The Complete Alice in Wonderland (66 page)

So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me,

Come follow the Bonnet of Bonny Dundee.”

“Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,

Come saddle your horses, and call up your men;

Come open the West Port, and let me gang free,

And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!”

The Dream of Eugene Aram (Excerpt)

by Thomas Hood

’Twas in the prime of summer-time

An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys

Came bounding out of school:

There were some that ran and some that leapt,

Like troutlets in a pool.

Humpty Dumpty

(Mother Goose)

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men

Couldn’t put Humpty together again.

Hush-a-by Baby

(Mother Goose)

Hush-a-by baby

On the tree top,

When the wind blows

The cradle will rock.

When the bough breaks,

The cradle will fall,

Down tumbles baby,

Cradle and all.

The Lion and the Unicorn

(Mother Goose)

The lion and the unicorn

Were fighting for the crown;

The lion beat the unicorn

All around the town.

Some gave them white bread,

And some gave them brown;

Some gave them plum cake

And drummed them out of town.

And when he had beat him out,

He beat him in again;

He beat him three times over,

His power to maintain.

Thomas Moore

I give thee all—I can no more—

Though poor the off’ring be;

My heart and lute are all the store

That I can bring to thee.

A lute who’s gentle song reveals

The soul of love full well;

And, better far, a heart that feels

Much more than lute could tell.

Though love and song may fail, alas!

To keep life’s clouds away,

At least ’twill make them lighter pass

Or gild them if they stay.

And ev’n if Care, at moments, flings

A discord o’er life’s happy strain,

Let love but gently touch the strings,

’Twill all be sweet again!

by Robert Southey

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried,

“The few locks which are left you are grey;

You are hale, father William, a hearty old man;

Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” father William replied,

“I remember’d that youth would fly fast,

And abus’d not my health and my vigour at first,

That I never might need them at last.”

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried,

“And pleasures with youth pass away.

And yet you lament not the days that are gone;

Now tell me the reason I pray.”

“In the days of my youth,” father William replied,

“I remember’d that youth could not last;

I thought of the future, whatever I did,

That I never might grieve for the past.”

“You are old, father William,” the young man cried,

“And life must be hast’ning away;

You are cheerful and love to converse upon death;

Now tell me the reason, I pray.”

“I am cheerful, young man,” father William replied,

“Let the cause thy attention engage;

In the days of my youth I remember’d my God!

And He hath not forgotten my age.”

by Wordsworth

My former thoughts returned: the fear that kills;

And hope that is unwilling to be fed;

Cold, pain, and labour, and all fleshly ills;

And mighty Poets in their misery dead.

—
Perplexed, and longing to be comforted,

My question eagerly did I renew,

“How is it that you live, and what is it you do?”

He with a smile did then his words repeat;

And said that, gathering leeches, far and wide

He traveled; stirring thus about his feet

The waters of the pools where they abide.

“Once I could meet with them on every side;

But they have dwindled long by slow decay;

Yet still I persevere, and find them where I may.”

While he was talking thus the lonely place,

The old Man’s shape, and speech—all troubled me:

In my mind’s eye I seemed to see him pace

About the weary moors continually,

Wandering about alone and silently.

While I these thoughts within myself pursued,

He, having made a pause, the same discourse renewed.

And soon with this he other matter blended,

Cheerfully uttered, with demeanor kind,

But stately in the main; and, when he ended,

I could have laughed myself to scorn to find

In that decrepit Man so firm a mind.

“God,” said I, “be my help and stay secure;

I’ll think of the Leech-gatherer on the lonely moor!”

(Anonymous)

Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,

Life is but a dream.

(Anonymous)

Sally come up! oh, Sally go down!

Oh, Sally come twist you heel around,

The old man he’s gone down to town,

Oh Sally come down the middle.

by Isaac Watts

’Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain,

“You have wak’d me too soon, I must slumber again.”

As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed,

Turns his sides and his shoulders and his heavy head.

“A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;”

Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number,

And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands,

Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands.

I pass’d by his garden, and saw the wild brier,

The thorn and the thistle grown broader and higher;

The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags;

And his money still wastes till be starves or he begs.

I made him a visit, still hoping to find

That he took better care for improving his mind:

He told me his dream, talked of eating and drinking;

But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking.

Said I then to my heart, “Here’s a lesson for me,”

This man’s a picture of what I might be:

But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding,

Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.

by G.W. Langford

Speak gently to the little child!

Its love be sure to gain;

Teach it accents soft and mild;

It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,

’Tis full of anxious care!

by Mary Howitt

“Will you walk into my parlor?”

Said a spider to a fly;

’Tis the prettiest little parlor

That ever you did spy.

The way into my parlor

Is up a winding stair,

And I have many pretty things

To show when you are there.”

“Oh, no, no!” said the little fly,

“To ask me is in vain;

For who goes up your winding stair

Can ne’er come down again.”

“I’m sure you must be weary

With soaring up so high;

Will you rest upon my little bed?”

Said the spider to the fly.

“There are pretty curtains drawn around,

The sheets are fine and thin;

And if you like to rest awhile,

I’ll snugly tuck you in.”

“Oh, no, no!” said the little fly,

“For I’ve often heard it said,

They never, never wake again

Who sleep upon your bed.”

Said the cunning spider to the fly,

“Dear friend, what shall I do

To prove the warm affection

I’ve always felt for you?

I have within my pantry

Good store of all that’s nice;

I’m sure you’re very welcome-

Will you please to take a slice.

“Oh, no, no!” said the little fly,

“Kind sir, that cannot be;

I’ve heard what’s in your pantry,

And I do not wish to see.”

“Sweet creature,” said the spider,

“You’re witty and you’re wise;

How handsome are your gauzy wings,

How brilliant are your eyes.

I have a little looking-glass

Upon my parlor shelf;

If you’ll step in one moment, dear,

You shall behold yourself.”

“I thank you, gentle sir,” she said,

“For what you’re pleased to say,

And bidding you good-morning, now,

I’ll call another day.”

The spider turned him round about,

And went into his den,

For well he knew the silly fly

Would soon be back again;

So he wove a subtle thread

In a little corner sly,

And set his table ready

To dine upon the fly.

He went out to his door again,

And merrily did sing,

“Come hither, hither, pretty fly,

With the pearl and silver wing;

Your robes are green and purple,

There’s a crest upon your head;

Your eyes are like the diamond bright,

But mine are dull as lead.”

Alas, alas! how very soon

This silly little fly,

Hearing his wily, flattering words,

Came slowly flitting by

With buzzing wings she hung aloft,

Then near and nearer drew—

Thought only of her brilliant eyes,

And green and purple hue;

Thought only of her crested head—

Poor foolish thing!

At last up jumped the cunning spider,

And fiercely held her fast.

He dragged her up his winding stair,

Into his dismal den

Within his little parlor—but

She ne’er came out again!

And now, dear little children

Who may this story read,

To idle, silly, flattering words,

I pray you, ne’er give heed: