads and yellow toes,— If you don't tell me this riddle I'll burn your nose. (Hens)

* * * * *

Big at the bottom and little at the top, A thing in the middle goes flippety-flop. (A churn)

* * * * *

Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; All the king's horses and all the king's men Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty together again. (An egg)

* * * * *

I have a little sister, she's called Peep-peep; She wades the waters deep, deep, deep; She climbs the mountains high, high, high,— Poor little thing, she has but one eye. (A star)

* * * * *

There was a man who had no eyes, He went abroad to view the skies; He saw a tree with apples on it, He took no apples off, yet left no apples on it.

(The man had one eye, and the tree had two apples on it.)

* * * * *

(The following catch depends upon the second child repeating the exact words of the first, except that he changes "lock" to "key.")

1. I am a gold lock. 2. I am a gold key. 1. I am a silver lock, 2. I am a silver key. 1. I am a brass lock, 2. I am a brass key. 1. I am a monk lock. 2. I am a monk-key.

* * * * *

As I was going to St. Ives, I met a man with seven wives; Each wife had seven sacks, Each sack had seven cats, Each sack had seven kits,— Kits, cats, sacks, and wives, How many were going to St. Ives?

* * * * *

Star of light, so bright, so bright, 'Tis the first star I've seen tonight; I wish I may, I wish I might Have the wish I wish tonight.

* * * * *

Marble, marble, roll away, Go find your brother; Marble, marble, come back home, Bring me another.

[Footnote: If you have lost a marble, take another marble and roll it toward the place you lost the first one, repeating this charm. You will find the lost one near the second marble.]

* * * * *

Honest and true, black and blue, You may take your knife and cut me in two. (An oath)

* * * * *

Come, butter, come, Come, butter, come; Johnny stands at the gate, Waiting for a butter cake,— Come, butter, come.

* * * * *

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John Guard the bed that I lie on; One to watch and one to pray, And two to bear my soul away.

* * * * *

Mole on the neck, Money by the peck.

* * * * *

Rain before seven, Quit before eleven.

* * * * *

Evening red and morning gray Sets the traveler on his way; Evening gray and morning red, Brings down rain upon his head.

* * * * *

When the fog goes up the hill, Then the rain comes down by the mill.

* * * * *

When the bees all homeward fly, Flowers will not long be dry.

* * * * *

1, 2, 3, 4, Mary at the cottage door; 5, 6, 7, 8, Eating cherries off a plate.

* * * * *

Naught, one, Work is done; Two, three, Jubilee; Four, five, Ducks are alive; Six, seven, Stars shine up in heaven; Eight, nine, Queen, Queen Caroline, Wash your face in turpentine, Monkey-shine, monkey-shine, Queen, Queen Caroline.

* * * * *

In fourteen hundred and ninety-two Columbus sailed the ocean blue.

* * * * *

Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; All the rest have thirty-one, Excepting February alone, Which has twenty-eight in line, Till leap-year gives it twenty-nine.

* * * * *

Birds of a feather Flock together.

* * * * *

He that would thrive Must rise at five; He that has thriven May rise at seven.

* * * * *

Little strokes Fell great oaks.

* * * * *

See a pin and pick it up, All the day you'll have good luck. See a pin and let it lay, You'll have bad luck all the day.

* * * * *

For every evil under the sun, There is a remedy, or there is none; If there be one, try and find it, If there be none, never mind it.

* * * * *

Pease porridge hot, Pease porridge cold, Pease porridge in the pot, Nine days old.

Some like it hot, Some like it cold, Some like it in the pot, Nine days old.

* * * * *

Hot-cross buns, Hot-cross buns, One a penny, two a penny, Hot-cross buns.

Hot-cross buns, Hot-cross buns, If you have no daughters, Give them to your sons.


William Blake


Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, On a cloud I saw a child, And he laughing said to me:—

"Pipe a song about a lamb:" So I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again:" So I piped: he wept to hear.

"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, Sing thy songs of happy cheer!" So I sang the same again, While he wept with joy to hear.

"Piper, sit thee down and write In a book, that all may read—" So he vanished from my sight; And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.


Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright, Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee. He is called by thy name, For He calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee!


