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Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
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Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses
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Macleod furled close the fairy flag:
"Ye've served me twice in blessed stead,
But I shall in the churchyard lie
Ere I will wave ye thrice!" he said.
"For if I thrice should wave the flag,
And thrice should get my heart's desire,
Next day might come a sorer need,
When it were ashes in the fire."
Macleod kept well his word: he fought
For life on many a bloody plain;
He tossed in peril on the sea,
Nor waved the fairy flag again.
The hand that waved the fairy flag,
The lips the fairy kissed, are still:
Macleod low in the churchyard lies,
And deaf to lilting sweet and shrill.
But still his kin in misty Skye
The fairy flag in keeping hold;
And sometime from the castle wall
May flash its spots and bars of gold.
But dire indeed shall be the need,
And every other hope be slain,
Before a Macleod of the Isle
Shall wave the fairy flag again.
THE SPOILED DARLING
OH the ruffles there were on that little
dress, Fanny!
Her mamma does dress her so sweetly, you
know;
And the prettiest sash of pale rose-colored
satin
Tied at her waist in a butterfly-bow.
And her soft, flossy hair, almost a rose-yellow,
Like the roses we had in our garden last year,
Cut short round the fairest blue-veined little
forehead —
Oh, if Miss Marion wasn't a dear!
Just perfect she was, the mite of a darling,
From her flower of a head to her pink
slipper-toes!
You will laugh, but she seemed as I looked
at her, Fanny,
A little girl copied right after a rose!
Well, you know how it is: they have petted
the darling,
Her papa and mamma, her uncles and
aunts —
Till, saving the moon, which they can't get
for princes,
There isn't a thing but she has if she wants.
So, last night at the Christmas-tree, Fanny,
– It was so funny I laugh at it now —
There was Miss Marion sweeter than honey,
All in her ruffles and butterfly-bow;
She had presents, I thought, enough for a
dozen,
But she seemed heavy-hearted in spite of
it all;
Her sweet little mouth was all of a quiver,
And there was a teardrop just ready to
fall.
The aunts and the cousins all round her came
crowding;
"And what is the matter, my darling, my
dear?"
She didn't look sulky, but grieved; and I
saw it
Roll down her pink cheek, that trembling
tear;
And she lisped out so honest, "Mamie and
Bessie,
And the rest, have pwesents – and 'twas
my Tristmas-tree;
And when I tame in, I fought that the pwes-
ents —
The whole of them on it – of tourse were
for me! "
I scarcely could blame her – she didn't seem
angry,
But grieved to the heart, the queer little
mite!
And 'twasn't her fault – she'd been fed so
much honey,
All the sweet in the world she took as her
right.
"Ye've served me twice in blessed stead,
But I shall in the churchyard lie
Ere I will wave ye thrice!" he said.
"For if I thrice should wave the flag,
And thrice should get my heart's desire,
Next day might come a sorer need,
When it were ashes in the fire."
Macleod kept well his word: he fought
For life on many a bloody plain;
He tossed in peril on the sea,
Nor waved the fairy flag again.
The hand that waved the fairy flag,
The lips the fairy kissed, are still:
Macleod low in the churchyard lies,
And deaf to lilting sweet and shrill.
But still his kin in misty Skye
The fairy flag in keeping hold;
And sometime from the castle wall
May flash its spots and bars of gold.
But dire indeed shall be the need,
And every other hope be slain,
Before a Macleod of the Isle
Shall wave the fairy flag again.
THE SPOILED DARLING
OH the ruffles there were on that little
dress, Fanny!
Her mamma does dress her so sweetly, you
know;
And the prettiest sash of pale rose-colored
satin
Tied at her waist in a butterfly-bow.
And her soft, flossy hair, almost a rose-yellow,
Like the roses we had in our garden last year,
Cut short round the fairest blue-veined little
forehead —
Oh, if Miss Marion wasn't a dear!
Just perfect she was, the mite of a darling,
From her flower of a head to her pink
slipper-toes!
You will laugh, but she seemed as I looked
at her, Fanny,
A little girl copied right after a rose!
Well, you know how it is: they have petted
the darling,
Her papa and mamma, her uncles and
aunts —
Till, saving the moon, which they can't get
for princes,
There isn't a thing but she has if she wants.
So, last night at the Christmas-tree, Fanny,
– It was so funny I laugh at it now —
There was Miss Marion sweeter than honey,
All in her ruffles and butterfly-bow;
She had presents, I thought, enough for a
dozen,
But she seemed heavy-hearted in spite of
it all;
Her sweet little mouth was all of a quiver,
And there was a teardrop just ready to
fall.
The aunts and the cousins all round her came
crowding;
"And what is the matter, my darling, my
dear?"
She didn't look sulky, but grieved; and I
saw it
Roll down her pink cheek, that trembling
tear;
And she lisped out so honest, "Mamie and
Bessie,
And the rest, have pwesents – and 'twas
my Tristmas-tree;
And when I tame in, I fought that the pwes-
ents —
The whole of them on it – of tourse were
for me! "
I scarcely could blame her – she didn't seem
angry,
But grieved to the heart, the queer little
mite!
And 'twasn't her fault – she'd been fed so
much honey,
All the sweet in the world she took as her
right.
Последний отзыв
Так получилось, что книга ко мне попала в тяжелый эмоциональный кризис и многое мне дала. Написано актуально, тут многих полезных вещей, никакого злоу...
Далее