Love-Songs of Childhood | Page 8

soothed her daughter then;?"Grieve not, my darling, I will sew?Your dolly up again!"
Joy soon succeeded unto grief,?And tears were soon dried up,?And dignities were heaped upon?Clow's noble yellow pup.
Him all that goodly company?Did as deliverer hail -?They tied a ribbon round his neck,?Another round his tail.
And every anniversary day?Upon the Waller Lot?They celebrate the victory won?For charming Sissy Knott.
And I, the poet of these folk,?Am ordered to compile?This truly famous history?In good old ballad style.
Which having done as to have earned?The sweet rewards of fame,?In what same style I did begin?I now shall end the same.
So let us sing: Long live the King,?Long live the Queen and Jack,?Long live the ten-spot and the ace,?And also all the pack.
THE STORK
Last night the Stork came stalking,?And, Stork, beneath your wing?Lay, lapped in dreamless slumber,?The tiniest little thing!?From Babyland, out yonder?Beside a silver sea,?You brought a priceless treasure?As gift to mine and me!
Last night my dear one listened -?And, wife, you knew the cry -?The dear old Stork has sought our home?A many times gone by!?And in your gentle bosom?I found the pretty thing?That from the realm out yonder?Our friend the Stork did bring.
Last night a babe awakened,?And, babe, how strange and new?Must seem the home and people?The Stork has brought you to;?And yet methinks you like them -?You neither stare nor weep,?But closer to my dear one?You cuddle, and you sleep!
Last night my heart grew fonder -?0 happy heart of mine,?Sing of the inspirations?That round my pathway shine!?And sing your sweetest love-song?To this dear nestling wee?The Stork from 'Way-Out-Yonder?Hath brought to mine and me!
THE BOTTLE TREE
A bottle tree bloometh in Winkyway land -?Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!?A snug little berth in that ship I demand?That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babies away?Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day?And reacheth its fruit to each wee, dimpled hand;?You take of that fruit as much as you list,?For colic's a nuisance that doesn't exist!?So cuddle me and cuddle me fast,?And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,?For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast -?Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day!?Heigh-ho for Winkyway land!?And Bottle-Tree fruit (as I've heard people say)?Makes bellies of Bottle-Tree babies expand -?And that is a trick I would fain understand!?Heigh-ho for a bottle to-day!?And heigh-ho for a bottle to-night -?A bottle of milk that is creamy and white!?So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast,?And cuddle me snug in my cradle away,?For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast -?Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say!
GOOGLY-GO0
Of mornings, bright and early,?When the lark is on the wing?And the robin in the maple?Hops from her nest to sing,?From yonder cheery chamber?Cometh a mellow coo -?'T is the sweet, persuasive treble?Of my little Googly-Goo!
The sunbeams hear his music,?And they seek his little bed,?And they dance their prettiest dances?Round his golden curly head:?Schottisches, galops, minuets,?Gavottes and waltzes, too,?Dance they unto the music?Of my googling Googly-Goo.
My heart - my heart it leapeth?To hear that treble tone;?What music like thy music,?My darling and mine own!?And patiently - yes, cheerfully?I toil the long day through -?My labor seemeth lightened?By the song of Googly-Goo!
I may not see his antics,?Nor kiss his dimpled cheek:?I may not smooth the tresses?The sunbeams love to seek;?It mattereth not - the echo?Of his sweet, persuasive coo?Recurreth to remind me?Of my little Googly-Goo.
And when I come at evening,?I stand without the door?And patiently I listen?For that dear sound once more;?And oftentimes I wonder,?"Oh, God! what should I do?If any ill should happen?To my little Googly-Goo!"
Then in affright I call him -?I hear his gleeful shouts!?Begone, ye dread forebodings -?Begone, ye killing doubts!?For, with my arms about him,?My heart warms through and through?With the oogling and the googling?Of my little Googly-Goo!
THE BENCH-LEGGED FYCE
Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce?Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice.?Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose?From his predisposition to chronic repose;?But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat -?Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet!
Mos' dorgs hez some forte - like huntin' an' such,?But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much;?Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be?On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me;?Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!"?When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce!
He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be;?His color wuz yaller as ever you see;?His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim -?When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him!?His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup?Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up!
He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret?The various vittles an' things he had et;?When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along,?He'd lift up