E-text prepared by Adrian Mastronardi, Emmy,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
()
Nine Little Goslings.
By SUSAN COOLIDGE,
AUTHOR OF "THE NEW YEAR'S BARGAIN," "MISCHIEF'S THANKSGIVING,""WHAT KATY DID," "WHAT KATY DID AT SCHOOL."
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
| CURLY LOCKS. | ONE, TWO, BUCKLE MY SHOE. |
| GOOSEY, GOOSEY GANDER. | RIDE A COCK-HORSE. |
| LITTLE BO-PEEP. | LADY QUEEN ANNE. |
| MISTRESS MARY. | UP, UP, UP, AND DOWN, DOWN, DOWN-Y. |
| LADY BIRD. |
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1893.
Copyright, 1875.
By Roberts Brothers.
By Roberts Brothers.
University Press · John Wilson & Son,
Cambridge.
When nursery lamps are veiled, and nurse is singing
In accents low,
Timing her music to the cradle's swinging,
Now fast, now slow,—
Singing of Baby Bunting, soft and furry
In rabbit cloak,
Or rock-a-byed amid the toss and flurry
Of wind-swept oak;
Of Boy-Blue sleeping with his horn beside him,
Of my son John,
Who went to bed (let all good boys deride him)
With stockings on;
Of sweet Bo-Peep following her lambkins straying;
Of Dames in shoes;
Of cows, considerate, 'mid the Piper's playing,
Which tune to choose;
Of Gotham's wise men bowling o'er the billow,
Or him, less wise,
Who chose rough bramble-bushes for a pillow,
And scratched his eyes,—
It may be, while she sings, that through the portal
Soft footsteps glide,
And, all invisible to grown-up mortal,
...
In accents low,
Timing her music to the cradle's swinging,
Now fast, now slow,—
Singing of Baby Bunting, soft and furry
In rabbit cloak,
Or rock-a-byed amid the toss and flurry
Of wind-swept oak;
Of Boy-Blue sleeping with his horn beside him,
Of my son John,
Who went to bed (let all good boys deride him)
With stockings on;
Of sweet Bo-Peep following her lambkins straying;
Of Dames in shoes;
Of cows, considerate, 'mid the Piper's playing,
Which tune to choose;
Of Gotham's wise men bowling o'er the billow,
Or him, less wise,
Who chose rough bramble-bushes for a pillow,
And scratched his eyes,—
It may be, while she sings, that through the portal
Soft footsteps glide,
And, all invisible to grown-up mortal,
...