Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses

TIGER LILIES

HOW keepeth my lady the weeds fromher posies,All in the gay summer-time!Why is it the rose-chafer eats not her rosesFrom the song of the lark till the four-o'clockcloses?Five fierce lily-tigers in spotted cuirassesShe posteth at each of her green garden-passes,And they frighten away the chafers andgrasses,All in the gay summer-time.

THE ENLIGHTENMENT OF MAMMA

O MAMMA dear, just listen!I ran away, you know;I saw the grasses glisten,A-bowing to me so.The clovers shook their pink heads too —You wouldn't care I ran away,If how they did you only knew!And I was dressed as much as they —They didn't mind a bit – and Oh,I saw there, fastened to the grassWith little shiny ropes of glass.A spider's web! Mamma, you knowYou've always said that spiders ateFor breakfast little frightened flies,For which they long had laid in wait,A-watching with their cruel eyes —Well, mamma, in that spider's web-Somebody told it wrong to you —There wasn't any fly at all!Mamma, you will believe it's true;Everything for breakfast thereWas clover-tops and drops of dew!"

BUTTERFLIES

IF we, my deary, were butterflies, with pur-ple winglets and golden eyes,We would not adore the roses alway, and no-body else, on a sunny day.If we, my baby, were butterflies, with purplewinglets and golden eyes,Far away, far away, over land or sea, we wouldcome to the honey we love in thee.

AN OLD MAXIM

COME, "Silvertongue," and hear the taleOf that little girl of yore,Who sat up in a straight-backed chairWith her tiptoes onthe floor,And listened to her eld-ers,Like a little voicelessbird:Dear little model las-sie,Who was seen, butnever heard.

NANNY'S SEARCH

O NANNY, my dear little Nanny! andwhere have you been to-day?Y our little coat's old, and the wind blows cold,and where have you been, I pray?""Dear Granny, I've been to the forest to lookfor a Christmas-tree —Santa Claus is so kind, I thought I would findone growing there wild, maybe,Full of cakes, with a doll, and candy, and allfor a wee little body like me."

GRANDMOTHER'S STORY

NOW hang up your sunbonnet, Marthy,And get out your patchwork square,And sit down here and sew for a whileIn your little rocking-chair,And hear me tell you a storyOf a little girl I knew,Who made a whole quilt of patchworkWhen she wasn't as big as you."

DOLLY'S FAN

DOLLY had a silken fan,Crimson, with a feather border,And she – Oh! so airily —Used to sway it from and toward her.Dolly, seated in her pew,Many wondering eyes were scanning;Tilting up her dainty chinToward the parson, softly fanning.Every little girl in church,– Pity 'tis to tell such folly —While the parson preached and prayed,Tried to fan herself like Dolly!

A PORTRAIT

WHO is that young and gentle dame whostands in yonder gilded frame,Clad in a simple muslin gown whose 'broi-dered frills hang limply down,Blue ribbons in her yellowcurls, around her neck a string of pearls —Hereyesblue stars inancient gloom, a-seeking you all o'er the room,As if to call sweet memories to her? —My grandmother, before I knew her.

CARAWAY

PAST the lavender-bed and the parsley,Close to the wall where the sweet-brierblows,Green grows the caraway Grandma planted,Though scarce one lover to-day it knows.When dear old Grandma her "meetin' bun-nit"Had carefully tied, on the Sabbath Day,She always put in her best-gown pocketA generous handful of caraway.For the dear old soul would grow a-wearyTo sit so long in the cushionless pew;And oft the parson's doctrinal sermonWould trouble her tender feelings tooAnd when she had heard so much "election"That her heart for the others began to bleed,She sensed the better God's love behind itBy eating a bit of her "meetin' seed."Solemn and mild upraised to the parsonWas her dear old face on the Sabbath Day;She drank the sweet there was in the sermon– The bitter she flavored with caraway.Though caraway is not fair to look at,Though you may not fancy its taste indeed,Yet still it shall grow there down in the gardenBecause it was Grandma's "meetin' seed."

