Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days 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!

HALF WAKING

WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

THOUGHT it was the little bed
I slept in long ago;

A straight white curtain at the head,
And two smooth knobs below.

I thought I saw the nursery fire,
And in a chair well known
My mother sat, and did not tire
With reading all alone.

If I should make the slightest sound
To show that I'm awake,

She'd rise, and lap the blankets round,

My pillows softly shake;

Kiss me, and turn my face to see

The shadows on the wall,

And then sing "Rousseau's Dream" to me,

Till fast asleep I fall.

But this is not my little bed;

That time is far away:

With strangers now I live instead,

From dreary day to day.

66

HOW'S MY BOY

SIDNEY DOBELL

"LIO, sailor of the sea!

H

How's my boy, my boy?" "What's your boy's name, good wife, And in what good ship sail'd he?"

He that went to sea

What care I for the ship, sailor?

My boy's my boy to me.

"You come back from sea

And not know my John?

I might as well have asked some landsman

Yonder down in the town.

There's not an ass in all the parish

But he knows my John.

"How's my boy — my boy?
And unless you let me know
I'll swear you are no sailor,
Blue jacket or no,

Brass buttons or no, sailor,

Anchor and crown or no !

Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton, "Speak low, woman, speak low!"

"And why should I speak low, sailor, About my own boy John?

If I was loud as I am proud
I'd sing him over the town!
Why should I speak low, sailor?"
"That good ship went down."

"How's my boy-my boy?
What care I for the ship, sailor,
I never was aboard her.

Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, Her owners can afford her!

I say, how's my John?"

"Every man on board went down,

Every man aboard her."

"How's my boy-my boy?

What care I for the men, sailor?

I'm not their mother

How's my boy — my boy?

Tell me of him and no other!
How's my boy - my boy?"

U

UNDER MY WINDOW

THOMAS WESTWOOD

LINDER my window, under my window,
All in the midsummer weather,

Three little girls with fluttering curls

Flit to and fro together:

There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,
And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,
And Kate with her scarlet feather.

Under my window, under my window,
Leaning stealthily over,

Merry and clear, the voice I hear,

Of each glad-hearted rover.

Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses :
And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies,
As merry as bees in clover.

Under my window, under my window,
In the blue midsummer weather,
Stealing slow on a hushed tip-toe,

I catch them all together:-
Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen,

And Maud with her mantle of silver-green,
And Kate with the scarlet feather.