When the green wood laughs with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it;

When the meadows laugh with lively green, And the grasshopper laughs in the merry scene; When Mary, and Susan, and Emily With their sweet round mouths sing, "Ha ha he!"

When the painted birds laugh in the shade, When our table with cherries and nuts is spread; Come live, and be merry, and join with me, To sing the sweet chorus of "Ha ha he!"



Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I But when the leaves hang trembling The wind is passing by.

Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I But when the trees bow down their heads The wind is passing by.


The city mouse lives in a house;— The garden mouse lives in a bower, He's friendly with the frogs and toads, And sees the pretty plants in flower. The city mouse eats bread and cheese;— The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stalks, Poor little timid furry man.


Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Flowers are closed and lambs are sleeping; Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Stars are up, the moon is peeping; Lullaby, oh, lullaby! While the birds are silence keeping, Lullaby, oh, lullaby! Sleep, my baby, fall a-sleeping, Lullaby, oh, lullaby!


Sing me a song— What shall I sing?— Three merry sisters Dancing in a ring, Light and fleet upon their feet As birds upon the wing.

Tell me a tale— What shall I tell?— Two mournful sisters, And a tolling knell, Tolling ding and tolling dong, Ding dong bell.



I saw you toss the kites on high And blow the birds about the sky; And all around I heard you pass, Like ladies' skirts across the grass— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did, But always you yourself you hid. I felt you push, I heard you call, I could not see yourself at all— O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold! O blower, are you young or old? Are you a beast of field and tree, Or just a stronger child than me? O wind, a-blowing all day long, O wind, that sings so loud a song!


Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about?

Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he; By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.


A child should always say what's true And speak when he is spoken to, And behave mannerly at table; At least as far as he is able.


My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor's coat And starts me in the dark.

At night, I go on board and say Good night to all my friends on shore; I shut my eyes and sail away, And see and hear no more.

And sometimes things to bed I take, As prudent sailors have to do; Perhaps a slice of wedding cake, Perhaps a toy or two.

All night across the dark we steer; But when the day returns at last, Safe in my room, beside the pier, I find my vessel fast.


When I was sick and lay abed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bedclothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.


At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall, And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back.

There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink.

I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about.

So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear Land of Storybooks.



"If I were a sunbeam, I know what I'd do; I would seek white lilies, Rainy woodlands through. I would steal among them, Softest light I'd shed, Until every lily Raised its drooping head.

"If I were a sunbeam, I know where I'd go; Into lowliest hovels, Dark with want and woe: Till sad hearts looked upward, I would shine and shine; Then they'd think of heaven, Their sweet home and mine."

Art thou not a sunbeam, Child, whose life is glad With an inner radiance Sunshine never had? O, as God hath blessed thee, Scatter rays divine! For there is no sunbeam But must die or shine.


Run, little rivulet, run! Summer is fairly begun. Bear to the meadow the hymn of the pines, And the echo that rings where the waterfall shines; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run! Sing to the fields of the sun That wavers in emerald, shimmers in gold, Where you glide from your rocky ravine, crystal cold; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run! Sing of the flowers, every one,— Of the delicate harebell and violet blue; Of the red mountain rosebud, all dripping with dew; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run! Carry the perfume you won From the lily, that woke when the morning was gray, To the white waiting moonbeam adrift on the bay; Run, little rivulet, run!

Run, little rivulet, run! Stay not till summer is done! Carry the city the mountain birds' glee; Carry the joy of the hills to the sea; Run, little rivulet, run!


There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. He's singing to me! He's singing to me! And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree I'm as happy as happy can be!"

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper tree? Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I'm glad! now I'm free! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy! But long it won't be, Don't you know? don't you see? Unless we are as good as can be!"



One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best: Matilda, though a pleasant child, One grievous fault possessed, Which, like a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better qualities.

Sometimes she'd lift the teapot 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 snuffbox 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 snuffbox 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! woeful 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 dashed 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.


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 color bright and fair; It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there.

Yet there 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.


Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high, Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone, When he nothing shines upon, Then you show your little light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveler in the dark, Thanks you for your tiny spark! He could not see which way to go, If you did not twinkle so.

In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky.

As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark, Though I know not what you are, Twinkle, twinkle, little star.


