Rhymes for the Young Folk

IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED.

Green Hills, Blue Mountains, Rocks and Streams, Birds, Woodland, Starry-Night, Sea-Foam, Flowers, Fairies, Children, Music, Dreams, A Book, a Garden-Chair--Sweet Home!

Introduction.

CONTENTS.

PAGE THE FAIRIES 15 THE ELF SINGING 18 THE FAIRY KING 20 CHORUS OF FAIRIES 23 ROBIN REDBREAST 24 AMY MARGARET 26 JINGLE JANGLE 29 DREAMING 30 I LOVE YOU, DEAR 32 SEASONS 34 THE CAT AND THE DOG 36 HERE AND THERE 37 THE BIRD 41 WISHING 42 I SAW A LITTLE BIRDIE FLY 44 A MOUNTAIN ROUND 47 THE LEPRACAUN 48 YES OR NO? 53 SLEEPING 54 A SWING SONG 56 BIRDS' NAMES 58 DOWN ON THE SHORE 60 THE BUBBLE 62 NICK SPENCE 65 AMBITION 66 THE BALL 69 RIDING 70 TOM CRICKET 72 THE YEAR OF HARDSHIPS 74 A RIDDLE 75

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

FRONTISPIECE: The Bird HELEN ALLINGHAM. THE NEW BOOK DO. INTRODUCTION: The Child and the Fairy DO. THE ELF SINGING (Two Designs) CAROLINE PATERSON. THE FAIRY KING HARRY FURNISS. AMY MARGARET HELEN ALLINGHAM. JINGLE JANGLE CAROLINE PATERSON. DREAMING HELEN ALLINGHAM. I LOVE YOU, DEAR DO. HERE AND THERE (Ten Designs) CAROLINE PATERSON. WISHING HELEN ALLINGHAM. I SAW A LITTLE BIRDIE FLY DO. THE LEPRACAUN HARRY FURNISS. YES OR NO? CAROLINE PATERSON. SLEEPING HELEN ALLINGHAM. A SWING SONG DO. THE BUBBLE KATE GREENAWAY. NICK SPENCE HELEN ALLINGHAM. AMBITION KATE GREENAWAY. THE BALL W. A. THE YEAR OF HARDSHIPS DO. A RIDDLE HELEN ALLINGHAM.

THE FAIRIES.

UP the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

Down along the rocky shore Some make their home, They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain-lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake.

High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights, To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow, They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves, Watching till she wake.

By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather!

THE ELF SINGING.

AN Elf sat on a twig, He was not very big, He sang a little song, He did not think it wrong; But he was on a Wizard's ground, Who hated all sweet sound.

Elf, Elf, Take care of yourself! He's coming behind you, To seize you and bind you, And stifle your song. The Wizard! the Wizard! He changes his shape In crawling along, An ugly old ape, A poisonous lizard, A spotted spider, A wormy glider, The Wizard! the Wizard! He's up on the bough, He'll bite through your gizzard He's close to you now!

The Elf went on with his song, It grew more clear and strong, It lifted him into air, He floated singing away, With rainbows in his hair; While the Wizard-worm from his creep Made a sudden leap, Fell down into a hole, And, ere his magic word he could say, Was eaten up by a Mole.

THE FAIRY KING.

"High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits."

THE Fairy King was old. He met the Witch of the Wold. "Ah ha, King!" quoth she, "Now thou art old like me." "Nay, Witch!" quoth he, "I am not old like thee."

The King took off his crown, It almost bent him down; His age was too great To carry such a weight. "Give it here!" she said, And clapt it on her head.

Crown sank to ground; The Witch no more was found. Then sweet spring-songs were sung, The Fairy King grew young, His crown was made of flowers, He lived in woods and bowers.

CHORUS OF FAIRIES.

GOLDEN, golden, Light unfolding, Busily, merrily, work and play, In flowery meadows, And forest shadows, All the length of a Summer day! All the length of a Summer day!

Sprightly, lightly, Sing we rightly, Moments brightly hurry away; Fruit-tree blossoms, And roses' bosoms,-- Clear blue sky of a Summer day! Dear blue sky of a Summer day!

Springlets, brooklets, Greeny nooklets, Hill and Valley, and salt sea-spray, Comrade rovers, Fairy lovers,-- All the length of a Summer day All the livelong Summer day!

ROBIN REDBREAST.

GOOD-BYE, good-bye to Summer! For Summer's nearly done; The garden smiling faintly, Cool breezes in the sun; Our Thrushes now are silent, Our Swallows flown away,-- But Robin's here, in coat of brown, With ruddy breast-knot gay. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! Robin singing sweetly In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange, The leaves come down in hosts; The trees are Indian Princes, But soon they'll turn to Ghosts; The scanty pears and apples Hang russet on the bough, It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now. Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear! And welaway! my Robin, For pinching times are near.

The fireside for the Cricket, The wheatstack for the Mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house; The frosty ways like iron, The branches plumed with snow,-- Alas! in Winter, dead and dark, Where can poor Robin go? Robin, Robin Redbreast, O Robin dear, And a crumb of bread for Robin, His little heart to cheer.

AMY MARGARET.

AMY MARGARET'S five years old, Amy Margaret's hair is gold, Dearer twenty-thousand-fold Than gold, is Amy Margaret.

"Amy" is friend, is "Margaret" The pearl for crown or carkanet? Or peeping daisy, Summer's pet? Which are you, Amy Margaret?

A friend, a daisy, and a pearl; A kindly, simple, precious girl,-- Such, howsoe'er the world may twirl, Be ever,--Amy Margaret!

JINGLE, JANGLE!

JINGLE, jangle! Riot and wrangle! What shall we do With people like you? Here's Jingle! There's Jangle! Here's Riot! There's Wrangle! Never was seen such a turbulent crew!

You, north must go To a hut of snow; You, south, in a trice, To an island of spice; You, off to Persia And sit on a hill, You, to that chair And be five minutes' still!

DREAMING.

A STRANGE little Dream On a long star-beam Ran down from the midnight skies, To curly-hair'd Fred Asleep in his bed, With the lids on his merry blue eyes.