TWO LITTLE BIRDS IN BLUE

TWO little birdies all in blueAirily flitted the garden thro'.(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather. )And they could whistle a rondel trueWhich all of the neighbors loved and knew(Pink blows the brier in summer-weather.)Now through the garden the north windgoes,And the bush is bent to the ground withsnows.(Black turns the brier in winter-weather.)Where are the little blue birds – who knows?And where, oh where! is the pink brier-rose?(Ahy sweet things come and depart together!)

A CASTLE IN SPAIN

THE draggled lilies were beaten downAs if by a prancing hoof;The roses swayed, and the warm rain came,Like the patter of pearls, on the roof.Up in the garret the darling satIn her little gown of blue,With her lily cheeks and her rosebud lips,And dreamed as she loved to do.Bundles of herbs from the rafters hung;There was many a quaint old chest,A cradle of oak, and a spinning-wheel,In the chimney a swallow's nest.The darling she sat in a straight-backed chair,With her face 'gainst the window-pane,Her little hands folded across her lap,And she builded her Castle in Spain.And never a magic palace rose,In the days of the Moorish kings,As fair as the Castle the darling builtFrom her sweet imaginings.Rosy and green were the walls, like theheartOf a murmuring ocean-shell;There were jewelled spires, and a slendertowerWith a swinging silver bell.And up to the gold-hasped door there ran,On a carven ivory stair,The darling herself in rosy silk,With pearls in her yellow hair.Then the beautiful door swung open wide,And she entered a marble hallWhere marble nymphs, with golden lamps,Stood ranged against the wall.The darling danced like a puff o' downOver the marble floor,And she gleefully sped from hall to hall,And opened each golden door;And chambers she found whose lofty wallsWith jewels were all acrust,With windows of pearl, and ivory floorsScattered over with diamond-dust.And oft up a staircase rail she sawA flowering garland twist,With ruby lilies, and roses of gold,And myrtle of amethyst.(The south wind blew; on the garret-roofFell faster the summer rain;)A wonderful garden the darling foundAround the Castle in Spain:Apple-branches all white with flowers,A hive of stingless bees,Robins, with nests of woven gold,On the boughs of the cherry-trees;Lilies as tall as the darling's self,Of silver and gold and blue,Banks of primrose and mignonette,And violets wet with dew;Poppies, with bees asleep in their cups,Tulips of purple and red,Honeysuckles and humming-birds,Rose-branches over her head;A velvet sward in an open space,A fountain of tinkling pearls;And the darling herself in a violet gown,With hyacinths in her curls,With her apron full of roses and pearls,Singing a song so clearThat the bees and the yellow butterfliesCame flying round to hear.Then the darling danced down a flowery path,Still singing her song so sweet,With hawthorn branches on either hand,And crocuses under feet.And she found a beautiful blue-eyed princeAsleep in a thicket dim,Caught in a bramble-rose which grewBy magic over him.Thro' the leaves and roses she scarce could seeHis head with its flaxen curls,His rosy cheeks, and his velvet coatWith its buttons of milky pearls.And the poor little prince, if he chanced tostirAs he dreamed in his magic sleep,Was pierced by a thorn of the bramble-rose —And the darling began to weep.Then a bright tear dropt on the bramble-rose,And away from the prince it fell,And he woke from his sleep – and loud andsweetRang the chimes of the Castle bell!The darling sat in her straight-backed chair,With her soft cheeks flushing red;And she sighed, for the prince and the castlefairAnd the roses and pearls had fled.She wistfully looked thro' the rain-splashedpane:"'Tis a sad and stormy day,And not so much as a rose have I broughtFrom my Castle in Spain away!"She did not know as she sat and watched,The darling, the pattering rain —On her soft little cheek she carried a rose,A rose from her Castle in Spain.