How pleasant it is at the end of the day, No follies to have to repent,

But reflect on the past and be able to say, My time has been properly spent!

When I've done all my business with patience and care, And been good, and obliging, and kind, I lie on my pillow and sleep away there, With a happy and peaceable mind.

Instead of all this, if it must be confest, That I careless and idle have been, I lie down as usual, and go to my rest, But feel discontented within.

Then as I dislike all the trouble I've had, In future I'll try to prevent it, For I never am naughty without being sad, Or good—without being contented.



How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From every opening flower!

How skillfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads her wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes.

In works of labor or of skill, I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do.

In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be past, That I may give for every day Some good account at last.


My God, who makes the sun to know His proper hour to rise, And to give light to all below, Doth send him round the skies.

When from the chambers of the east His morning race begins, He never tires, nor stops to rest, But round the world he shines.

So, like the sun, would I fulfill The business of the day: Begin my work betimes, and still March on my heavenly way.

Give me, O Lord, thy early grace, Nor let my soul complain That the young morning of my days Has all been spent in vain.


Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber! Holy angels guard thybed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.

Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied.

How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee!

Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed was hay.

Lo, He slumbers in His manger, Where the horned oxen fed; Peace, my darling, here's no danger, Here's no ox a-near thy bed.

Mayst thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise!



'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimbel in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son! The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand: Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree, And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood, The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffling through the tulgey wood, And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O Frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!" He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimbel in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.


"You are old, father William," the young man said "And your hair has become very white; And yet you incessantly stand on your head— Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," father William replied to his son, "I feared it might injure the brain; But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none, Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before, And have grown most uncommonly fat; Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door— Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks, "I kept all my limbs very supple By the use of this ointment—one shilling the box— Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak For anything tougher than suet; Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak— Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law, And argued each case with my wife; And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth; "one would hardly suppose That your eye was as steady as ever; Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose— What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough," Said his father; "don't give yourself airs! Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff? Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"


The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might; He did his very best to make The billows smooth and bright— And this was odd, because it was The middle of the night.

The moon was shining sulkily, Because she thought the sun Had got no business to be there After the day was done— "It's very rude of him," she said, "To come and spoil the fun!"

The sea was wet as wet could be, The sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because No cloud was in the sky; No birds were flying overhead— There were no birds to fly.

The Walrus and the Carpenter Were walking close at hand; They wept like anything to see Such quantities of sand— "If this were only cleared away," They said, "it would be grand!"

"If seven maids with seven mops Swept it for half a year, Do you suppose," the Walrus said, "That they could get it clear?" "I doubt it," said the Carpenter, And shed a bitter tear.

"O Oysters, come and walk with us!" The Walrus did beseech. "A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk, Along the briny beach; We cannot do with more than four, To give a hand to each."

The eldest Oyster looked at him, But never a word he said; The eldest Oyster winked his eye, And shook his heavy head— Meaning to say he did not choose To leave the Oyster bed.

But four young Oysters hurried up, All eager for the treat; Their coats were brushed, their faces washed, Their shoes were clean and neat— And this was odd, because, you know, They hadn't any feet.

Four other Oysters followed them, And yet another four; And thick and fast they came at last, And more, and more, and more— All hopping through the frothy waves, And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter Walked on a mile or so, And then they rested on a rock Conveniently low— And all the little Oysters stood And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said, "To talk of many things: Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax— Of cabbages—and kings— And why the sea is boiling hot— And whether pigs have wings."

"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried, "Before we have our chat; For some of us are out of breath, And all of us are fat!" "No hurry!" said the Carpenter. They thanked him much for that.

"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said, "Is what we chiefly need; Pepper and vinegar besides Are very good indeed— Now if you're ready, Oysters dear, We can begin to feed."

"But not on us!" the Oysters cried, Turning a little blue. "After such kindness, that would be A dismal thing to do!" "The night is fine!" the Walrus said. "Do you admire the view?

"It was so kind of you to come! And you are very nice!" The Carpenter said nothing but, "Cut us another slice. I wish you were not quite so deaf— I've had to ask you twice!"

