And when the old woman came home at night,
He said he could plainly see

That his wife could do more work in a day
Than he could do in three !

And when he saw how well she plowed,
And made the furrows even,

Said his wife could do more work in a day
Than he could do in seven !

* 3*

What does little birdie say
In her nest at peep of day?
Let me fly, says little birdie,
Mother, let me fly away.
Birdie, rest a little longer,
Till the little wings are stronger,
So she rests a little longer,
Then she flies away!

What does little baby say
In her bed at peep of day?
Baby says, like little birdie,
Let me rise and fly away.
Baby, sleep a little longer,
Till the little limbs are stronger,
If she sleeps a little longer,

Baby too shall fly away.

*4*

Alfred Tennyson.

OVER IN THE MEADOW

Over in the meadow,

In the sand, in the sun,
Lived an old mother-toad
And her little toadie one.

12

Over in the meadow,

In a nest built of sticks, Lived a black mother-crow

And her little crows six. "Caw!" said the mother; "We caw," said the six: So they cawed and they called In their nest built of sticks.

Over in the meadow,

Where the grass is so even, Lived a gay mother-cricket

And her little crickets seven. "Chirp!" said the mother; "We chirp," said the seven: So they chirped cheery notes In the grass soft and even.

Over in the meadow,
By the old mossy gate,
Lived a brown mother-lizard
And her little lizards eight.
"Bask!" said the mother;
"We bask," said the eight:
So they basked in the sun
On the old mossy gate.

Over in the meadow,

Where the clear pools shine, Lived a green mother-frog

And her little froggies nine. "Croak!" said the mother;

"We croak," said the nine: So they croaked, and they plashed, Where the clear pools shine.

Over in the meadow,

In a sly little den,

Lived a gray mother-spider
And her little spiders ten.

"Spin!" said the mother;
"We spin," said the ten:
So they spun lace webs
In their sly little den.

Over in the meadow,

In the soft summer even,
Lived a mother-fire-fly

And her little flies eleven.
"Shine! " said the mother;

"We shine," said the eleven: So they shone like stars

In the soft summer even.

Over in the meadow,

Where the men dig and delve,
Lived a wise mother-ant

And her little anties twelve.

"Toil!" said the mother;

"We toil," said the twelve:

So they toiled, and were wise,
Where the men dig and delve.
Olive A. Wadsworth.

Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,
A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!
The stooping boughs above me,
The wandering bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across,
And the Elm-tree for our king!

Nay-stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,

The birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing.

O no! I wish I were a Robin,

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go,
Through forest, field, or garden,
And ask no leave or pardon,

Till winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing!

Well-tell! Where should I fly to,

Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?
Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For mother's kiss-sweeter this

Than any other thing.

William Allingham.

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,
There's no rain left in heaven;

I've said my "seven times over and over,

Seven times one are seven.

I am old, so old, I can write a letter;
My birthday lessons are done;

The lambs play always, they know no better;
They are only one times one.

O moon! in the night I have seen you sailing

And shining so round and low;

You were bright! ah bright! but your light is failing— You are nothing now but a bow.

You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven,
That God has hidden your face?

I hope if you have you will soon be forgiven,
And shine again in your place.