In My Nursery

SLEEPYLAND

Baby's been in Sleepyland,Over the hills, over the hills.Baby's been in SleepylandAll the rainy morning.From the cradle where she lay,Up she jumped and flew away,For Sleepyland is bright and gayEvery rainy morning.What did you see in Sleepyland,Baby littlest, Baby prettiest?What did you see in Sleepyland,All the rainy morning?Saw the sun that shone so twinkily,Saw the grass that waved so crinkily,Saw the brook that flowed so tinkily,All the lovely morning.What did you hear in Sleepyland,Over the hills, over the hills?What did you hear in Sleepyland,All the rainy morning?Heard the winds that wooed so wooingly,Heard the doves that cooed so cooingly,Heard the cows that mooed so mooingly,All the lovely morning.What did you do in Sleepyland,Baby littlest, Baby prettiest?What did you do in Sleepyland,All the rainy morning?Sang a song with a blue canary,Danced a dance with a golden fairy,Rode about on a cinnamon beary,All the lovely morning.Would I could go to Sleepyland,Over the hills, over the hills;Would I could go to Sleepyland,Every rainy morning.But to Sleepyland, as I have been told,No one may go after three years old,So poor old Mammy stays out in the cold,Every rainy morning.

Little Brown Bobby

Little Brown Bobby sat on the barn floorLittle Brown Bobby looked in at the door,Little Brown Bobby said "Lackaday!Who'll drive me this little brown bobby away?"Little Brown Bobby said "Shoo! shoo! shoo!"Little Brown Bobby said "Moo! moo! moo!"This frightened them so that both of them cried,And wished they were back at their Mammy's side!

PHIL'S SECRET

I know a little girl,But I won't tell who!Her hair is of the gold,And her eyes are of the blue.Her smile is of the sweet,And her heart is of the true.Such a pretty little girl! —But I won't tell who.I see her every day,But I won't tell where!It may be in the lane,By the thorn-tree there.It may be in the garden,By the rose-beds fair.Such a pretty little girl! —But I won't tell where.I'll marry her some day,But I won't tell when!The very smallest boysMake the very biggest men.When I'm as tall as father,You may ask about it then.Such a pretty little girl! —But I won't tell when.

A SONG FOR HAL

Once I saw a little boat, and a pretty, pretty boat,When daybreak the hills was adorning,And into it I jumped, and away I did float,So very, very early in the morning.Chorus. And every little wave had its nightcap on,Its nightcap, white cap, nightcap on.And every little wave had its nightcap on,So very, very early in the morning.All the fishes were asleep in their caves cool and deep,When the ripple round my keel flashed a warning.Said the minnow to the skate, "We must certainly be late,Though I thought 'twas very early in the morning."Chorus. For every little wave has its nightcap on,Its nightcap, white cap, nightcap on.For every little wave has its nightcap on,So very, very early in the morning.The lobster darkly green soon appeared upon the scene,And pearly drops his claws were adorning.Quoth he, "May I be boiled, if I'll have my slumber spoiled,So very, very early in the morning!"Chorus. For every little wave has its nightcap on,Its nightcap, white cap, nightcap on,For every little wave has its nightcap on,So very, very early in the morning.Said the sturgeon to the eel, "Just imagine how I feel,Thus roused without a syllable of warning.People ought to let us know when a-sailing they would go,So very, very early in the morning."Chorus. When every little wave has its nightcap on,Its nightcap, white cap, nightcap on.When every little wave has its nightcap on,So very, very early in the morning.Just then up jumped the sun, and the fishes every oneFor their laziness at once fell a-mourning.But I stayed to hear no more, for my boat had reached the shore,So very, very early in the morning.Chorus. And every little wave took its nightcap off,Its nightcap, white cap, nightcap off.And every little wave took its nightcap off,And courtesied to the sun in the morning.