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said. "To play them such a trick, After we've brought them out so far, And made them trot so quick!" The Carpenter said nothing but, "The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said; "I deeply sympathize." With sobs and tears he sorted out Those of the largest size, Holding his pocket handkerchief Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters", said the Carpenter, "You've had a pleasant run! Shall we be trotting home again?" But answer came there none— And this was scarcely odd, because They'd eaten every one.


There was an Old Man of the West, Who never could get any rest; So they set him to spin on his nose and his chin. Which cured that Old Man of the West.

* * * * *

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 Person of Dean, Who dined on one pea and one bean; For he said, "More than that would make me too fat," That cautious Old Person of Dean.

* * * * *

There was a Young Lady whose chin Resembled the point of a pin; So she had it made sharp, and purchased a harp, And played several tunes with her chin.

* * * * *

There is a Young Lady whose nose Continually prospers and grows; When it grew out of sight, she exclaimed in a fright, "Oh! Farewell to the end of my nose!"


The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat: They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the stars above, And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy, O Pussy, my love, What a beautiful Pussy you are, You are, You are! What a beautiful Pussy you are!"

Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl, How charmingly sweet you sing! Oh! let us be married; too long we have tarried: But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away, for a year and a day, To the land where the bong-tree grows; And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood, With a ring at the end of his nose, His nose, His nose, With a ring at the end of his nose.

"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will." So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined on mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon; And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, They danced by the light of the moon, The moon, The moon, They danced by the light of the moon.


They went to sea in a sieve, they did; In a sieve they went to sea: In spite of all their friends could say, On a winter's morn, on a stormy day, In a sieve they went to sea. And when the sieve turned round and round, And every one cried, "You'll all be drowned!" They called aloud, "Our sieve ain't big; But we don't care a button, we don't care a fig: In a sieve we'll go to sea!"

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

They sailed away in a sieve, they did, In a sieve they sailed so fast, With only a beautiful pea-green veil Tied with a ribbon, by way of a sail, To a small tobacco-pipe mast. And every one said who saw them go, "Oh! won't they be soon upset, you know? For the sky is dark, and the voyage is long; And happen what may, it's extremely wrong In a sieve to sail so fast."

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

The water it soon came in, it did; The water it soon came in: So, to keep them dry, they wrapped their feet In a pinky paper all folded neat; And they fastened it down with a pin. And they passed the night in a crockery-jar; And each of them said, "How wise we are! Though the night be dark, and the voyage be long, Yet we never can think we were rash or wrong, While round in our sieve we spin."

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

And all night long they sailed away; And when the sun went down, They whistled and warbled a moony song To the echoing sound of a coppery gong, In the shade of the mountains brown. "O Timballo! How happy we are When we live in a sieve and a crockery jar! And all night long, in the moonlight pale, We sail away with a pea-green sail In the shade of the mountains brown."

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

They sailed to the Western Sea, they did,— To a land all covered with trees: And they bought an owl, and a useful cart, And a pound of rice, and a cranberry tart, And a hive of silvery bees; And they bought a pig, and some green jackdaws, And a lovely monkey with lollipop paws, And forty bottles of ring-bo-ree, And no end of Stilton cheese.

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.

And in twenty years they all came back,— In twenty years or more; And every one said, "How tall they've grown! For they've been to the Lakes, and the Torrible Zone, And the hills of the Chankly Bore." And they drank their health, and gave them a feast Of dumplings made of beautiful yeast; And every one said, "If we only live, We, too, will go to sea in a sieve, To the hills of the Chankly Bore."

Far and few, far and few, Are the lands where the Jumblies live: Their heads are green, and their hands are blue; And they went to sea in a sieve.




It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a-falling, That Sir John Graeme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: "O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by: "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And 'tis a' for Barabara Allan"; "O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a-spilling.

"Do you remember the other day, When we were at the tavern drinking, You drank a health to the ladies all, And you slighted Barbara Allan?"

"Yes, I remember the other day, When we were at the tavern drinking, I drank a health to the ladies all, And three to Barbara Allan."

"Do you remember the other night, When we were at the ballroom dancing, You gave your hand to the ladies all, And slighted Barbara Allan?"

"Yes, I remember the other night, When we were at the ballroom dancing, I gave my hand to the ladies all, And my heart to Barbara Allan."