AT THE DREAMLAND GATE

THE winds go down in peace, dear child,The birds are circling o'er the sea;The Dreamland gate before thee swingsWith murmur soft as drowsy bee;Now enter in, dear child, nor fear,nor fear lest harm should come to thee.Beyond the gate I cannot go,But here I'll stand, nor stir away,While, with the Dreamland children, thouShalt frolic till the break of day;Fear not to enter in, dear child; for close be-side the gate I'll stay.And if in Dreamland's lovely woodsSome harmless giant lay in wait,Some straggler from thy fairy tales,He'll take to flight disconsolate —Just say, "Away! or I will tell my motherat the Dreamland gate!"

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

DEAR Nanny in her Christmas hoodWith fluffy swansdown round the face,Wearing her pretty Christmas gownAnd little frill of dainty lace,Came with her mother into church, onChristmas Eve, with timid grace.Dear Nanny sat there in her pew,The Christmas-greens with music stirred,The choir sang like a nest of larks,But never once she caught a word.For she was singing to herself, and hers wasall the song she heard."My muff, my hood!" dear Nanny sang,"My coat, my dress, my golden ring,My waxen doll, my picture-book,My stocking full of everything " —So sang the sober little maid, so softly no oneheard her sing.O sweetly carolled forth the choirTheir Christmas songs, and never knewHow, in her little simple tuneWhich after all was just as true,A-sitting meekly down below dear littleNanny carolled too.

CROW – WARNINGS

NO, it won't rain to-morrow! well, whatif the crowsFrom that witheredold cornfield fly,A-cawing for rain – let them caw, if theylike,With all of that blue in the sky!Caw away, you old birds, in your rusty blackcloaks!I know that you're not speaking true!There are not enough clouds in the world,in a nightTo cover up all of that blue!

THE OUT-DOORS GIRL

SING a song of a queer little girl who livedall alone in the green out-of-doors:She made her a necklace of cranberries, anda gown of the red corn-flowers,And she made her a beautiful oak-leaf cap,and a swing of a wild grape-vine;And merrily-o all day she swung out of shadeinto gold sunshine.