THE FAIRIES

Is it true, my mother?Can it really be,That the little fairiesEvery day you see?Oh! the little fairies,Wonderful and wise,Have you really seen themWith your own two eyes?Tell me where their home is,Dearest mother mine.Is it in the garden'Neath the clustering vine?Is it in the meadow,'Mid the grasses tall?Is it by the brookside,Sweetest place of all?Deep within the woodland,Shall I find them then, —Pretty little maidens,Pretty little men;Curled among the roseleaves,Stretched along the fern,Where no wind can shake them,And no sunbeams burn?Does the little queen liveIn a great red rose,Twenty elves to fan herWhen to sleep she goes;Coverlet of liliesSprinkled o'er with pearls,Golden stars a-twinklingIn her golden curls?Do they paint the flowers?Do they teach the birdsAll their lovely music,With its strange, sweet words?Oh! but tell me, mother!Is it really true?And when next you seek them,Will you take me too?True it is, my darling,True as true can be,That the little fairiesEvery day I see,Not within the meadow,Not in woodland gloom,But in brightest sunshine,In this very room.Singing like the robin,Chirping like the wren,Pretty little maidens,Pretty little men;Leaning o'er my shoulder,Swinging on my chair,Oh! the little fairies,I see them everywhere.Peeping at the window,Peeping at the door,If I bid them scamper,Peeping all the more.Little sweetest voicesLaughing merrily,Oh! the little fairies,They'll never let me be.Tugging at my apron,Twitching at my gown,Climbing up into my lap,Rumble-tumbling down.Naughty little blue eyes,Full of impish glee,Oh! the little fairies,They'll never let me be!All are kings and queens, dear,Every smallest one;And on mother's knee hereIs their regal throne.Look into the glass, dear!One of them you'll see.Oh! the little fairies,God bless them all for me!

THE QUEEN OF THE ORKNEY ISLANDS

Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,She's travelling over the sea:She's bringing a beautiful cuttlefish,To play with my baby and me.Oh! his head is three miles long, my dear,His tail is three miles short.And when he goes out he wriggles his snout,In a way that no cuttlefish ought.Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,She rides on a sea-green whale.He takes her a mile, with an elegant smile,At every flip of his tail.He can snuffle and snore like a Highlandman,And swear like a Portugee;He can amble and prance like a peer of France,And lie like a heathen Chinee.

QUEEN OF THE ORKNEY ISLANDS

Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,She dresses in wonderful taste.The sea-serpent coils, all painted in oils,Around her bee-yu-tiful waist.Oh! her gown is made of the green sea-kale;And though she knows nothing of feet,She can manage her train, with an air of disdain,In a way that is perfectly sweet.Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,She's travelling over the main.So we'll hire a hack, and we'll take her straight backTo her beautiful Islands again.

BABY'S WAYS

Toddle, toddle, waddle, waddle,On her little pinky toes.Stumble, stumble, pitch and tumble,That's the way the baby goes.Prattle, prattle, rattle, rattle,Little shouts and little shrieks,Tears, with laughter coming after,That's the way the baby speaks.Playing, toying, still enjoyingEvery sweet that Nature gives.Smiling, weeping, waking, sleeping,That's the way the baby lives.

POT AND KETTLE

[To be read to little boys and girls who quarrel with each other.]"Oho! Oho!" said the pot to the kettle,"You're dirty and ugly and black!Sure no one would think you were made of metal,Except when you're given a crack.""Not so! not so!" kettle said to the pot."'Tis your own dirty image you see.For I am so clear, without blemish or blot,That your blackness is mirrored in me."

PUNKYDOODLE AND JOLLAPIN

Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!How does the Emperor take his tea?He takes it with melons, he takes it with milk,He takes it with syrup and sassafras silk.He takes it without, he takes it within.Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!How does the Cardinal take his tea?He takes it in Latin, he takes it in Greek,He takes it just seventy times in the week.He takes it so strong that it makes him grin.Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!How does the Admiral take his tea?He takes it with splices, he takes it with spars,He takes it with jokers and jolly jack tars.And he stirs it round with a dolphin's fin.Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!How does the President take his tea?He takes it in bed, he takes it in school,He takes it in Congress against the rule.He takes it with brandy, and thinks it no sin.Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!

MRS. SNIPKIN AND MRS. WOBBLECHIN

Skinny Mrs. Snipkin,With her little pipkin,Sat by the fireside a-warming of her toes.Fat Mrs. Wobblechin,With her little doublechin,Sat by the window a-cooling of her nose.Says this one to that one,"Oh! you silly fat one,Will you shut the window down? You're freezing me to death!"Says that one to t'other one,"Good gracious, how you bother one!There isn't air enough for me to draw my precious breath!"Skinny Mrs. Snipkin,Took her little pipkin,Threw it straight across the room as hard as she could throw;Hit Mrs. WobblechinOn her little doublechin,And out of the window a-tumble she did go.