He turned his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing: "Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all. And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And, sighing, said she could not stay, Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell geid, It cry'd, "Woe to Barbara Allan."

"O mother, mother, make my bed! O make it saft and narrow! Since my love died for me today, I'll die for him tomorrow."


The king sits in Dunferling toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine; "O whar will I get a guid sailor To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht, Sat at the king's richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter, And signd it wi' his hand; And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he; The next line that Sir Patrick red. The teir blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me, To send me out this time o' the yeir, To sail upon the se!

"Mak haste, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne." "O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone, Wi' the auld moone in his arme, And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will com to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone; Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit, Wi' thair fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may the ladies stand, Wi' thair gold kerns in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair.

Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip, And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.


Come listen to me, you gallants so free, All you that loves mirth for to hear, And I will tell you of a bold outlaw, That lived in Nottinghamshire.

As Robin Hood in the forest stood, All under the greenwood tree, There was he ware of a brave young man, As fine as fine might be.

The youngster was clothed in scarlet red, In scarlet fine and gay; And he did frisk it over the plain, And chanted a roundelay.

As Robin Hood next morning stood, Amongst the leaves so gay, There did he espy the same young man Come drooping along the way.

The scarlet he wore the day before, It was clean cast away; And at every step he fetcht a sigh, "Alack and a well a day!"

Then stepped forth brave Little John, And Nick the miller's son, Which made the young man bend his bow, When as he see them come.

"Stand off, stand off," the young man said, "What is your will with me?" "You must come before our master straight, Under yon greenwood tree."

And when he came bold Robin before, Robin askt him courteously, "O hast thou any money to spare For my merry men and me?"

"I have no money," the young man said, "But five shillings and a ring; And that I have kept this seven long years, To have it at my wedding.

"Yesterday I should have married a maid, But she is now from me tane, And chosen to be an old knight's delight, Whereby my poor heart is slain."

"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood, "Come tell me, without any fail": "By the faith of my body," then said the young man, "My name it is Allin a Dale."

"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood, "In ready gold or fee, To help thee to thy true-love again, And deliver her unto thee?"

"I have no money," then quoth the young man, "No ready gold nor fee, But I will swear upon a book Thy true servant for to be."

"How many miles is it to thy true-love? Come tell me without any guile": "By the faith of my body," then said the young man, "It is but five little mile."

Then Robin he hasted over the plain, He did neither stint nor lin, Until he came unto the church, Where Allin should keep his wedding.

"What dost thou do here?" the bishop he said, "I prithee now tell to me": "I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood, "And the best in the north countrey."

"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said, "That musick best pleaseth me": "You shall have no musick," quoth Robin Hood, "Till the bride and the bridegroom I see."

With that came in a wealthy knight, Which was both grave and old, And after him a finikin lass Did shine like glistering gold.

"This is no fit match," quoth bold Robin Hood, "That you do seem to make here; For since we are come unto the church, The bride she shall chuse her own dear."

Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth, And blew blasts two or three; When four and twenty bowmen bold Came leaping over the lee.

And when they came into the church-yard, Marching all on a row, The first man was Allin a Dale, To give bold Robin his bow.

"This is thy true-love," Robin he said, "Young Allin, as I hear say: And you shall be married at this same time, Before we depart away."

"That shall not be," the bishop he said, "For thy word shall not stand; They shall be three times askt in the church, As the law is of our land."

Robin Hood pulld off the bishop's coat, And put it upon Little John; "By the faith of my body," then Robin said, "This cloath doth make thee a man."

When Little John went into the quire, The people began for to laugh; He askt them seven times in the church, Lest three times should not be enough.

"Who gives me this maid?" then said Little John; Quoth Robin, "That do I, And he that doth take her from Allin a Dale Full dearly he shall her buy."

And thus having ended this merry wedding, The bride lookt as fresh as a queen, And so they returned to the merry greenwood, Amongst the leaves so green.


O! have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde? O! have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scroope? How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie On Haribee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men, But twenty men as stout as he, Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en, Wi' eight score in his companie.

They band his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back; They guarded him, fivesome on each side, And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro' the Liddel-rack, And also thro' the Carlisle sands; They brought him to Carlisle castell, To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free, And whae will dare this deed avow? Or answer by the border law? Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?"

