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Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses
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The fiddlers they rosined their squeaking
bows,
And the brave little lads their partners
swung.
Oh, the fiddlers they played such a merry tune,
With a one, two, three, and a one, two, three,
And the children they blossomed like roses
in June,
All under the boughs of the Christmas-tree.
And the fiddlers were scrap-
ing so merrily, O,
With a one, two, three, and
a one, two, three;
And the children were dan-
cing so cheerily, O,
All under the shade of the
Christmas-tree —
The girl-fairy in cobweb
frock.
When, all of a sudden, a fairy-
land crew
Came whirling airily into the room,
As light as the fluffy balls, they flew,
Which fly from the purple thistle-bloom.
There were little girl-fairies in cobweb frocks
All spun by spiders from golden threads,
With butterfly-wings and glistening locks,
And wreaths of dewdrops around their
heads!
There were little boy-fairies in jew-
elled coats
Of pansy velvet, of cost un-
told,
With chains of daisies around
their throats,
And their heads all powdered
with lily-gold!
The boy-fairy in jewelled
coat.
The fiddlers they laughed till
they scarce could see,
And then they fiddled so cheerily, O,
And the fairies and children around the tree,
They all went tripping so merrily, O.
The fiddlers they boxed up their fiddles all;
The fairies they silently flew away;
But every child at the Christmas ball
Had danced with a fairy first, they say.
So they told their mothers – and did not you
Ever have such a lovely time at your play,
My boy and my girl, that it seemed quite true
That you'd played with a fairy all the day?
THE PURITAN DOLL
OUR Puritan fathers, stern and good,
Had never a holiday;
Sober and earnest seemed life to them —
They only stopped working to pray.
And the little Puritan maidens learned
Their catechisms through;
And spun their stents, and wove, themselves,
Their garments of homely blue.
And they never made merry on Christmas
Day —
That savored of Pope and Rome;
And there was never a Christmas-tree
In any Puritan home.
There never was woven a Christmas wreath,
Carols the children never sung,
And Christmas Eve, in the chimney-place,
There was never a stocking hung.
Sweet little Ruth, with her flaxen hair
All neatly braided and tied,
Was sitting one old December day
At her pretty mother's side.
She listened, speaking never a word,
With her serious, thoughtful look,
To the Christmas story her mother read
Out of the good old Book.
"I'll tell thee, Ruth!" her mother cried,
Herself scarce more than a girl,
As she smoothed her little daughter's hair,
Lest it straggle out into a curl,
"If thy stent be spun each day this week,
And thou toil like the busy bee,
A Christmas present on Christmas Day
I promise to give to thee."
bows,
And the brave little lads their partners
swung.
Oh, the fiddlers they played such a merry tune,
With a one, two, three, and a one, two, three,
And the children they blossomed like roses
in June,
All under the boughs of the Christmas-tree.
And the fiddlers were scrap-
ing so merrily, O,
With a one, two, three, and
a one, two, three;
And the children were dan-
cing so cheerily, O,
All under the shade of the
Christmas-tree —
The girl-fairy in cobweb
frock.
When, all of a sudden, a fairy-
land crew
Came whirling airily into the room,
As light as the fluffy balls, they flew,
Which fly from the purple thistle-bloom.
There were little girl-fairies in cobweb frocks
All spun by spiders from golden threads,
With butterfly-wings and glistening locks,
And wreaths of dewdrops around their
heads!
There were little boy-fairies in jew-
elled coats
Of pansy velvet, of cost un-
told,
With chains of daisies around
their throats,
And their heads all powdered
with lily-gold!
The boy-fairy in jewelled
coat.
The fiddlers they laughed till
they scarce could see,
And then they fiddled so cheerily, O,
And the fairies and children around the tree,
They all went tripping so merrily, O.
The fiddlers they boxed up their fiddles all;
The fairies they silently flew away;
But every child at the Christmas ball
Had danced with a fairy first, they say.
So they told their mothers – and did not you
Ever have such a lovely time at your play,
My boy and my girl, that it seemed quite true
That you'd played with a fairy all the day?
THE PURITAN DOLL
OUR Puritan fathers, stern and good,
Had never a holiday;
Sober and earnest seemed life to them —
They only stopped working to pray.
And the little Puritan maidens learned
Their catechisms through;
And spun their stents, and wove, themselves,
Their garments of homely blue.
And they never made merry on Christmas
Day —
That savored of Pope and Rome;
And there was never a Christmas-tree
In any Puritan home.
There never was woven a Christmas wreath,
Carols the children never sung,
And Christmas Eve, in the chimney-place,
There was never a stocking hung.
Sweet little Ruth, with her flaxen hair
All neatly braided and tied,
Was sitting one old December day
At her pretty mother's side.
She listened, speaking never a word,
With her serious, thoughtful look,
To the Christmas story her mother read
Out of the good old Book.
"I'll tell thee, Ruth!" her mother cried,
Herself scarce more than a girl,
As she smoothed her little daughter's hair,
Lest it straggle out into a curl,
"If thy stent be spun each day this week,
And thou toil like the busy bee,
A Christmas present on Christmas Day
I promise to give to thee."
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