Required Poems for Reading and Memorizing Part 7

"Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine: A hundred fairies danced last night.

And the harpers they were nine;

"And their harp-strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small; But oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all."

"And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say?"

"I'll tell you all, my mother; But let me have my way.

"Some of them play'd with the water, And roll'd it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill;

"'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man will the miller be At dawning of the day.

"'Oh! the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the mill-dam rise!

The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes!'

"And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill; And each put a horn unto his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill;

"'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go Away from every horn; And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's corn.

"'Oh! the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so long, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong,'

"And some they brought the brown lint-seed, And flung it down from the Low; 'And this!' they said, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow.

"'Oh! the poor, lame weaver, How he will laugh outright When he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night!'

"And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin; 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin.

"'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another; A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an ap.r.o.n for her mother.'

"With that I could not help but laugh, And I laugh'd out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me.

"And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay.

"But, coming down from the hill-top, I heard afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go.

"And I peep'd into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildew'd corn, All standing stout and green.

"And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; And I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue.

"Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be."

OLD CHRISTMAS

Now he who knows old Christmas, He knows a carle of worth; For he is as good a fellow As any upon earth.

He comes warm cloaked and coated, And b.u.t.toned up to the chin; And soon as he comes a-nigh the door We open and let him in.

And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay, Just out of an old regard for him, For it was his ancient way.

He must be a rich old fellow, What money he gives away!

There is not a lord in England Could equal him any day.

Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing, For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king.

POEMS BY ALICE AND PHOEBE CARY

THE PIG AND THE HEN

The pig and the hen, They both got in one pen, And the hen said she wouldn't go out.

"Mistress Hen," says the pig, "Don't you be quite so big!"

And he gave her a push with his snout.

"You are rough, and you're fat, But who cares for all that; I will stay if I choose," says the hen.

"No, mistress, no longer!"

Says pig, "I'm the stronger, And mean to be boss of my pen!"

Then the hen cackled out Just as close to his snout As she dare: "You're an ill-natured brute, And if I had the corn, Just as sure as I'm born, I would send you to starve or to root!"

"But you don't own the cribs; So I think that my ribs Will be never the leaner for you: This trough is my trough, And the sooner you're off,"

Says the pig, "why the better you'll do!"

"You're not a bit fair, And you're cross as a bear; What harm do I do in your pen?

But a pig is a pig, And I don't care a fig For the worst you can say," says the hen.

Says the pig, "You will care If I act like a bear And tear your two wings from your neck,"

"What a nice little pen You have got!" says the hen, Beginning to scratch and to peck.

Now the pig stood amazed And the bristles, upraised A moment past, fell down so sleek.

"Neighbor Biddy," says he, "If you'll just allow me, I will show you a nice place to pick!"

So she followed him off, And they ate from one trough--

They had quarreled for nothing, they saw; And when they had fed, "Neighbor Hen," the pig said, "Won't you stay here and roost in my straw?"

"No, I thank you; you see That I sleep in a tree,"

Says the hen; "but I _must_ go away; So a grateful good-by."

"Make your home in my sty,"

Says the pig, "and come in every day."

Now my child will not miss The true moral of this Little story of anger and strife; For a word spoken soft Will turn enemies oft Into friends that will stay friends for life.

A LESSON OF MERCY