Love-Songs of Childhood Part 5

Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing Making the journey to b.u.mpville, So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring An end to this ride to b.u.mpville; For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint-- What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't!

So play we have got to b.u.mpville!

THE BROOK

I looked in the brook and saw a face-- Heigh-ho, but a child was I!

There were rushes and willows in that place, And they clutched at the brook as the brook ran by; And the brook it ran its own sweet way, As a child doth run in heedless play, And as it ran I heard it say: "Hasten with me To the roistering sea That is wroth with the flame of the morning sky!"

I look in the brook and see a face-- Heigh-ho, but the years go by!

The rushes are dead in the old-time place, And the willows I knew when a child was I.

And the brook it seemeth to me to say, As ever it stealeth on its way-- Solemnly now, and not in play: "Oh, come with me To the slumbrous sea That is gray with the peace of the evening sky!"

Heigh-ho, but the years go by-- I would to G.o.d that a child were I!

PICNIC-TIME

It's June ag'in, an' in my soul I feel the fillin' joy That's sure to come this time o' year to every little boy; For, every June, the Sunday-schools at picnics may be seen, Where "fields beyont the swellin' floods stand dressed in livin' green"; Where little girls are skeered to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, An' little boys get gra.s.s-stains on their go-to meetin' pants.

It's June ag'in, an' with it all what happiness is mine-- There's goin' to be a picnic, an' I'm goin' to jine!

One year I jined the Baptists, an' goodness! how it rained!

(But grampa says that that's the way "baptizo" is explained.) And once I jined the 'Piscopils an' had a heap o' fun-- But the boss of all the picnics was the Presbyteriun!

They had so many puddin's, sallids, sandwidges, an' pies, That a feller wisht his stummick was as hungry as his eyes!

Oh, yes, the eatin' Presbyteriuns give yer is so fine That when they have a picnic, you bet I'm goin' to jine!

But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me, For they're goin' to give a picnic on the 21st, D. V.; Why should a liberal universalist like me object To share the joys of fellowship with every friendly sect?

However het'rodox their articles of faith elsewise may be, Their doctrine of fried chick'n is a savin' grace to me!

So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, They're goin' to give a picnic, and I'm goin' to jine!

SHUFFLE-SHOON AND AMBER-LOCKS

Shuffle-shoon and Amber-Locks Sit together, building blocks; Shuffle-Shoon is old and gray, Amber-Locks a little child, But together at their play Age and Youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee Build their castles fair to see.

"When I grow to be a man"

(So the wee one's prattle ran), "I shall build a castle so-- With a gateway broad and grand; Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand; And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, by and by!"

Shuffle-Shoon quoth: "Yes, I know; Thus I builded long ago!

Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door; Here a steeple wondrous tall Riseth ever more and more!

But the years have leveled low What I builded long ago!"

So they gossip at their play, Heedless of the fleeting day; One speaks of the Long Ago Where his dead hopes buried lie; One with chubby cheeks aglow Prattleth of the By and By; Side by side, they build their blocks-- Shuffle-Shoon and Amber-Locks.

THE SHUT-EYE TRAIN

Come, my little one, with me!

There are wondrous sights to see As the evening shadows fall; In your pretty cap and gown, Don't detain The Shut-Eye train-- "Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth, And we hear the warning call: "All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!"

Over hill and over plain Soon will speed the Shut-Eye train!

Through the blue where bloom the stars And the Mother Moon looks down We'll away To land of Fay-- Oh, the sights that we shall see there!

Come, my little one, with me there-- 'T is a goodly train of cars-- All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!

Swifter than a wild bird's flight, Through the realms of fleecy light We shall speed and speed away!

Let the Night in envy frown-- What care we How wroth she be!

To the Balow-land above us, To the Balow-folk who love us, Let us hasten while we may-- All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!

Shut-Eye Town is pa.s.sing fair-- Golden dreams await us there; We shall dream those dreams, my dear, Till the Mother Moon goes down-- See unfold Delights untold!

And in those mysterious places We shall see beloved faces And beloved voices hear In the grace of Shut-Eye Town.

Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, Weary are your little feet-- Nestle closer up to me In your pretty cap and gown; Don't detain The Shut-Eye train!

"Ting-a-ling!" the bell it goeth, "Toot-toot!" the whistle bloweth Oh, the sights that we shall see!

All aboard for Shut-Eye Town!

LITTLE-OH DEAR

See, what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my Little-Oh-Dear!

Posies so gaudy and gra.s.s of such brown-- Search ye the country and hunt ye the town And never ye'll meet with a garden so queer As this one I've made for my Little-Oh-Dear!

Marigolds white and b.u.t.tercups blue, Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, Roses and pansies and violets--all Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer When into her garden steps Little-Oh-Dear.

And up at the top of that lavender-tree A silver-bird singeth as only can she; For, ever and only, she singeth the song "I love you--I love you!" the happy day long;-- Then the echo--the echo that smiteth me here!

"I love you, I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!

The garden may wither, the silver-bird fly-- But what careth my little precious, or I?

From her pathway of flowers that in spring time upstart She walketh the tenderer way in my heart And, oh, it is always the summer-time here With that song of "I love you," my Little-Oh-Dear!

THE FLY-AWAY HORSE

Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse-- Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor.

For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, Is up on his heels and away!

The Moon in the sky, As he gallopeth by, Cries: "Oh! what a marvelous sight!"

And the Stars in dismay Hide their faces away In the lap of old Grandmother Night.

It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse Speedeth ever and ever away-- Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, Over streamlets that sing at their play; And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, While the ships they go sailing below, And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast Adjudge him some portent of woe.