The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 49

When I remember'd again How my Philip was slain, I wept and I wailed, The tears down hailed; But nothing it avail'd To call Philip again Whom Gib our cat hath slain.

_Heu, heu, me,_ That I am woe for thee!

_Levavi oculos meos in montis;_ Would that I had Xenophontis Or Socrates the Wise, To show me their device Moderately to take This sorrow that I make For Philip Sparrow's sake!

It had a velvet cap, And would sit on my lap, And seek after small worms, And sometimes white bread crumbs; And many times and oft Within my breast soft It would lie and rest.

Sometimes he would gasp When he saw a wasp; A fly or a gnat, He would fly at that; And prettily he would pant When he saw an ant; Lord, how he would pry After the b.u.t.terfly!

Lord, how he would hop After the gra.s.shop!

And when I said, Phip, Phip, Then he would leap and skip, And take me by the lip.

_De profundis clamavi_ When I saw my sparrow die.

Vengeance I ask and cry, By way of exclamation, On all the whole nation Of cats wild and tame; That cat especially That slew so cruelly My little pretty sparrow That I brought up at Carow.

O cat of churlish kind, The fiend was in thy mind.

I would thou hadst been blind!

The leopards savage, The lions in their rage, May they catch thee in their paws, And gnaw thee in their jaws; The dragons with their tongues May they poison thy liver and lungs.

Of India the greedy gripes May they tear out all thy tripes; Of Arcady the bears May they pluck away thine ears; The wild wolf Lycaon Bite asunder thy back-bone; Of aetna the burning hill, That night and day burneth still, Set thy tail in a blaze, That all the world may gaze And wonder upon thee, From Ocean, the great sea, Unto the Isles of Orchadye; From Tilbury Ferry To the plain of Salisbury.

_J. Skelton_

CXLV

_TO A b.u.t.tERFLY_

I've watch'd you now a full half-hour, Self-poised upon that yellow flower; And, little b.u.t.terfly! indeed I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless! not frozen seas More motionless! and then What joy awaits you, when the breeze Has found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; My trees they are, my sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary!

Come often to us, fear no wrong; Sit near us on the bough!

We'll talk of sunshine and of song, And summer days when we were young; Sweet childish days that were as long As twenty days are now.

_W. Wordsworth_

CXLVI

_THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY_

Old stories tell how Hercules A dragon slew at Lerna, With seven heads and fourteen eyes, To see and well discern-a: But he had a club, this dragon to drub, Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye: But More of More-hall, with nothing at all, He slew the dragon of Wantley.

This dragon had two furious wings, Each one upon each shoulder; With a sting in his tail as long as a flail, Which made him bolder and bolder.

He had long claws, and in his jaws Four and forty teeth of iron; With a hide as tough as any buff, Which did him round environ.

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse Held seventy men in his belly?

This dragon was not quite so big, But very near, I'll tell ye; Devour'd he poor children three, That could not with him grapple; And at one sup he ate them up, As one would eat an apple.

All sorts of cattle this dragon would eat, Some say he ate up trees, And that the forests sure he would Devour up by degrees: For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies; He ate all and left none behind, But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, Which on the hills you will find.

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt; Men, women, girls, and boys, Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, And made a hideous noise.

O save us all, More of More-hall, Thou peerless knight of these woods; Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, We'll give thee all our goods.

This being done, he did engage To hew the dragon down; But first he went new armour to Bespeak at Sheffield town; With spikes all about, not within but without, Of steel so sharp and strong, Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, Some five or six inches long.

Had you but seen him in this dress, How fierce he look'd, and how big, You would have thought him for to be Some Egyptian porcupig: He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, Each cow, each horse, and each hog: For fear they did flee, for they took him to be Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog.

To see this fight all people then Got up on trees and houses, On churches some, and chimneys too; But these put on their trousers, Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose, To make him strong and mighty, He drank, by the tale, six pots of ale And a quart of aqua-vitae.

It is not strength that always wins, For wit doth strength excel; Which made our cunning champion Creep down into a well, Where he did think this dragon would drink, And so he did in truth; And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cried, boh!

And kick'd him in the mouth.

Oh, quoth the dragon with a deep sigh, And turn'd six times together, Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing Out of his throat of leather: More of More-hall, O thou rascal, Would I had seen thee never; With the thing at thy foot thou hast p.r.i.c.k'd my throat, And I'm quite undone for ever.

Murder, murder, the dragon cried, Alack, alack, for grief; Had you but miss'd that place, you could Have done me no mischief.

Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, And down he laid and cried; First on one knee, then on back tumbled he; So groan'd, and kick'd, and died.

_Old Ballad_

CXLVII

_THE UNGRATEFUL CUPID_

At dead of night, when mortals lose Their various cares in soft repose, I heard a knocking at my door: 'Who's that,' said I, 'at this late hour Disturbs my rest?' It sobb'd and cried, And thus in mournful tone replied, 'A poor, unhappy child am I, That's come to beg your charity; Pray, let me in. You need not fear; I mean no harm, I vow and swear; But, wet and cold, crave shelter here; Betray'd by night, and led astray, I've lost, alas! I've lost my way.'

Moved with this little tale of fate, I took a lamp, and oped the gate!

When, see! a naked boy before The threshold; at his back he wore A pair of wings, and by his side A crooked bow and quiver tied.

'My pretty angel! come,' said I, 'Come to the fire, and do not cry.'

I stroked his neck and shoulders bare, And squeez'd the water from his hair; Then chafed his little hands in mine, And cheer'd him with a draught of wine Recover'd thus, says he, 'I'd know, Whether the rain has spoilt my bow; Let's try'--then shot me with a dart.

The venom throbb'd, did ache and smart, As if a bee had stung my heart.

'Are these your thanks, ungrateful child, Are these your thanks?' The impostor smiled.

'Farewell, my loving host,' says he, All's well; my bow's unhurt, I see; But what a wretch I've made of thee!'

_J. Hughes_

CXLVIII

_THE KING OF THE CROCODILES_

'Now, woman, why without your veil?

And wherefore do you look so pale?

And, woman, why do you groan so sadly, And wherefore beat your bosom madly?'