MY SUNBEAMS

Oh, what shall we do for the LovelyThis rainy, rainy day?Oh! how shall we make the baby laugh,When everything's dull and gray?The sun has gone on a picnic,The moon has gone to bed,The tiresome sky does nothing but cry,As if its best friend were dead.Come hither, come hither, my Sunbeams!Come one, and two, and three;And now in a trice we'll have the roomAs sunny as sunny can be.Come, dimpling, dimpling Dumpling,Come, Rosy, Posy Rose,Come, little boy Billy a-toddling roundOn little fat tottering toes.Now twinkle, now twinkle, my Sunbeams!Now twinkle and laugh and dance,And brush me the gloom straight out of the room,Nor leave it the ghost of a chance.Aha! see the Lovely smile now!Aha! see her jump and crow!As round and round, with laugh and dance,My three merry Sunbeams go.And who cares now for the raindrops?Who cares for the gloomy day,When each little heart is doing its partTo make us all glad and gay?You moon, you may stay in bed now;You sun, you may wander and roam;And cry away, cry, you tiresome sky!We've plenty of sunshine at home!

IN THE CLOSET

They've took away the ball,Oh dear!And I'll never get it back,I fear.And now they've gone away,And left me for to stayAll alone the livelong day,In here.It was my ball, anyhow,Not his:For he never had a ballLike this.Such a coward you'll not see,E'en if you should live to beOld as Deuteronomy,As he is.I'm sure I meant no harm,None at all!I just held out my handFor the ball,And – somehow – it hit his head.Then his nose it went and bled,And as if I 'd killed him deadHe did bawl.Mother said I was a naughtyLittle wretch.And Aunt Jane said the policeShe would fetch.And that nurse, who's always gladOf a chance to make me mad,Said, "indeed she never hadSeen sech!"No! I never, never willBe good!I'll go and be a babeIn the wood.I'll run away to sea,And a pirate I will be.Then they'll never dare call meRough and rude.How hungry I am getting!Let me see!I wonder what they're going to haveFor tea.Of course there will be jamAnd – oh! that potted ham!How unfortunate I am!Dear me!Oh! it's growing very darkIn here.And that shadow in the cornerLooks so queer!Won't they bring me any light?Must I stay in here all night?I shall surely die of fright.Oh dear!Mother, darling, will you neverCome back?Oh! I'm sorry that I hit himSuch a crack!Hark! yes, 'tis her voice I hear!Now good-by to every fear!For she's calling me her dearLittle Jack!

BED-TIME

How many toes has the tootsey foot?One, two, three, four, five.Shut them all up in the little red sock,Snugger than bees in a hive.How many fingers has little wee hand?Four, and a little wee thumb.Shut them up under the bedclothes tight,For fear that Jack Frost should come.How many eyes has the Baby Bo?Two, so shining and bright.Shut them up under the little white lids.And kiss them a loving good-night.

BIRD-SONG

Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!Sing we in the morning,Sending up to heaven's blue our happy waking song;Daily, gayly, our tiny home adorning,Working all so merrily the whole day long.Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!Sing we in the noontide;Half the day is over now, half our work is done;Neatly, featly, the moss and twigs are blended,Feather, flower, leaf, and stems, all added one by one.Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!Sing we in the evening;Happy day is past, past, happy night begun;Wooing, cooing, we nestle 'mid the branches,Sinking down to rest with the sinking of the sun.Soft, soft, soft, soft,Sleep we through the still night;Tiny head 'neath tiny wing comfortably curled,Singing, springing, with the breath of morning,Waking up once more to all the wonder of the world.

GEOGRAPHI

[Air: There was a maid in my countree.]There was a man in Manitobá,The only man that ever was thar;His name was Nicholas Jones McGee,And he loved a maid in Mirimichi.Chorus. Sing ha! ha! ha! for Manitobá!Sing he! he! he! for Mirimichi!Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!And that's the lesson for you and me.There was a man in New Mexico,He lost his grandmother out in the snow;But his heart was light, and his ways were free,So he bought him another in Santa Fé.Chorus. Sing ho! ho! ho! for New Mexico!Sing he! he! he! for Santa Fé!Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!And that's the lesson for you and me.There was a man in Austra-li-a,He sat and wept on the new-mown hay;He jumped on the tail of a kangaroo.And rode till he came to Kalamazoo.Chorus. Sing hey! hey! hey! for Austra-li-a!Sing hoo! hoo! hoo! for Kalamazoo!Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!And that's the lesson for me and you.There was a man in Jiggerajum,He went to sea in a kettle-drum;He sailed away to the Salisbury Shore,And I never set eyes on that man any more.Chorus. Sing hum! hum! hum! for Jiggerajum!Sing haw! haw! haw! for the Salisbury Shore!Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!And that's the lesson the whole world o'er.