"Now baud thy tongue, thou rank reiver! There's never a Scot shall set thee free; Before ye cross my castle yate, I trow ye shall take farewell o' me."

"Fear na ye that, my lord," quo' Willie; "By the faith o' my bodie, Lord Scroope," he said, "I never yet lodged in a hostelrie But I paid my lawing before I gaed."

Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, In Branksome Ha', where that he lay, That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willie, Between the hours of night and day.

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand, He garr'd the red wine spring on hie— "Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, "But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!

"Oh is my basnet a widow's curch? Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? Or my arm a ladye's lilye hand, That an English lord should lightly me?

"And have they ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of the Bordertide? And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Is keeper here on the Scottish side?

"And have they e'en ta'en him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear? And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch Can back a steed, or shake a spear?

"O were there war between the lands, As well I wot that there is none, I would slight Carlisle castell high, Tho it were builded of marble stone.

"I would set that castell in a low, And sloken it with English blood! There's never a man in Cumberland Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.

"But since nae war's between the lands, And there is peace, and peace should be; I'll neither harm English lad or lass, And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!"

He has call'd him forty Marchmen bauld. I trow they were of his ain name, Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, call'd The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.

He has call'd him forty Marchmen bauld, Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch; With spur on heel, and splent on spauld; And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.

There were five and five before them a', Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright, And five and five came wi' Buccleuch Like warden's men, array'd for fight;

And five and five, like a mason gang, That carried the ladders lang and hie; And five and five, like broken men, And so they reach'd the Woodhouselee.

And as we cross'd the Bateable Land, When to the English side we held, The first o' men that we met wi', Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde?

"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"— "We go to hunt an English stag, Has trespass'd on the Scots countrie."

"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?" Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!"— "We go to catch a rank reiver, Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch."

"Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads, Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie?"— "We gang to herry a corbie's nest, That wons not far frae Woodhouselee."—

"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?" Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"— Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, And the nevir a word of lear had he.

"Why trespass ye on the English side? Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo' he; The nevir a word had Dickie to say, Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.

Then on we held for Carlisle toun. And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we cross'd; The water was great and meikle of spait, But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.

And when we reach'd the Staneshaw-bank, The wind was rising loud and hie; And there the laird garr'd leave our steeds, For fear that they should stamp and nie.

And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, The wind began full loud to blaw, But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castel wa'.

We crept on knees, and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa'; And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell To mount the first before us a'.

He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead— "Had there not been peace between our lands, Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!—

"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo' Buccleuch; "Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!" Then loud the warden's trumpet blew— "O wha dare meddle wi' me?"

Then speedilie to wark we gaed, And raised the slogan ane and a', And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, And so we wan to the castle ha'.

They thought King James and a' his men Had won the house wi' bow and spear; It was but twenty Scots and ten, That put a thousand in sic a stear!

Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers, We garr'd the bars bang merrilie, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie.

And when we cam to the lower prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie— "O, sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die?"—

"O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft,' It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me; Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier for me."—

Then Red Rowan has hente him up, The starkest man in Teviotdale— "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.

"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried; "I'll pay you for my lodging maill When first we meet on the Border side."

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's airns play'd clang.

"O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, "I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; "But a rougher beast than Red Rowan I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.

"And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, "I've prick'd a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I back'd a steed I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!"—

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men, on horse and foot, Cam wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.

Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden Water, Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them through the stream.

He turn'd him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he— "If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!"

All sore astonish'd stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane; He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, When through the water they had gane.

"He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be; I wadna have ridden that wan water, For a' the gowd in Christentie."



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

It was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night the moon had a golden ring, And tonight no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar. And bound her to the mast.

"O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast"— And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies, The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Tow'rds the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool. But the cruel rocks, they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, "Ho! ho!" the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown seaweed, On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow! Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe!


John Keats

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely loitering? The sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.

Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel's granary is full, And the harvest's done.

I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too.

I met a lady in the meads Full beautiful—a faery's child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild.

I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A faery's song.

I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She look'd at me as she did love, And made sweet moan.

She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said— "I love thee true."

She took me to her elfin grot, And there she gazed, and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild wild eyes So kiss'd to sleep.

And there we slumber'd on the moss, And there I dream'd—Ah! woe betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill side.

