The Posy Ring Part 25

She scatters crumbs for the little brown hen.

There comes a rush and a flutter, and then Down fly her little white doves so sweet, With their snowy wings and crimson feet: "Welcome!" cries little Gustava.

V

So dainty and eager they pick up the crumbs.

But who is this through the doorway comes?

Little Scotch terrier, little dog Rags, Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags: "Ha, ha!" laughs little Gustava.

VI

"You want some breakfast too?" and down She sets her bowl on brick floor brown; And little dog Rags drinks up her milk, While she strokes his s.h.a.ggy locks like silk: "Dear Rags!" says little Gustava.

VII

Waiting without stood sparrow and crow, Cooling their feet in the melting snow: "Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried.

But they were too bashful, and stood outside Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava.

VIII

So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat With doves and biddy and dog and cat.

And her mother came to the open house-door "Dear little daughter, I bring you some more.

My merry little Gustava!"

IX

Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves, All things harmless Gustava loves.

The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed, And oh her breakfast is sweet indeed To happy little Gustava!

Celia Thaxter.

_A Bunch of Roses_

The rosy mouth and rosy toe Of little baby brother, Until about a month ago Had never met each other; But nowadays the neighbours sweet, In every sort of weather, Half way with rosy fingers meet, To kiss and play together.

John B. Tabb.

_The Child_

_At Bethlehem_

Long, long before the Babe could speak, When he would kiss his mother's cheek And to her bosom press, The brightest angels standing near Would turn away to hide a tear-- For they are motherless.

John B. Tabb

_After the Storm_

And when,--its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blus.h.i.+ng o'er the sea-- I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling and making A prayer at home for me.

William Makepeace Thackeray.

_Lucy Gray_

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go: And take a lantern, child, to light Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two; And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his hook, And snapped a f.a.ggot-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide.

At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet!"

When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the low stone wall:

And then an open field they crossed; The marks were still the same; They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came.