Ask your governess, dears, or tutor.

For myself, I'm in hopeless doubt

As to why we were there, who on earth we were,
And what this is all about.

Charles Stuart Calverley

THE LAWYER'S INVOCATION TO SPRING

Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays
Now divers birds are heard to sing,
And sundry flowers their heads upraise,
Hail to the coming on of Spring!

The songs of those said birds arouse
The memory of our youthful hours,
As green as those said sprays and boughs,
As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.

The birds aforesaid - happy pairs

Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines In freehold nests; themselves their heirs, Administrators, and assigns.

O busiest term of Cupid's Court,

Where tender plaintiffs actions bring, –

Season of frolic and of sport,

Hail, as aforesaid, coming Spring!!

Henry Howard Brownell

NEGRO LULLABY

Bedtime's come fu' little boys,

Po' little lamb.

Too tiahed out to make a noise,

Po' little lamb.

You gwine t' have to-morrer sho'?

Yes, you tole me dat befo',

Don't you fool me, chile, no' mo',

Po' little lamb.

You been bad de livelong day,

Po' little lamb.

Th'owin' stones an' runnin' 'way,
Po' little lamb.

My, but you's a-runnin' wil',

Look jes' lak some po' folks' chile;
Mam' gwine whup you atter while,
Po' little lamb.

Come hyeah! you mos' tiahed to def,
Po' little lamb.

Played yo'se'f clean out o' bref,

Would you evah b'lieve dey's white?

Stan' still twell I wash 'em right,
Po' little lamb.

Jes' cain't hol' yo' haid up straight,
Po' little lamb.

Hadn't oughter played so late,

Po' little lamb.

Mammy do' know whut she'd do,
Ef de chillun's all lak you;

You's a caution now fu' true,
Po' little lamb.

Lay yo' haid down in my lap,
Po' little lamb.

Y' ought to have a right good slap,
Po' little lamb.

You been runnin' 'roun' a heap.
Shet dem eyes an' don't you peep,
Dah now, dah now, go to sleep,

Po' little lamb.

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Her father-grandpapa! forgive

This erring lip its smiles

Vowed she should make the finest girl

Within a hundred miles.

He sent her to a stylish school;

'Twas in her thirteenth June;

And with her, as the rules required,

They braced my aunt against a board,

To make her straight and tall;

They laced her up, they starved her down,
To make her light and small;

They pinched her feet, they singed her hair,
They screwed it up with pins;

O never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins.

So, when my precious aunt was done, My grandsire brought her back; (By daylight, lest some rabid youth Might follow on the track;) "Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook Some powder in his pan, "What could this lovely creature do

Against a desperate man!"

Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche,
Nor bandit cavalcade

Tore from the trembling father's arms

His all-accomplished maid.

For her how happy had it been!
And Heaven had spared to me

To see one sad, ungathered rose
On my ancestral tree.

Oliver Wendell Holmes

THE BABY'S DEBUT

A BURLESQUE IMITATION OF WORDSWORTH

- REJECTED

ADDRESSES

[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter.]

My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight on New-year's day;
So in Kate Wilson's shop

Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,
And brother Jack a top.

Jack's in the pouts, and this it is
He thinks mine came to more than his;
So to my drawer he goes,

Takes out the doll, and, O, my stars!
He pokes her head between the bars,
And melts off half her nose!

Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
And tie it to his peg-top's peg,

And bang, with might and main,
Its head against the parlor-door:
Off flies the head and hits the floor,
And breaks a window-pane.

This made him cry with rage and spite:
Well, let him cry; it serves him right.
A pretty thing, forsooth!

If he's to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll's nose, and I am not
To draw his peg-top's tooth!

Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake,
Thus to distress your aunt:

No Drury Lane for you to-day!"
And while papa said, “Pooh, she may!”
Mamma said, "No, she sha'n't!"

Well, after many a sad reproach,
They got into a hackney-coach,
And trotted down the street.
I saw them go; one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.

The chaise in which poor Brother Bill Used to be drawn to Pentonville,

Stood in the lumber-room:

I wiped the dust from off the top,
While Molly mopped it with a mop,
And brushed it with a broom.

My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
Came in at six to black the shoes
(I always talk to Sam),

So what does he, but takes, and drags
Me in the chaise along the flags,
And leaves me where I am.

My father's walls are made of brick,
But not so tall and not so thick

As these; and, goodness me!

My father's beams are made of wood,
But never, never half so good
As those that now I see.

What a large floor! 'tis like a town!
The carpet, when they lay it down,
Won't hide it, I'll be bound;
And there's a row of lamps! - my eye!
How they do blaze! I wonder why
They keep them on the ground.

At first I caught hold of the wing, And kept away; but Mr. Thingumbob, the prompter-man,