The Keepsake | Page 2

What joy for both, when he once more
Could join the festive throng!

Yet oft he paus'd amid their sports,
To think if _this_ were wrong.
[Illustration: _to face pa. 9_
_Impatient Julia_]
IMPATIENT JULIA.
"Bring me my breakfast instantly,"
Th' impatient Julia said;
It
came--"'Tis meal, 'tis nasty meal,
When I had order'd bread!"
She tastes:--"Oh, it is burnt," she cried,
"Pray take it all away,
And
bring some fresh, and quickly too,
Nor keep me here all day."
Her mother passing near the door,
O'erheard her loud commands,

And entering, met the maid, who held
The breakfast in her hands.
"Julia, what shameful words are those!
What shameful conduct too!

The milk is good, too good for those
Who ask and speak like you.
"From Betty now your breakfast take,
And drink it, if you choose,

And beg that she your haughtiness
And passion will excuse.
"What! silent and perverse become?
Then, Betty, you may go
And

give the milk to that poor girl
Who's in the yard below.
"_She_ spins or labours hard all day,
Yet eats the coarsest food;

She's thankful for the smallest gift,
And smiles, because she's good.
"But you, with that sad pouting lip,
And brow o'erhung with gloom,

May, if you please, from hence retire,
And stay in your own room.
"No breakfast you will have to-day,
Nor need again appear,
Till
from your brow you chase that frown,
And from your eye the tear.
"Till you can come with cheerful mien,
And pardon ask from me;

Then, if you are a better girl,
Forgiven you may be."
THE CUCKOO.
Little cuckoo, com'st thou here,
When the blooming spring is near,

To sing thy song and tell thy tale,
To every hill and every vale?
Tell me, is thy distant home
Far across the salt sea foam?
Or hast
thou, hidden from the day,
Slept the wintry hours away?
Welcome, cheering bird to me,
Where'er thy wintry mansion be,
In
the earth, or o'er the main,
Welcome to these fields again!
[Illustration: _to face pa. 12_
_The Cuckoo_]
[Illustration: _to face pa. 13_
_Red and Black Shoes_]
Short thy visit to this shore,
April and May are quickly o'er;
Then,
Cuckoo, chaunt thy strain in peace,
For in June thy song shall cease.
RED SHOES AND BLACK SHOES.

Which must I have, little black shoes or red shoes,
Little thick shoes
or thin shoes, which shall be mine? In winter 'tis wet, and the roads are
all dirt,
In summer 'tis dry, and the weather is fine.
Then come, little black shoes, 'tis now winter weather, Your soles are
so thick, you will keep me quite dry;
Not a splash nor a spot can get
into my stockings,
So nice and so tight round my ancles you tie.
And you, little red shoes, so slender and thin,
You shall wait in my
draw'r till the dirt's gone away; When I'll walk with mamma when she
goes to the farm,
You will never feel heavy through a long summer's
day.
Then red shoes and black shoes, you both shall be mine, The one in the
dirt I will constantly wear,
The others in summer, when the walks are
all dry:
So thick shoes and thin shoes rest quietly here.
THE GARDENERS.
Now the wintry winds are gone,
See how brightly shines the sun;

The violet sweet and primrose pale,
Now adorn the shelter'd vale.
The pilewort rears her joyous head,
To the sunbeam widely spread,

Whilst her little glossy eye
Glows with a deep and yellow dye.
To the garden we will go,
Take the rake, the spade, the hoe,
Dig the
border nice and clean,
And rake till not a weed be seen.
Then our radish-seed we'll sow,
And mignionette a long, long row;

And ev'ry flowret of the year,
Shall have a place of shelter here.
In gay profusion they shall spread
O'er each border and each bed,

And when joyous May shall come,
We'll deck the lofty pole at home.
Garlands gay in wreaths we'll twine,
That with brightest colours shine;

And dance around, till setting sun
Proclaims the children's day is

done.
[Illustration: _to face pa. 16_
_The Gardeners_]
LITTLE GIRL.
Little girl, little girl, where are you going?
Down in the meadow
where cowslips are blowing.
Little girl, little girl, what to do there?

To gather a garland to deck my brown hair.
Little girl, little girl, why
all alone?
My mother has sent me, and playmates I've none.
Then
follow me, follow me, down to yon wood,
Where you shall find
playmates both gentle and good;
We'll ask them, we'll ask them to
join in your play,
And your mother shall give you a long holiday.

From Erin, from Erin, the cotter shall bring,
To twine a gay garland,
her shamrock of spring;
In her plaid, in her plaid, Scotia's daughter
shall come, With the thistle that grows on her mountains at home;

The peasant, the peasant of France shall be there,
And add to the
chaplet his lily so fair;
Dark glancing, dark glancing, the daughter of
Spain,
With the bloom of her orange shall join the gay train;
And
leaving, and leaving his cold northern tides,
A plume from his eagle
the Russian provides;
Whilst England, fair England, the wreath shall
adorn,
With her rose-bud more bright than the