THE OWL.

When cats run home and light is come, And dew is cold upon the ground, And the far-off stream is dumb, And the whirring sail goes round, And the whirring sail goes round; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.

When merry milkmaids click the latch, And rarely smells the new-mown hay, And the c.o.c.k hath sung beneath the thatch Twice or thrice his roundelay, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, The white owl in the belfry sits.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

LITTLE BILLEE.

"Little Billee," by William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-63), finds a place here because it carries a good lesson good-naturedly rendered. An accomplished teacher recommends it, and I recollect two young children in Chicago who sang it frequently for years without getting tired of it.

There were three sailors of Bristol city Who took a boat and went to sea.

But first with beef and captain's biscuits And pickled pork they loaded she.

There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy, And the youngest he was little Billee.

Now when they got so far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea.

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "I am extremely hungaree."

To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "We've nothing left, us must eat we."

Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "With one another, we shouldn't agree!

There's little Bill, he's young and tender, We're old and tough, so let's eat he."

"Oh! Billy, we're going to kill and eat you, So undo the b.u.t.ton of your chemie."

When Bill received this information He used his pocket-handkerchie.

"First let me say my catechism, Which my poor mammy taught to me."

"Make haste, make haste," says guzzling Jimmy While Jack pulled out his snickersnee.

So Billy went up to the main-topgallant mast, And down he fell on his bended knee.

He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment When up he jumps, "There's land I see.

"Jerusalem and Madagascar, And North and South Amerikee: There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, With Admiral Napier, K.C.B."

So when they got aboard of the Admiral's He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee; But as for little Bill, he made him The Captain of a Seventy-three.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

THE b.u.t.tERFLY AND THE BEE.

"The b.u.t.terfly and the Bee," by William Lisle Bowles (1762-1850), is recommended by some school-girls. It carries a lesson in favour of the worker.

Methought I heard a b.u.t.terfly Say to a labouring bee: "Thou hast no colours of the sky On painted wings like me."

"Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colours bright and rare,"

With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care.

"Content I toil from morn to eve, And scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress."

WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES.

AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP.

"An Incident of the French Camp," by Robert Browning (1812-89), is included in this volume out of regard to a boy of eight years who did not care for many poems, but this one stirred his heart to its depths.

You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon: A mile or so away On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming-day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms lock'd behind, As if to balance the p.r.o.ne brow Oppressive with its mind.

Just as perhaps he mus'd "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall,"-- Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew A rider, bound on bound Full-galloping; nor bridle drew Until he reach'd the mound.

Then off there flung in smiling joy, And held himself erect By just his horse's mane, a boy: You hardly could suspect-- (So tight he kept his lips compress'd, Scarce any blood came through) You look'd twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two.

"Well," cried he, "Emperor, by G.o.d's grace We've got you Ratisbon!

The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire.

The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes; "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead.

ROBERT BROWNING.

ROBERT OF LINCOLN.

"Robert of Lincoln," by William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878), is one of the finest bird poems ever written. It finds a place here because I have seen it used effectively as a memory gem in the Cook County Normal School (Colonel Parker's school), year after year, and because my own pupils invariably like to commit it to memory. With the child of six to the student of twenty years it stands a source of delight.

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name.

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Snug and safe is this nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Wearing a bright, black wedding-coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest, Hear him call in his merry note, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Look what a nice, new coat is mine; Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Pa.s.sing at home a patient life, Broods in the gra.s.s while her husband sings, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Brood, kind creature, you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here.

Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she; One weak chirp is her only note; Braggart, and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can.

Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight: There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, Nice good wife that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about.

Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the sh.e.l.l, Six wide mouths are open for food; Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well, Gathering seeds for the hungry brood: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, This new life is likely to be Hard for a gay young fellow like me.

Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care, Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink, n.o.body knows but my mate and I, Where our nest and our nestlings lie.

Chee, chee, chee.