Is it true, my mother?
Can it really be,
That the little fairies
Every day you see?
Oh! the little fairies,
Wonderful and wise,
Have you really seen them
With your own two eyes?
Tell me where their home is,
Dearest mother mine.
Is it in the garden
'Neath the clustering vine?
Is it in the meadow,
'Mid the grasses tall?
Is it by the brookside,
Sweetest place of all?
Deep within the woodland,
Shall I find them then, —
Pretty little maidens,
Pretty little men;
Curled among the roseleaves,
Stretched along the fern,
Where no wind can shake them,
And no sunbeams burn?
Does the little queen live
In a great red rose,
Twenty elves to fan her
When to sleep she goes;
Coverlet of lilies
Sprinkled o'er with pearls,
Golden stars a-twinkling
In her golden curls?
Do they paint the flowers?
Do they teach the birds
All their lovely music,
With its strange, sweet words?
Oh! but tell me, mother!
Is it really true?
And when next you seek them,
Will you take me too?
True it is, my darling,
True as true can be,
That the little fairies
Every day I see,
Not within the meadow,
Not in woodland gloom,
But in brightest sunshine,
In this very room.
Singing like the robin,
Chirping like the wren,
Pretty little maidens,
Pretty little men;
Leaning o'er my shoulder,
Swinging on my chair,
Oh! the little fairies,
I see them everywhere.
Peeping at the window,
Peeping at the door,
If I bid them scamper,
Peeping all the more.
Little sweetest voices
Laughing merrily,
Oh! the little fairies,
They'll never let me be.
Tugging at my apron,
Twitching at my gown,
Climbing up into my lap,
Rumble-tumbling down.
Naughty little blue eyes,
Full of impish glee,
Oh! the little fairies,
They'll never let me be!
All are kings and queens, dear,
Every smallest one;
And on mother's knee here
Is their regal throne.
Look into the glass, dear!
One of them you'll see.
Oh! the little fairies,
God bless them all for me!
Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She's travelling over the sea:
She's bringing a beautiful cuttlefish,
To play with my baby and me.
Oh! his head is three miles long, my dear,
His tail is three miles short.
And when he goes out he wriggles his snout,
In a way that no cuttlefish ought.
Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She rides on a sea-green whale.
He takes her a mile, with an elegant smile,
At every flip of his tail.
He can snuffle and snore like a Highlandman,
And swear like a Portugee;
He can amble and prance like a peer of France,
And lie like a heathen Chinee.
Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She dresses in wonderful taste.
The sea-serpent coils, all painted in oils,
Around her bee-yu-tiful waist.
Oh! her gown is made of the green sea-kale;
And though she knows nothing of feet,
She can manage her train, with an air of disdain,
In a way that is perfectly sweet.
Oh! the Queen of the Orkney Islands,
She's travelling over the main.
So we'll hire a hack, and we'll take her straight back
To her beautiful Islands again.
Toddle, toddle, waddle, waddle,
On her little pinky toes.
Stumble, stumble, pitch and tumble,
That's the way the baby goes.
Prattle, prattle, rattle, rattle,
Little shouts and little shrieks,
Tears, with laughter coming after,
That's the way the baby speaks.
Playing, toying, still enjoying
Every sweet that Nature gives.
Smiling, weeping, waking, sleeping,
That's the way the baby lives.
"Oho! Oho!" said the pot to the kettle,
"You're dirty and ugly and black!
Sure no one would think you were made of metal,
Except when you're given a crack."
"Not so! not so!" kettle said to the pot.
"'Tis your own dirty image you see.
For I am so clear, without blemish or blot,
That your blackness is mirrored in me."
Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the Emperor take his tea?
He takes it with melons, he takes it with milk,
He takes it with syrup and sassafras silk.
He takes it without, he takes it within.
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!
Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the Cardinal take his tea?
He takes it in Latin, he takes it in Greek,
He takes it just seventy times in the week.
He takes it so strong that it makes him grin.
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!
Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the Admiral take his tea?
He takes it with splices, he takes it with spars,
He takes it with jokers and jolly jack tars.
And he stirs it round with a dolphin's fin.
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!
Oh, Pillykin Willykin Winky Wee!
How does the President take his tea?
He takes it in bed, he takes it in school,
He takes it in Congress against the rule.