I saw pale kings, and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all They cried—"La Belle Dame sans Merci, Hath thee in thrall!"

I saw their starved lips in the gloam, With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill side.

And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake, And no birds sing.


Thomas Campbell

A chieftain to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry."—

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"—

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief—I'm ready:— It is not for your silver bright; But for your winsome lady:

"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry: So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."—

By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men, Their trampling sounded nearer.—

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, "Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father."—

The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her,— When, oh! too strong for human hand, The tempest gathered o'er her.—

And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing: Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,— His wrath was changed to wailing.—

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover:— One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried, in grief, "Across this stormy water: And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter! oh, my daughter!"—

'Twas vain:—the loud waves lashed the shore. Return or aid preventing:— The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting.


Sir Walter Scott

Oh young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And save his good broadsword he weapon had none; He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for stone, He swam the Esk river where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late: For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, Among brid'smen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all; Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"—

"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied;— Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far, To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?



Robert Browning

I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; "Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew; "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest And into the midnight we galloped abreast.

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.

'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffeld, 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime, So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!"

At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past, And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence,—ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.

By Hasselt, Direk groaned; and cried Joris, "Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault's not in her, We'll remember at Aix"—for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.

So, we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh, 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And "Gallop," gasped Joris, "for Aix is in sight!"

"How they'll greet us!"—and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate. With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is—friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.



Alfred Tennyson


At Flores in the Azores Sir Richard Grenville lay, And a pinnace, like a flutter'd bird, came flying from far away: "Spanish ships of war at sea! we have sighted fifty-three!" Then sware Lord Thomas Howard: "'Fore God I am no coward; But I cannot meet them here, for my ships are out of gear, And the half my men are sick. I must fly, but follow quick. We are six ships of the line; can we fight with fifty-three?"


Then spake Sir Richard Grenville: "I know you are no coward; You fly them for a moment to fight with them again. But I've ninety men and more that are lying sick ashore. I should count myself the coward if I left them, my Lord Howard, To these Inquisition dogs and the devildoms of Spain."


So Lord Howard past away with five ships of war that day, Till he melted like a cloud in the silent summer heaven; But Sir Richard bore in hand all his sick men from the land Very carefully and slow, Men of Bideford in Devon, And we laid them on the ballast down below; For we brought them all aboard, And they blest him in their pain, that they were not left to Spain, To the thumb-screw and the stake, for the glory of the Lord.


He had only a hundred seamen to work the ship and to fight, And he sailed away from Flores till the Spaniard came in sight, With his huge sea-castles heaving upon the weatherbow. "Shall we fight or shall we fly? Good Sir Richard, tell us now, For to fight is but to die! There'll be little of us left by the time this sun be set." And Sir Richard said again: "We be all good Englishmen. Let us bang these dogs of Seville, the children of the devil, For I never turn'd my back upon Don or devil yet."


Sir Richard spoke and he laugh'd, and we roar'd a hurrah, and so The little Revenge ran on sheer into the heart of the foe, With her hundred fighters on deck, and her ninety sick below; For half of their fleet to the right and half to the left were seen, And the little Revenge ran on thro' the long sea-lane between.


Thousands of their soldiers look'd down from their decks and laugh'd, Thousands of their seamen made mock at the mad little craft Running on and on, till delay'd By their mountain-like San Philip that, of fifteen hundred tons, And up-shadowing high above us with her yawning tiers of guns, Took the breath from our sails, and we stay'd.


And while now the great San Philip hung above us like a cloud Whence the thunderbolt will fall Long and loud, Four galleons drew away From the Spanish fleet that day, And two upon the larboard and two upon the starboard lay, And the battle-thunder broke from them all.


But anon the great San Philip, she bethought herself and went, Having that within her womb that had left her ill content; And the rest they came aboard us, and they fought us hand to hand. For a dozen times they came with their pikes and musqueteers, And a dozen times we shook 'em off as a dog that shakes his ears, When he leaps from the water to the land.


And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea, But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three. Ship after ship, the whole night long, their high-built galleons came, Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and flame; Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her shame. For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no more— God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?