THE BEGGAR KING

"Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!The Beggars have come to town,Some in rags, and some in tags,And some in velvet gowns."Old Nursery Rhyme.HALF frantic, down the city streetsThe barking dogs they tore;The dust it flew, and no man knewThe like of it before.The St. Bernard's deep booming bass,The hound's sepulchral howl,The terrier-whelp's staccato yelp,And the bull-dog's massive growl,In chorus sounded thro' the town:The windows up they went,Thro' every space a gaping faceInquiringly was bent.The burgher's daughter clean forgotHer snood of silk and pearls,And, full of dread, popped out her head,With its tumbled yellow curls.A rosebud smote her on the lips:Down went the rattling blind;But still the maid, all curious, staid,And slyly peeped behind.A handsome lord, with smiling lips,Leaned from the opposite tower;Two withered hags, in dirt and rags,Did from their garret glower.The tailor left his goose to see,And got his coat ablaze;Three peasant maids, with shining braids,Looked on in wild amaze.The emperor's palace windows high,All open they were set —From the gray stone red jewels shone,All gold and violet.The ladies of the emperor's courtLeaned out with stately grace;And each began her peacock fanTo wave before her face."Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!"The emperor left his throneAt the uproar, and on the floorHe dropped his emerald crown.The dogs press round the city-gates,The guards they wave them back;But all in vain, with might and mainDance round the yelping pack.Hark! hark! hark! o'er growl and barkThere sounds a trumpet-call!Now, rat-tat-tat; pray, what is' thatOutside the city-wall?Airs from the Beggar's OperaOn broken fiddles played;On pans they drum and wildly strum,Filched from a dairy-maid.With tenor-whine, and basso-groan,The chorus is complete;And, far and wide, there sounds besideThe tramp of many feet!"Hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!"Ah, what a horrid din!The Beggars wait outside the gate,And clamor to get in.A herald to the emperor rode:"Save! save the emerald crown!For, hark! hark! hark! the dogs do bark!The Beggars storm the town!"The emperor donned his clinking mail,Called out his royal guard,The city-gate, with furious rate,Went galloping toward.A captain with a flag of truceThus parleyed on the wall:"Why do ye wait outside the gate,And why so loudly call?"He spoke, then eyed them with dismay;For o'er the valley spreadThe clamoring crowd, and stern and proudA king rode at their head.In mothy ermine he was drest;As sad a horse he rode,With jaunty air, quite débonnaire,As ever man bestrode.The Beggars stumped and limped behind,With wails and whines and moans —"Some in rags, and some in tags,And some in velvet gowns."A great court-beauty's splendid dressWas there, all soiled and frayed;The scarf, once bright, a belted knightWore at his accolade;A queen's silk hose; a bishop's robe;A monarch's funeral-pall;The shoes, all mud, a prince-o'-the-bloodHad danced in at a ball.The Beggars stumped and limped along,Aping their old-time grace:Upon the wind, flew out behind,Ribbons of silk and lace.A wretched company it wasAround the city gate —The sour and sad, the sick and bad,And all disconsolate.But in the wretched companyThere was one dainty thing:A maiden, white as still moonlight,Who rode beside the king.Her hands were full of apple-flowersPlucked in the country lanes;Her little feet, like lilies sweet,O'erlaced with violet veins,Hung down beneath her tattered dress;A bank of lilies, showedHer shoulders fair; her dusky hairDown to her girdle flowed.Up spoke the haughty Beggar King:"I want no parleying word!Bid come to me, right speedily,The emperor, your Lord!"Wide open flew the city-gate!Out rode the emperor bold;His war-horse pranced and lightly dancedUpon his hoofs of gold."What wouldest thou, O Beggar King!What wouldest thou with me?For all the gold the town doth holdWould not suffice for thee.""Beholdest thou my daughter dear,O emperor! by my side?Though wild the rose, it sweetly grows,And she shall be thy bride,"And thou shalt seat her on thy throneWhen thou thy troth hast pledged,Her beauty grace with gems and lace,And robes with ermine edged;"Or else, on thee, O emperor!Like locusts we'll come down,And naught that's fair or rich or rareWe'll leave within the town!"The children all shall lack for food,And the lords and ladies pine;For we will eat your dainties sweet,And drink your red old wine!"Now, what say'st thou, O emperor? —Wed thou mv daughter dear,To-morrow day, by dawning gray,Thy borders shall be clear."The emperor looked upon the maid:She shyly dropped her head;Her apple-flowers fell down in showers,Her soft white cheeks grew red.The emperor loved her at the sight:"I take your terms!" cried he;"Nor wilt thou fear, O maiden dear!To wed to-night with me?"Her long, dark lashes swept her cheek;A word she could not find,For to and fro her thoughts did blow,Like lilies in a wind.She toward him reached her little hand,Then – drew it back again;She smiled and sighed – all satisfied,He grasped her bridle-rein.Then clattered courtiers thro' the street,Fast ran the folk, I ween,And under feet strewed roses sweet,And boughs of apple-green.The emperor, on his gold-shod horse,Came pacing thro' the town,And by his side his timid brideRode in her tattered gown.A crocus-broidered petticoat,Robes stiff with threads of gold,The maids found soon, and satin shoon,And lace in spices rolled.They led the trembling beggar-maidAll gently up the stair,Thro' golden doors with sills of flowers,Into a chamber fair.They loosed from her her faded gear;They kissed her gentle face;From head to feet clad her so sweetIn linen fine and lace;They clasped her golden-threaded robe —"Darling, thou art so fair!"With strings of pearls, amid the curls,They dressed her flowing hair."Now, pardy!" cried the emperor,"The rose-tree is in flower!In the world green was never seenQueen half so sweet before!"The people, dressed as for a feast,Thronged round the palace doors;The minstrels sung, the joy-bells rung,The roses fell in showers.The Beggar King looked toward the town:"Farewell, my daughter dear!"The east was gray – he rode away,And swallowed down a tear.