HIGGLEDY-PIGGLEDY

Higgledy-piggledy went to school,Looking so nice and neat!Clean little mittens on clean little hands,Clean little shoes on his feet.Jacket and trousers all nicely brushed,Collar and cuffs like snow."See that you come home as neat to-night,Higgledy-piggledy oh!"Higgledy-piggledy came from school,In such a woful plight,All the people he met on the roadRan screaming away with fright.One shoe gone for ever and aye,T'other one stiff with mud,Dirt-spattered jacket half torn from his back,Mittens both lost in the wood.Higgledy-piggledy stayed in bedAll a long, pleasant day,While his father fished for his other bootIn the roadside mud and clay.All day long his mother must mend,Wash and iron and sew,Before she can make him fit to be seen,Higgledy-piggledy oh!

BELINDA BLONDE

Belinda Blonde was a beautiful doll,With rosy-red cheeks and a flaxen poll.Her lips were red, and her eyes were blue,But to say she was happy would not be true;For she pined for love of the great big JackWho lived in the Box so grim and black.She never had looked on the Jack his face;But she fancied it shining with beauty and grace,And all the day long she would murmur and pout,Because Jack-in-the-box would never come out."Oh, beautiful, beautiful Jack-in-the-box,Undo your bolts and undo your locks!The cupboard is shut, and there's no one about:Oh! Jack-in-the-box, jump out! jump out!"But alas! alas! for Belinda Blonde,And alas! alas! for her dreamings fond.There soon was an end to all her doubt,For Jack-in-the-box really did jump out, —Out with a crash and out with a spring,Half black and half scarlet, a horrible thing.Out with a yell and a shriek and a shout,His great goggle-eyes glaring wildly about."And what did Belinda do?" you say.Alas! before she could get out of the way,The monster struck her full on the head,And with pain and with terror she fell down dead.MORALNow all you dolls, both little and big,With china crown and with curling wig,Before you give way to affection fond,Remember the fate of Belinda Blonde!And unless you're fond of terrible knocks,Don't set your heart on a Jack-in-the-box!

TOMMY'S DREAM; OR, THE GEOGRAPHY DEMON

I hate my geography lesson!It's nothing but nonsense and names.To bother me so every Thursday,I think it's the greatest of shames.The brooklets flow into the rivers,The rivers flow into the sea;For my part, I hope they enjoy it!But what does it matter to me?Of late even more I've disliked it,More thoroughly odious it seems,Ever since that sad night of last winter,When I had that most frightful of dreams.I'd studied two hours that evening,On mountains and rivers and lakes;When I'd promised to go down to Grandpa's,For one of Aunt Susan's plum-cakes.She sent me one, though, and I ate itOn the stairs, before going to bed;And those stupid old mountains and riversWere dancing all night through my head.I dreamed that a horrible monsterCame suddenly into my room, —A frightful Geography Demon,Enveloped in darkness and gloom.His body and head like a mountain,A volcano on top for hat;His arms and his legs were like rivers,With a brook round his neck for cravat.He laid on my trembling shoulderHis fingers cold, clammy, and long;And rolling his red eyes upon me,He roared out this horrible song: —"Come! come! rise and comeAway to the banks of the Muskingum!It rolls o'er the plains of Timbuctoo,With the Peak of Teneriffe just in view;And the cataracts leap in the pale moonshine,As they dance o'er the cliffs of Brandywine."Flee! flee! rise and fleeAway to the banks of the Tombigbee!We'll pass by Alaska's flowery strand,Where the emerald towers of Pekin stand;We'll pass it by, and we'll rest awhileOn Michillimackinack's tropic isle;While the apes of Barbary frisk around,And the parrots crow with a lovely sound."Hie! hie! rise and hieAway to the banks of the Yang-tse-kai!There the giant mountains of Oshkosh stand,And the icebergs gleam through the shifting sand;While the elephant sits in the palm-tree high,And the cannibal feasts upon bad-boy pie."Go! go! rise and goAway to the banks of the Hoang-ho!There the Chickasaw sachem is making his tea,And the kettle boils and waits for thee.I'll smite thee, ho! and I'll lay thee low,On the beautiful banks of the Hoang-ho!"These terrible words were still soundingLike trumpets and drums through my head,When the monster clutched tighter my shoulder,And dragged me half out of the bed.In terror I clung to the bedpost,But the faithless bedpost broke;I screamed out aloud in my anguish,And suddenly – well – I awoke!! —No monster – no music – all silence,Save mother's soft accents so mild:"No, Father, you need not be anxious!I know now what troubles the child.I'll give him a little hot gingerAs soon as he's fairly awake;His frightful Geography DemonIs just his Aunt Susan's plum-cake!"