He takes it with brandy, and thinks it no sin.
Oh, Punkydoodle and Jollapin!
Skinny Mrs. Snipkin,
With her little pipkin,
Sat by the fireside a-warming of her toes.
Fat Mrs. Wobblechin,
With her little doublechin,
Sat by the window a-cooling of her nose.
Says this one to that one,
"Oh! you silly fat one,
Will you shut the window down? You're freezing me to death!"
Says that one to t'other one,
"Good gracious, how you bother one!
There isn't air enough for me to draw my precious breath!"
Skinny Mrs. Snipkin,
Took her little pipkin,
Threw it straight across the room as hard as she could throw;
Hit Mrs. Wobblechin
On her little doublechin,
And out of the window a-tumble she did go.
Oh, what shall we do for the Lovely
This rainy, rainy day?
Oh! how shall we make the baby laugh,
When everything's dull and gray?
The sun has gone on a picnic,
The moon has gone to bed,
The tiresome sky does nothing but cry,
As if its best friend were dead.
Come hither, come hither, my Sunbeams!
Come one, and two, and three;
And now in a trice we'll have the room
As sunny as sunny can be.
Come, dimpling, dimpling Dumpling,
Come, Rosy, Posy Rose,
Come, little boy Billy a-toddling round
On little fat tottering toes.
Now twinkle, now twinkle, my Sunbeams!
Now twinkle and laugh and dance,
And brush me the gloom straight out of the room,
Nor leave it the ghost of a chance.
Aha! see the Lovely smile now!
Aha! see her jump and crow!
As round and round, with laugh and dance,
My three merry Sunbeams go.
And who cares now for the raindrops?
Who cares for the gloomy day,
When each little heart is doing its part
To make us all glad and gay?
You moon, you may stay in bed now;
You sun, you may wander and roam;
And cry away, cry, you tiresome sky!
We've plenty of sunshine at home!
They've took away the ball,
Oh dear!
And I'll never get it back,
I fear.
And now they've gone away,
And left me for to stay
All alone the livelong day,
In here.
It was my ball, anyhow,
Not his:
For he never had a ball
Like this.
Such a coward you'll not see,
E'en if you should live to be
Old as Deuteronomy,
As he is.
I'm sure I meant no harm,
None at all!
I just held out my hand
For the ball,
And – somehow – it hit his head.
Then his nose it went and bled,
And as if I 'd killed him dead
He did bawl.
Mother said I was a naughty
Little wretch.
And Aunt Jane said the police
She would fetch.
And that nurse, who's always glad
Of a chance to make me mad,
Said, "indeed she never had
Seen sech!"
No! I never, never will
Be good!
I'll go and be a babe
In the wood.
I'll run away to sea,
And a pirate I will be.
Then they'll never dare call me
Rough and rude.
How hungry I am getting!
Let me see!
I wonder what they're going to have
For tea.
Of course there will be jam
And – oh! that potted ham!
How unfortunate I am!
Dear me!
Oh! it's growing very dark
In here.
And that shadow in the corner
Looks so queer!
Won't they bring me any light?
Must I stay in here all night?
I shall surely die of fright.
Oh dear!
Mother, darling, will you never
Come back?
Oh! I'm sorry that I hit him
Such a crack!
Hark! yes, 'tis her voice I hear!
Now good-by to every fear!
For she's calling me her dear
Little Jack!
How many toes has the tootsey foot?
One, two, three, four, five.
Shut them all up in the little red sock,
Snugger than bees in a hive.
How many fingers has little wee hand?
Four, and a little wee thumb.
Shut them up under the bedclothes tight,
For fear that Jack Frost should come.
How many eyes has the Baby Bo?
Two, so shining and bright.
Shut them up under the little white lids.
And kiss them a loving good-night.
Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!
Sing we in the morning,
Sending up to heaven's blue our happy waking song;
Daily, gayly, our tiny home adorning,
Working all so merrily the whole day long.
Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!
Sing we in the noontide;
Half the day is over now, half our work is done;
Neatly, featly, the moss and twigs are blended,
Feather, flower, leaf, and stems, all added one by one.
Sweet! sweet! sweet! sweet!