CHRISTMAS-TIDE

WAKE from your sleep, sweet Christians,now, and listen:A little songWe have, so sweet it like a star doth glisten,And dance along.Now wake and hark: all brightly it is glowingWith yule-flames merry,And o'er it many a holly sprig is growing,And scarlet berry.A bough of evergreen, with wax-lights gleaming,It bravely graces;And o'er its lines the star that's eastwardbeamingLeaves golden traces.Also our little song, it sweetly praiseth,Like birds in flocksWhen morning from her bed of roses raisethHer golden locks.But this it is that makes most sweet our story,When all is said:It holds a little Child, with rays of gloryAround His head.

WANTED, A MAP

ANOTHER map, an please you, sir!For why, we cannot understand,In all your great geographyThere is no map of Fairyland.Another map, an please you, sir!And, afterward, describe in fullHow Fairyland is famed for pearls,And fleeces made from golden wool,And prancing, gold-shod, milk-white steedsWith bridles set with jewel-eyes:Tell how the Fairy rivers run,And where the Fairy mountains rise,And of the Fairy-folk, their waysAnd customs – if it please you, sir;Then, of the journey there, how longFor any speedy traveller.Another map, an please you, sir!And would you kindly not delay;Sister and I would dearly likeTo learn our lesson there, to-day!

THE PRIZE

HIE to the meadow, my dearies three,And hunt for some sweet, prettything for me!There's a cake in the oven with almondsand spice,And raisins and citron, and all that's nice,To pay for the sweetest, my dearies three!"When home from the field came the dearies three,One brought to her mother a wild rose-tree;And another brought her a blue jay's featherAnd one of a gray goose, tied together,And she was sure of the prize, was she.But the last little girl of the dearies threeHad sucked a clover-bell like a bee,And tasted a columbine's honeyed tipsTo sweeten a kiss for her mother's lips;And she got the beautiful cake for tea.

PUSSY-WILLOW

PUSSY, pussy, pussy!" there she stooda-calling,"Pussy, pussy, pussy!" Her voice rang sweet,and shrill-o.Yet still her pussy lingered; but, on a bushbeside her,Crept softly out in answer, a little pussy-willow.