For he said, "Fight on! fight on!" Tho' his vessel was all but a wreck; And it chanced that, when half of the short summer night was gone, With a grisly wound to be drest he had left the deck, But a bullet struck him that was dressing it suddenly dead, And himself he was wounded again in the side and the head, And he said, "Fight on! fight on!"


And the night went down, and the sun smiled out far over the summer sea, And the Spanish fleet with broken sides lay round us all in a ring; But they dared not touch us again, for they fear'd that we still could sting, So they watch'd what the end would be. And we had not fought them in vain, But in perilous plight were we, Seeing forty of our poor hundred were slain, And half of the rest of us maim'd for life In the crash of the cannonades and the desperate strife; And the sick men down in the hold were most of them stark and cold, And the pikes were all broken or bent, and the powder was all of it spent; And the masts and the rigging were lying over the side; But Sir Richard cried in his English pride: "We have fought such a fight for a day and a night As may never be fought again! We have won great glory, my men! And a day less or more At sea or ashore, We die—does it matter when? Sink me the ship, Master Gunner—sink her, split her in twain! Fall into the hands of God, not into the hands of Spain!"


And the gunner said, "Ay, ay," but the seamen made reply: "We have children, we have wives, And the Lord hath spared our lives. We will make the Spaniard promise, if we yield, to let us go; We shall live to fight again and to strike another blow." And the lion there lay dying, and they yielded to the foe.


And the stately Spanish men to their flagship bore him then, Where they laid him by the mast, old Sir Richard caught at last, And they praised him to his face with their courtly foreign grace; But he rose upon their decks, and he cried: "I have fought for Queen and Faith like a valiant man and true; I have only done my duty as a man is bound to do. With a joyful spirit I Sir Richard Grenville die!" And he fell upon their decks, and he died.


And they stared at the dead that had been so valiant and true, And had holden the power and glory of Spain so cheap That he dared her with one little ship and his English few; Was he devil or man? He was devil for aught they knew, But they sank his body with honor down into the deep, And they mann'd the Revenge with a swarthier alien crew, And away she sail'd with her loss and long'd for her own; When a wind from the lands they had ruin'd awoke from sleep, And the water began to heave and the weather to moan, And or ever that evening ended a great gale blew, And a wave like the wave that is raised by an earthquake grew, Till it smote on their hulls and their sails and their masts and their flags, And the whole sea plunged and fell on the shot-shatter'd navy of Spain, And the little Revenge herself went down by the island crags To be lost evermore in the main.




Samuel Francis Smith

My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty; Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrims' pride,— From every mountain side Let freedom ring.

My native country, thee, Land of the noble free,— Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above.

Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake, Let all that breathe partake! Let rocks their silence break,— The sound prolong.

Our fathers' God,—to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing; Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by thy might, Great God, our King.


Sir Walter Scott

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, "This is my own, my native land!" Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd, As home his footsteps he hath turn'd From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concent'red all in self. Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor'd, and unsung.


Joaquin Miller

Behind him lay the gray Azores, Behind the Gates of Hercules; Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said: "Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone, Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?" "Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"

"My men grow mutinous day by day; My men grow ghastly, wan and weak." The stout mate thought of home; a spray Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek. "What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say, If we sight naught but seas at dawn?" "Why, you shall say at break of day: 'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"

They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow, Until at last the blanched mate said: "Why, now not even God would know Should I and all my men fall dead. These very winds forget their way, For God from these dread seas is gone. Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say—" He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"

They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate: "This mad sea shows his teeth tonight. He curls his lip, he lies in wait, He lifts his teeth, as if to bite! Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word: What shall we do when hope is gone?" The words leapt like a leaping sword: "Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"

Then, pale and worn, he paced his deck, And peered through darkness. Ah, that night. Of all dark nights! And then a speck— A light! A light! At last a light! It grew, a starlit flag unfurled! It grew to be Time's burst of dawn. He gained a world; he gave that world Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"


Felicia Browne Hemans

Look now abroad! Another race has fill'd Those populous borders—wide the wood recedes, And towns shoot up, and fertile realms are till'd; The land is full of harvests and green meads. —Bryant

The breaking waves dash'd high On a stern and rockbound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches toss'd.

And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark On the wild New England shore.

Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame;

Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear;— They shook the depths of the desert gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

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