Sing we in the evening;
Happy day is past, past, happy night begun;
Wooing, cooing, we nestle 'mid the branches,
Sinking down to rest with the sinking of the sun.
Soft, soft, soft, soft,
Sleep we through the still night;
Tiny head 'neath tiny wing comfortably curled,
Singing, springing, with the breath of morning,
Waking up once more to all the wonder of the world.
There was a man in Manitobá,
The only man that ever was thar;
His name was Nicholas Jones McGee,
And he loved a maid in Mirimichi.
Chorus. Sing ha! ha! ha! for Manitobá!
Sing he! he! he! for Mirimichi!
Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!
And that's the lesson for you and me.
There was a man in New Mexico,
He lost his grandmother out in the snow;
But his heart was light, and his ways were free,
So he bought him another in Santa Fé.
Chorus. Sing ho! ho! ho! for New Mexico!
Sing he! he! he! for Santa Fé!
Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!
And that's the lesson for you and me.
There was a man in Austra-li-a,
He sat and wept on the new-mown hay;
He jumped on the tail of a kangaroo.
And rode till he came to Kalamazoo.
Chorus. Sing hey! hey! hey! for Austra-li-a!
Sing hoo! hoo! hoo! for Kalamazoo!
Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!
And that's the lesson for me and you.
There was a man in Jiggerajum,
He went to sea in a kettle-drum;
He sailed away to the Salisbury Shore,
And I never set eyes on that man any more.
Chorus. Sing hum! hum! hum! for Jiggerajum!
Sing haw! haw! haw! for the Salisbury Shore!
Sing hi! hi! hi! for Geographi!
And that's the lesson the whole world o'er.
Higgledy-piggledy went to school,
Looking so nice and neat!
Clean little mittens on clean little hands,
Clean little shoes on his feet.
Jacket and trousers all nicely brushed,
Collar and cuffs like snow.
"See that you come home as neat to-night,
Higgledy-piggledy oh!"
Higgledy-piggledy came from school,
In such a woful plight,
All the people he met on the road
Ran screaming away with fright.
One shoe gone for ever and aye,
T'other one stiff with mud,
Dirt-spattered jacket half torn from his back,
Mittens both lost in the wood.
Higgledy-piggledy stayed in bed
All a long, pleasant day,
While his father fished for his other boot
In the roadside mud and clay.
All day long his mother must mend,
Wash and iron and sew,
Before she can make him fit to be seen,
Higgledy-piggledy oh!
Belinda Blonde was a beautiful doll,
With rosy-red cheeks and a flaxen poll.
Her lips were red, and her eyes were blue,
But to say she was happy would not be true;
For she pined for love of the great big Jack
Who lived in the Box so grim and black.
She never had looked on the Jack his face;
But she fancied it shining with beauty and grace,
And all the day long she would murmur and pout,
Because Jack-in-the-box would never come out.
"Oh, beautiful, beautiful Jack-in-the-box,
Undo your bolts and undo your locks!
The cupboard is shut, and there's no one about:
Oh! Jack-in-the-box, jump out! jump out!"
But alas! alas! for Belinda Blonde,
And alas! alas! for her dreamings fond.
There soon was an end to all her doubt,
For Jack-in-the-box really did jump out, —
Out with a crash and out with a spring,
Half black and half scarlet, a horrible thing.
Out with a yell and a shriek and a shout,
His great goggle-eyes glaring wildly about.
"And what did Belinda do?" you say.
Alas! before she could get out of the way,
The monster struck her full on the head,
And with pain and with terror she fell down dead.
Now all you dolls, both little and big,
With china crown and with curling wig,
Before you give way to affection fond,
Remember the fate of Belinda Blonde!
And unless you're fond of terrible knocks,
Don't set your heart on a Jack-in-the-box!
I hate my geography lesson!
It's nothing but nonsense and names.
To bother me so every Thursday,
I think it's the greatest of shames.
The brooklets flow into the rivers,
The rivers flow into the sea;
For my part, I hope they enjoy it!
But what does it matter to me?
Of late even more I've disliked it,
More thoroughly odious it seems,
Ever since that sad night of last winter,
When I had that most frightful of dreams.
I'd studied two hours that evening,
On mountains and rivers and lakes;
When I'd promised to go down to Grandpa's,
For one of Aunt Susan's plum-cakes.
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