Juliana Horatia Ewing

He is not John the gardener, And yet the whole day long Employs himself most usefully,

Hear me now, my hobby-horse, my steed of prancing paces! Time is it that you and I won something more than races. I have got a fine cocked hat, with feathers proudly waving;

Our home used to be in a hut in the dear old Camp, with lots of bands and trumpets and bugles and Dead Marches, and three times a day there was a gun, But now we live in View Villa at the top of the village, and it isn't nearly such fun. We never see any soldiers, except one day we saw a Volunteer, and we ran after him as hard as ever we could go, for we thought he looked rather brave;

I always was a remarkable child; so old for my age, and such a sensitive nature!--Mamma often says so. And I'm the sweetest, little dear in my blue ribbons, and quite a picture in my Pompadour hat!--Mrs. Brown told her so on Sunday, and that's how I know. And I'm a sacred responsibility to my parents--(it was what the clergyman's wife at the seaside said),

The whispering water rocks the reeds, And, murmuring softly, laps the weeds; And nurses there the falsest bloom

When I go to tea with the little Smiths, there are eight of them there, but there's only one of me, Which makes it not so easy to have a fancy tea-party as if there were two or three. I had a tea-party on my birthday, but Joe Smith says it can't have been a regular one,

If I should wish hereafter that your heart Should beat with one fair memory of me, May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,

The Spring's bright tints no more are seen, And Summer's ample robe of green Is russet-gold and brown;

Are you a Giant, great big man, or is your real name Smith? Nurse says you've got a hammer that you hit bad children with. I'm good to-day, and so I've come to see if it is true

Permit me, Reader, to make my bow, And allow Me to humbly commend to your tender mercies

Oh boy, down there, I can't believe that what they say is true! We squirrels surely cannot have an enemy in you; We have so much in common, my dear friend, it seems to me

Some Homes are where flowers for ever blow, The sun shining hotly the whole year round; But our Home glistens with six months of snow,

A CAROL. Oh, happy Christmas, full of blessings, come! Now bid our discords cease;

Long, long ago, with vows too much forgotten, The Cross of Christ was seal'd on every brow, Ah! slow of heart, that shun the Christian conflict;

Hold my hand, little Sister, and nurse my head, whilst I try to remember the word, What was it?--that the doctor says is now fairly established both in me and my bird. C-O-N-con, with a con, S-T-A-N-stan, with a stan--No! That's Constantinople, that is

Hush-a-by, Baby! Your baby, Mamma, No one but pussy may go where you are; Soft-footed pussy alone may pass by,

My love she sent a flower to me Of tender hue and fragrance rare, And with it came across the sea

A GIRL'S SONG. With bark and bound and frolic round My dog and I together run;

A REQUIEM FOR ONE ALIVE. From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares, From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares,

"In my young days," the grandmother said (Nodding her head, Where cap and curls were as white as snow), "In my young days, when we used to go

Father is building a new house, but I've had one given to me for my own; Brick red, with a white window, and black where it ought to be glass, and the chimney yellow, like stone. Brother Bill made me the shelves with his tool-box, and the table I had before, and the pestle-and-mortar;

How many years ago, love, Since you came courting me? Through oak-tree wood and o'er the lea,

They've taken the cosy bed away That I made myself with the Shetland shawl, And set me a hamper of scratchy hay,

Oh, how greedy you look as you stare at my plate, Your mouth waters so, and your big tail is drumming Flop! flop! flop! on the carpet, and yet if you'll wait,

Life is full of trouble, Love is full of care, Joy is like a bubble

Maiden with the gipsy look, Dusky locks and russet hue, Open wide thy Sybil's book,

Fritz and I are not brother and sister, but we're next-door neighbours; for we both live next door. I mean we both live next door to each other; for I live at number three, and Fritz and Nickel the dog live at number four. In summer we climb through the garret windows and sit together on the leads,

BROTHER BILL. To have a good birthday for a grown-up person is very difficult indeed; We don't give it up, for Mother says the harder things are, the harder you must try till you succeed.

You ask me what--since we must part-- You shall bring home to me; Bring back a pure and faithful heart,

The night is dark, and yet it is not quite: Those stars are hid that other orbs may shine; Twin stars, whose rays illuminate the night,

The winter is gone; and at first Jack and I were sad, Because of the snow-man's melting, but now we are glad; For the spring has come, and it's warm, and we're allowed to garden in the afternoon;

Can any one look so wise, and have so little in his head? How long will it be, Papa Poodle, before you have learned to read? You were called Papa Poodle because you took care of me when I was a baby:

I would not have you wake for me, Fair lady, though I love you! And though the night is warm, and all

What time I left my native land, And bade farewell to my true love, She laid a flower in my hand

Teach me, old World, your passion of slow change, Your calm of stars, watching the turn of earth, Patient of man, and never thinking strange

By Fedor Flinzer. Freely translated by J.H. Ewing. I. Dear children, listen whilst I tell

FAIRY KING. "The breeze is on the Blue-bells, The wind is on the lea;

Found in the garden--dead in his beauty. Ah! that a linnet should die in the spring! Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty,

Sally is the laundress, and every Saturday She sends our clean clothes up from the wash, and Nurse puts them away. Sometimes Sally is very kind, but sometimes she's as cross as a Turk;

A SONG OF SECOND SIGHT. Elleree! O Elleree! Seeing what none else may see,

Over wastes of blasted heather, Where the pine-trees stand together, Evermore my footsteps wander,

One of a hundred little rills-- Born in the hills, Nourished with dews by the earth, and with tears by the sky,

A TALE OF TRANSFORMATIONS. A little Brook, that babbled under grass, Once saw a Poet pass--

CHILD. Five blue eggs hatching, With bright eyes watching,

It was on such a night as this, Some long unreal years ago, When all within were wrapp'd in sleep,

There once was a Willow, and he was very old, And all his leaves fell off from him, and left him in the cold; But ere the rude winter could buffet him with snow,

A TALE WITH A STING IN IT. Ah! There you are!

We meant to be very kind, But if ever we find Another soft, grey-green, moss-coated, feather-lined nest in a hedge,

A TALE OF THE HEDGE. HEDGE-PLANTS. "Beware!

Come down! come down! O Holy Ghost! As once of old Thou didst come down In fiery tongues at Pentecost,

I'm weary waiting here, The chill east wind is sighing, The autumn tints are sere,