POLLY'S YEAR

January 1Come sit on my knee and tell me here,Polly, my dear, Polly, my dear,What do you mean to do this year?I mean to be good the whole year long,And never do anything careless or wrong;I mean to learn all my lessons right,And do my sums, if I sit up all night.I mean to keep all my frocks so clean,Nurse never will say I'm "not fit to be seen."I mean not to break even one of my toys,And I never, oh! never will make any noise.In short, Uncle Ned, as you'll very soon see,The best little girl in the world I shall be.December 31Come sit on my knee and let me hear,Polly, my dear, Polly, my dear,What you have done in the course of the year.Oh dear! Uncle Ned, oh dear! and oh dear!I'm afraid it has not been a very good year.For somehow my sums would come out wrong,And somehow my frocks wouldn't stay clean long.And somehow I've often been dreadfully cross,And somehow I broke my new rocking-horse.And somehow Nurse says I have made such a noise,I might just as well have been one of the boys.In short, Uncle Ned, I very much fearYou must wait for my goodness another year.

WHAT THE ROBINS SING IN THE MORNING

Wake! wake! children, wake!Here we're singing for your sake,Chirrup! chirrup! chirrup! chee!Sweet a song as sweet can be.Rise! rise! children, rise!Shake the poppies from your eyes.Sweet! sweet! chirrup! tweet!Morning blossoms at your feet.Song and sweetness, dawn and dew,All are waiting now for you.Wake! wake! children, wake!Here we're singing for your sake.

THE EVE OF THE GLORIOUS FOURTH

IRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,They vowed, every one, they'd have glorious funOn the glorious Fourth of July.They spent all their money on trumpets and drums,On fish-horns and pistols and guns,On elephant crackers (which they pronounced "whackers"),On toffee, torpedoes, and buns.IIRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,They said with delight, "We will sit up all night,To make ready for Fourth of July.We will beat on our drums till the constable comes,And then we will hasten away.We will toot the gay horn till the coming of morn,The morn of the glorious day."IIIRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,They made such a noise that the other small boysWith envy were ready to die.They made such a din that the neighbors withinWith fury were ready to choke,With rage at the drumming and strumming and humming,The pistols and powder and smoke.IVRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,They thought 'twould be best for a moment to rest,And their toffee and buns for to try.On the steps of a house they began to carouse,And they shouted and shrieked in their glee,As they fired their guns and devoured their bunsIn a manner both frolic and free.VRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,Ah! nothing they saw of the opening door,Nothing knew of the peril so nigh.A horrid great man with a watering-canWas standing behind them so still,And suddenly down on each curly crownIts contents he poured with a will.VIRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,With squeaks and with squeals did they take to their heels,While their enemy after did fly.And he beat them with sticks, and he kicked them with kicks,And he thumped on their heads with the can,And half-way up the street he pursued them so fleet,Still thumping their heads as he ran.VIIRobby and Bobby and Billy and Ned,Philip and Peter and Guy,They said, every one, that it wasn't much funGetting ready for Fourth of July.They crept to their beds and they laid down their heads,And they slept till the sun was on high,And when they awaked, so sorely they ached,That they just could do nothing but cry.

THE DANDY CAT

To Sir Green-eyes Grimalkin de Tabby de SlyHis mistress remarked one day,"I'm tormented, my cat, both by mouse and by rat:Come rid me of them, I pray!"For though you're a cat of renowned descent,And your kittenhood's long been gone,Yet never a trace of the blood of your raceIn battle or siege you've shown."Sir Green-eyes Grimalkin de Tabby de SlyArose from his downy bed.He washed himself o'er, from his knightly pawTo the top of his knightly head.And he curled his whiskers, and combed his hair,And put on his perfumed gloves;And his sword he girt on, which had never been drawnSave to dazzle the eyes of his loves.And when he had cast one admiring glanceOn the looking-glass tall and fair,To the pantry he passed; but he stood aghast,For lo! the pantry was bare!The pickles, the cookies, the pies were gone!And naught remained on the shelfSave the bone of a ham, which lay cold and calm,The ghost of its former self.Sir Green-eyes Grimalkin stood sore dismayed,And he looked for the mice and rats.But they, every one, had been long since goneFar, far from the reach of cats.For while he was donning his satin pelisse,And his ribbons and laces gay,They had finished their feast, without hurry the least,And had tranquilly trotted away.The mistress of Green-eyes Grimalkin de Sly,A woman full stern was she.She came to the door, and she rated him soreWhen the state of the case she did see.She grasped him, spite of his knightly blood,By the tip of his knightly tail;His adornments she stripped, and his body she dippedThree times in the water-pail.She plunged him thrice 'neath the icy flood,Then turned him out-doors to dry;And terror and cold on his feelings so told,That he really was like to die.And now in this world 'twould be hard to find,Although you looked low and high,A cat who cares less for the beauties of dressThan Sir Green-eyes Grimalkin de Sly.