Mary Mapes Dodge

‘Mamma! mamma!’ two eaglets cried, ‘To let us fly you’ve never tried. We want to go outside and play; We’ll promise not to go away.’ The mother wisely shook her head: ‘No, no, my dears. Not yet,’ she said. ‘But, mother dear,’ they called again, ‘We want to see those things called men, And all the world so grand and gay, Papa described the other day. And – don’t you know? – he told you then About a little tiny wren, That flew about so brave and bold, When it was scarcely four weeks old?’ But still the mother shook her head; ‘No, no, my dears, not yet,’ she said. ‘Before you see the world below, Far bigger you will have to grow. There’s time enough to look for men; And as for wrens – a wren’s a wren. What if your freedom does come late? An eaglet can afford to wait.’

Oh! Shepherd John is good and kind, Oh! Shepherd John is brave; He loves the weakest of his flock, His arm is quick to save. But Shepherd John to little John Says: ‘Learn, my laddie, learn! In grassy nooks still read your books, And aye for knowledge burn. Read while you tend the grazing flock: Had I but loved my book, I’d not be still in shepherd’s frock, Nor bearing shepherd’s crook. The world is wide, the world is fair, There’s muckle work to do. I’ll rest content a shepherd still, But grander fields for you!’

Give me something to eat, Good people, I pray; I have really not had One mouthful today! I am hungry and cold, And last night I dreamed A scarecrow had caught me— Good land, how I screamed! Of one little children And six ailing wives (No, one wife and six children), Not one of them thrives. So pity my case, Dear people, I pray; I’m honest, and really I’ve come a long way.

The moon came late to a lonesome bog, And there sat Goggleky Gluck, the frog. ‘My stars!’ she cried, and veiled her face, ‘What very grand people they have in this place!’

The Mayor of Scuttleton burned his nose Trying to warm his copper toes; He lost his money and spoiled his will By signing his name with an icicle-quill; He went bare-headed, and held his breath, And frightened his grandame most to death; He loaded a shovel, and tried to shoot, And killed the calf in the leg of his boot; He melted a snow-bird, and formed the habit Of dancing jigs with a sad Welsh rabbit; He lived on taffy, and taxed the town; And read his newspaper upside down; Then he sighed, and hung his hat on a feather, And bade the townspeople come together; But the worst of it all was, nobody knew What the Mayor of Scuttleton next would do.

Fire in the window! flashes in the pane! Fire on the roof-top! blazing weather-vane! Turn about, weather-vane! put the fire out! The sun’s going down, sir, I haven’t a doubt.

Early to bed and early to rise: If that would make me wealthy and wise I’d rise at daybreak, cold or hot, And go back to bed at once. Why not?