THE TRUE AND LAST STORY OF LITTLE BOY BLUE

LITTLE white clouds flew east thro' the sky,The bee, with his honey-sacks, scur-ried byEn route to his hive with his stolen sweet,With the gold of roses caught round his feet;And the farmer's dear little daughter, too,Came tripping along in her ribbons blue;And the sweet little girl had a silver tongue,And she sang, as she came, a sweet little song:"At Whitehall waited the Prince's boat;The lark unravelled his silver noteAs the river and garden he soared above;The brave knight thought of his absent love."The world wags merrily on, 'tis said,And the prince and the knight and the larkdead.Then the little girl stopped to take a breath,With never a thought of love or death.Green apple-boughs met o'er the country lane:She sang her sweet little song again;In the meadow beside her red clover grew,And yellow-winged butterflies o'er it flew;And here and there moved a woolly back,For there were the farmer's sheep, alack!And the bluè-eyed boy, who was told to keepOut of the clover the frolic sheep,Under the hay-stack sleeping lay,The golden noon of that summer day."Alack, alack!" cried the little girl,"See Rosie and Lily and Star and Pearl,"And all the lambs in the clover-patch!The five-barred gate he did not latch.Oh, where are you wand'ring, little Boy Blue?How my father would scold if he ever knew!"Ho, Rosie! Rosie! out of the clover!Lily! Lily! you naughty rover,Out of the clover! out, I say!Violet! Violet! Lady May! "Here and there, with her shrill, sweet shout,At last she had driven the sheep all out;Then she carefully shut the five-barred gate;And little Boy Blue, with his curly pate,Still untroubled by aught like sheep,Lay 'neath the hay-stack fast asleep.Oh, what is that rustling amongst the corn?Oh! little Boy Blue, come blow your horn!"The cows are eating the golden grain!"The little boy stirred – then slept again."Ho! Buttercup! Buttercup! out of the corn!Daisy! Clover-leaf! Silver-horn!"She drove them all out and shut the gate;Then little Boy Blue, with his curly pate,Still troubled by nothing like cows or sheep,She spied, 'neath the hay-stack, fast asleep.The dear little girl, with artless joy,Stood looking down at the sleeping boy,"I have saved him a whipping, I know,"she said, —"How the little curls shine on his pretty head!"He ought to remember my father's sheep,But he looks so lovely there, fast asleep —Good-by, little Boy Blue, sleep well,The sheep are all safe, and I'll never tell! "Then she kept on her way thro' the fragrantlane,And she sang her sweet little song again.Little Boy Blue woke by and by,When the sun was scarcely a half-hour high,And rubbing his blue eyes, dim with sleep,Slowly home he drove the cows and sheep;Then he ate his supper and went to bedWith never a thought in his pretty head;And he lived till his bonny gold hair was gray.But the little maiden – ah, well-a-day!"Here lieth a sweet maid, aged ten,Robins and violets come again."

THE DANDELION-ORACLE

SHE, a little serious lassie still believing allshe sees,Now consults a dandelion as an Oracle ofGreece:"Dandelion, tell me true! is my motherwanting me? " —Blowing, every feathered seedlet floats outlike a boat to sea —"I must go now; mother wants me." Rude-ness of this latter day!She has gayly trotted home, and – flung theoracle away.

THE CHRISTMAS THRUSH

I WILL sing for you, dearie, a song that IknowOf a ruby-eyed thrush, of a silver-tailedthrush,Who sat on a spray of a dry willow-bush,And sang to a queen in a palace of snow.The thrush's wing-feathers were jewel andblue,And he spread them alway on a ChristmasDay,When he sang to the queen on his willowspray —O dearie, the honey-sweet song he knew!At her palace window the queen would staySo pinky and fair with her curly gold hair;She merrily rocked in a crystal chair,And never a queen was half so gay.You want the queen in her palace of snow,And the ruby-eyed thrush, the silver-tailedthrush,Who sat on a spray of a dry willow-bush?Why, dearie, it's only a song, you know!

BUTTERCUP TALK

I'LL hold the buttercup under your chinso, you fair little baby-o!Ah, you will love butter, day out and in, forthere's a gold light on your dimple-o:And you shall have butter so good and sweet.Ho! Silverhorn, feed on the clover andgrass,For the buttercup says my love will love but-ter, and the buttercup's saying will cometo pass!

WEE WILLIE WINKIE

HO, Willie Winkie, and hey, WillieWinkie!Now through the window there floats,All laden with cargoes of beautiful dreams,A fleet of poppy-boats."The stars, they are swimming like goldenswans,And the moon, she has climbed the steep,And now through her silver ocean ridesA thousand fathoms deep."Like an arrow of light down the milky way,Straight over the moonlit sea,With its crimson sails puffed out with wind,The fleet it sails to thee."And the child whom his mother has kissedgood-night,And the soonest shall fall asleep,The loveliest dream in the poppy-boatsWill get for his own to keep."But ho, Willie Winkie; and hey, WillieWinkie!The child that will keep awake,The worst and the ugliest dream in the fleetIs the dream he will have to take."Rose-leaves round the window, they rustleso soft;All things that are little and sweet —The rose-bud babies and all the flowers —They wait for the poppy fleet."Grass waves o'er the sparrow asleep in hernest;The robins are sleeping all;And the echoes have died from the cloudsawayOf the skylark's silver call."White doves are asleep in the tall bell-tower;The sky-lark sleeps in his nest;And the baby-prince has gone to sleepUp on the fair Queen's breast."Oho, Willie Winkie; and hey, WillieWinkie!The moonbeams they sleep on the sea:Catch the loveliest dreams in the poppy-fleet,And here is a kiss for thee."Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,Stubbornly shaking his curly head,When his mother had shut the door:"Is the Prince asleep? I would like to see;Is the robin asleep in the cherry-tree,And every little flower?"The flowers are awake and play with thebees,The robins, they sing in the cherry-trees,And the Prince is the gladdest of all;For he's merry and wide awake, of course,He is prancing about on his rocking-horse,Or else he is playing at ball."Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,Stubbornly shaking his curly head —The moon shone bright as day;"I'll run through the town myself," said he,"And see if they all asleep can be —I think they are all at play!"Wee Willie Winkie – no shoes on his feet,No hat on his head – ran down the street,And he called at every lock:"Are your babies asleep in their cradles now?Do your lilies asleep in the night-wind blow?For 'tis now ten o'clock!"Wee Willie Winkie in his nightgown,Little fat, rosy boy, ran thro' the town,His curly head damp with dew:"Are the robins and babies and rosies allAbed and asleep?" he loud would call —"If they are, I'll go too!"To Wee Willie Winkie, who loudly tappedAt the window-panes where the babies napped,A strange thing did befall;For the white-haired babies, the birds andflowersWho had slept and dreamed through the eve-ning hours,He awoke from their slumbers all.And everything that was little and sweetCame trooping out on the moonlit street,All crying out with glee;And through the streets of the silent townWith Wee Willie Winkie ran up and down,As merry as they could be.Wee Willie Winkie marched at the head,Poor little wight, quite pale with dread,A long line after him:Twittering larks and murmuring bees,Dandelions blown on the evening breeze,And tiger-lilies grim;Cooing babies, and bleating lambsStealing away from their sleeping dams,Behind him ambled and crept;Singing treetoads and katydids,Robin red-breasts and frolicsome kids,Flew and hopped and leaped;And the gay little Prince was there, ofcourse,Prancing along on his rocking-horse,In his white silk nightgown fine.Wee Willie Winkie, he shook with fear:"Oh, what would I give, my mamma dear,To sleep in that bed of mine! "Quite over the town the tumult spread:From many a window a nightcapped headCame cautiously popping out;The King awoke and began to frown;"The foe, they are riding upon the town!"The courtiers all did shout.Wee Willie Winkie came up the street,Crying aloud, on his little bare feet,With his train to the palace door;"Queer sights I have seen," quoth slowly theRing,"But I never have seen, by my signet-ring,A sight like this before!"And what do you mean, I pray, wee sir,That the whole of the town you wake and stirAt ten o'clock of the night?That the babies, and birds, and lambs, and all,From their cradles into the street you call,And give folks such a fright?"And you've waked the Prince," halloed theKing,"And now will I, by my signet-ring" —Wee Willie, he screamed aloud,And lo! in his crib he was lying alone,And in at his window the great moon shoneThrough a silver and amber cloud."Now ho, Willie Winkie; and hey, WillieWinkie!And what is the matter, my dear?And weep not, my rose and my lily and dove,For thy mother is with thee here!"Wee Willie Winkie sat up in bed,Soberly shaking his curly head,With a sob in his pretty throat:"I went to sleep the last," said he,"And the worst of the dreams has come to meIn any poppy-boat!"But after this, I'll be first of all!I'll go to bed when the shadows fall,And the stars begin to peep!Then the loveliest dream in the poppy fleet,That will fill the room like a rose with sweet,I will get for my own to keep!"