Love-Songs of Childhood Part 2

But once--a likely spell ago--when that poor little chick From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick, You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout; And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through, Old gran'ma cried, And gran'pa cried, And wife, she cried, And I--yes, I cried, too!

It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place, With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face; The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care!

No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, Old gran'ma laughs, And gran'pa laughs, Wife, she laughs, And I--you bet, I laugh, too!

SO, SO, ROCK-A-BY SO!

So, so, rock-a-by so!

Off to the garden where dreamikins grow; And here is a kiss on your winkyblink eyes, And here is a kiss on your dimpledown cheek And here is a kiss for the treasure that lies In the beautiful garden way up in the skies Which you seek.

Now mind these three kisses wherever you go-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

There's one little fumfay who lives there, I know, For he dances all night where the dreamikins grow; I send him this kiss on your droopydrop eyes, I send him this kiss on your rosyred cheek.

And here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise When the fumfay shall dance in those far-away skies Which you seek.

Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

And, by-low, as you rock-a-by go, Don't forget mother who loveth you so!

And here is her kiss on your weepydeep eyes, And here is her kiss on your peachypink cheek, And here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies Like a babe on the breast of those far-away skies Which you seek-- The blinkywink garden where dreamikins grow-- So, so, rock-a-by so!

THE SONG OF LUDDY-DUD

A sunbeam comes a-creeping Into my dear one's nest, And sings to our babe a-sleeping The song that I love the best: "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long 'T is the same sweet song Of that waddling, toddling, coddling little mite, Luddy-Dud."

The bird to the tossing clover, The bee to the swaying bud, Keep singing that sweet song over Of wee little Luddy-Dud.

"'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long 'T is the same dear song Of that growing, crowing, knowing little sprite, Luddy-Dud."

Luddy-Dud's cradle is swinging Where softly the night winds blow, And Luddy-Dud's mother is singing A song that is sweet and low: "'T is little Luddy-Dud in the morning-- 'T is little Luddy-Dud at night; And all day long 'T is the same sweet song Of my nearest and my dearest heart's delight, Luddy-Dud!"

THE DUEL

The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'T was half-past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t' other had slept a wink!

The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat.

(I wasn't there; I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!)

The gingham dog went "bow-wow-wow!"

And the calico cat replied "mee-ow!"

The air was littered, an hour or so, With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney place Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row!

(Now mind: I'm only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!)

The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, "Oh, dear! what shall we do!"

But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw In the awfullest way you ever saw-- And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!

(Don't fancy I exaggerate-- I got my news from the Chinese plate!)

Next morning, where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat; And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away!

But the truth about the cat and pup Is this: they ate each other up!

Now what do you really think of that!

(The old Dutch clock it told me so, And that is how I came to know.)

GOOD-CHILDREN STREET

There's a dear little home in Good-Children street-- My heart turneth fondly to-day Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play; Where the suns.h.i.+ne of love illumines each face And warms every heart in that old-fas.h.i.+oned place.

For dear little children go romping about With dollies and tin tops and drums, And, my! how they frolic and scamper and shout Till bedtime too speedily comes!

Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street.

See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts; The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead On a stick-horse that prances and snorts!

Oh, legions of soldiers you're certain to meet-- Nice make-believe soldiers--in Good-Children street.

And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about-- Poor dolly! I'm sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out And her voice is asthmatic'ly shrill.

Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good-Children street.

'T is so the dear children go romping about With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out When an end to their jubilee comes: Oh, days they are golden and days they are fleet With little folk living in Good-Children street!

But when falleth night over river and town, Those little folk vanish from sight, And an angel all white from the sky cometh down And guardeth the babes through the night, And singeth her lullabies tender and sweet To the dear little people in Good-Children Street.

Though elsewhere the world be o'erburdened with care, Though poverty fall to my lot, Though toil and vexation be always my share, What care I--they trouble me not!

This thought maketh life ever joyous and Sweet: There's a dear little home in Good-Children street.

THE DELECTABLE BALLAD OF THE WALLER LOT

Up yonder in Buena Park There is a famous spot, In legend and in history Yclept the Waller Lot.

There children play in daytime And lovers stroll by dark, For 't is the goodliest trysting-place In all Buena Park.

Once on a time that beauteous maid, Sweet little Sissy Knott, Took out her pretty doll to walk Within the Waller Lot.

While thus she fared, from Ravenswood Came Injuns o'er the plain, And seized upon that beauteous maid And rent her doll in twain.

Oh, 't was a piteous thing to hear Her lamentations wild; She tore her golden curls and cried: "My child! My child! My child!"

Alas, what cared those Injun chiefs How bitterly wailed she?

They never had been mothers, And they could not hope to be!

"Have done with tears," they rudely quoth, And then they bound her hands; For they proposed to take her off To distant border lands.