WILLIE WINKIE

WILLIAM MILLER

EE Willie Winkie rins through the town,

WE

Up stairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown,

Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock,

"Are the weans in their bed?—for it's now ten o'clock."

Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben?

The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen,
The doug's spelder'd on the floor, and disna gie a cheep;
But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep.

Ony thing but sleep, ye rogue! - glow'rin' like the

moon,

Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon,

Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock,
Skirlin' like a kenna-what, wauknin' sleepin' folk!

Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel!
Waumblin' aff a body's knee like a vera eel,

Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums:
Hey, Willie Winkie! See, there he comes!

THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE

CAROLINE ELIZABETH SARAH NORTON (LADY STIRLING

WOR

MAXWELL)

'ORD was brought to the Danish King
(Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering,

And pin'd for the comfort his voice would bring; (Oh! ride as though you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;

And his rose of the isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed,

(Hurry!)

Each one mounting a gallant steed

Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(Oh! ride as though you were flying!)

Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers stagger'd and sank;
Bridles were slacken'd and girths were burst:
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his rose of the isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten, one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and falter'd, and homeward gone;

His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying. The king look'd back at that faithful child; Wan was the face that answering smil'd; They passed the drawbridge with clattering din, Then he dropp'd and only the king rode in Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
(Silence!)

No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo return'd on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.

The castle portal stood grimly wide;
None welcom'd the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearn'd for his voice while dying!

The panting steed with a drooping crest,

Stood weary.

The king return'd from her chamber of rest,

The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And that dumb companion eying.

The tears gush'd forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck;
"O steed that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride has been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying!"

M

ROBERT OF LINCOLN

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

ERRILY swinging on brier and weed,

Near to the nest of his little dame,

Over the mountain-side or mead,

Robert of Lincoln is telling his name:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Snug and safe is that nest of ours,
Hidden among the summer flowers.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest,

Wearing a bright black wedding-coat;
White are his shoulders and white his crest.
Hear him call in his merry note:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine,
Sure there was never a bird so fine.
Chee, chee, chee.

Robert of Lincoln's quaker wife,

Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings,

Passing at home a patient life,

Broods in the grass while her husband sings:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee.

Modest and shy as a nun is she;
One weak chirp is her only note.
Braggart and prince of braggarts is he,
Pouring boasts from his little throat:
Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Never was I afraid of man;

Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can ! Chee, chee, chee.

Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There, as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Nice good wife that never goes out,
Keeping house while I frolic about.
Chee, chee, chee.

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.