"Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If they should speak to thee. "And when into the fir-wood Thou go'st for fagots brown, Do not, like idle children, Go wandering up and down. But, fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed; And that thou break no living bough So be thou careful of this thing, "But think not, little Mabel, "And when thou goest to the spring, "For the queen of all the fairies She loves that water bright; On many a summer night. "But she's a gracious lady, And her thou need'st not fear; Nor spill the water clear!" Away tripped little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine; With the new-made pat of butter, And the little flask of wine. And long before the sun was hot, And morning mists had cleared, Beside the good old grandmother The willing child appeared. And all her mother's message She told with right good-will, How that the father was away, And the little child was ill. And then she swept the hearth up clean, And then the table spread; And next she fed the dog and bird; "And go now," said the grandmother, All clothed in green and white. A curtsey low made Mabel, "Thou art a handy maiden," The fairy lady said; "Thou hast not spilled a drop, nor yet The fair spring troubled! "And for this thing which thou hast done, I give to thee a better gift "Thou shalt do well, whate'er thou dost, Shalt have the will and power to please, Thus having said, she passed from sight, -"And now go," said the grandmother, All in the neighbouring fir-wood, Into the fir-wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown, She did not wander up and down, And when the wild-wood brownies She drove them thence, as she was told, But all that while the brownies Within the fir-wood still, They watched her how she picked the wood, And strove to do no ill. "And oh, but she is small and neat," Said one," 'twere shame to spite "Look only," said another, "At her little gown of blue; At the kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe!" "Oh, but she is a comely child," Said a third, "and we will lay A good-luck-penny in her path, A boon for her this day,Seeing she broke no living wood; No live thing did affray." With that the smallest penny, Of the finest silver ore, Lay Mabel's feet before. With joy she picked the penny up, Went wondering from the wood. "Now she has that," said the brownies, "Let flax be ever so dear, Will buy her clothes of-the very best, For many and many a year!" -"And go, now," said the grandmother, "Since falling is the dew, Go down unto the lonesome glen, All down into the lonesome glen, Through copses thick and wild; Through moist, rank grass, by trickling streams, And when she came to lonesome glen, And neither plucked the strawberry-flower, And while she milked the mother-ewe Within the lonesome glen, She wished that little Amy And soon as she had thought this thought, She heard a coming sound, As if a thousand fairy-folk And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, That spake aloud, “a human child Is here - yet mark this thing! "The lady-fern is all unbroke, The strawberry-flower unta'en! What shall be done for her, who still From mischief can refrain?" "Give her a fairy-cake!" said one, -Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, Thus happened it to Mabel - 'Tis good to make all duty sweet, To be alert and kind; "Tis good, like little Mabel, To have a willing mind! A CHRISTMAS CAROL. Came down from God on high. Who watched their flocks by night. And through the midnight silence On earth good-will to man! Up rose the joyful shepherds As From the ground whereon they lay, ye should rise, good Christians, To hail this blessed day! Up rose the simple shepherds, All with a joyful mind; "And let us go, with speed," said they, "This holy child to find!" Not in a kingly palace The son of God they found, The glorious king of heaven; In mercy condescended To be of humble birth. There worshipped him the wise men, Long looked the simple shepherds, And homeward went rejoicing That Jesus Christ was born. That he was born, the Saviour, And, like unto the shepherds, We wander far and near, Awake, arise, good Christians, LITTLE CHILDREN. SPORTING through the forest wide; Playing by the water-side; Wandering o'er the heathy fells; Down within the woodland dells; All among the mountain wild, Dwelleth many a little child! In the baron's hall of pride; By the poor man's dull fireside : 'Mid the mighty, 'mid the mean, In the far isles of the main; Blessings on them! they in me With their wishes, hopes, and fears; Little children, not alone On the wide earth are ye known, Birds and Flowers, and other Country Things. ΤΟ JOHN HENRY AND WILLIAM GODFREY HOWITT, THESE POEMS, SOME OF WHICH THEY WERE THE FIRST TO READ AND APPROVE, ARE INSCRIBED, BY THEIR AFFECTIONATE AUNT. PREFACE. THIS volume has been written literally among Birds and Flowers; and has been my pleasant occupation through the last summer months; and now it is completed, my earnest wish is, that it may convey to many a young heart a relish for the enjoyment of quiet, country pleasures; a love for every living creature, and that strong sympathy which must grow in every pure heart for the great human family. WEST-END COTTAGE, ESHER, September 28th, 1837. THE STORMY PETEREL. O STORMY, Stormy, Peterel, Come, rest thy waving pinions; Alight thee down by me; And tell me somewhat of the lore Thou learnest on the sea! Dost hear beneath the ocean The gathering tempest form? See'st thou afar the little cloud That grows into the storm? How is it in the billowy depths Doth sea-weed heave and swell? And is a sound of coming woe Rung from each caverned shell? Dost watch the stormy sunset In tempests of the west; And see the old moon riding slow With the new moon on her breast? And scream for joy of every sound Lov'st thou the lightning's flash; The booming of the mountain wavesThe thunder's deafening crash? O stormy, stormy Peterel, Thou art a bird of woe! There was a ship went down last night,— A costly freight within her lay, And many a soul was there! The night-black storm was over her, The cry of her great agony Went upward to the sky; She perished in her strength and pride, Nor human aid was nigh. But thou, O stormy Peterel, Went'st screaming o'er the foam;Are there no tidings from that ship Which thou canst carry home? Yes! He who raised the tempest up, Sustained each drooping one; And God was present in the storm, Though human aid was none! THE POOR MAN'S GARDEN. AH yes, the poor man's garden! It is great joy to me, This little, precious piece of ground Before his door to see! The rich man has his gardeners,His gardeners young and old; He never takes a spade in hand, Nor worketh in the mould. It is not with the poor man so,— Wealth, servants, he has none; And all the work that's done for him Must by himself be done. All day upon some weary task He toileth with good will; And back he comes, at set of sun, The rich man in his garden walks, One moment he beholds his flowers, The next they are forgot: He eateth of his rarest fruits That grows within its bound. That twines his pales about. And the stocks that cost him dear,- A sixpence to a poor man Is toil, and care, and thought. All well-grown, strong, and green; But he, the poor man, sees his crop, Beside the fire will stand, In a round and rosy hand. His melons and his pines. And a little strawberry-bed. A happy man he thinks himself, A man that's passing well,- And pinks and clove-carnations, 1 And here comes the old grandmother, The good man comes to get He walketh all about. For though his garden-plot is small, Him doth it satisfy; For there's no inch of all his ground That does not fill his eye. It is not with the rich man thus; For though his grounds are wide, He looks beyond, and yet beyond, With soul unsatisfied. Yes! in the poor man's garden grow Far more than herbs and flowers; Kind thoughts, contentment, peace of mind, And joy for weary hours. THE APPLE.TREE. LET them sing of bright red gold; Let them sing of silver fair; Sing of all that's on the earth, All that's in the air; All that's in the sunny air, All that's in the sea; Of the apple-tree! The ripe, rosy apple-tree! Which they ponder day and night; Easier leaves than theirs I read, The old, mossy apple-tree; The young, glossy apple-tree; Bringing dark days, frost, and rime; But the apple is in vogue At the Christmas-time; Of the primest tree; Then you the roast-apple see THE HERON. Lo! there the hermit of the waste, The fisher of the solitudes, Stands by the river's brim! Old Heron, in the feudal times, Beside the forest stream, And by the moorland waters, Thus didst thou love to dream. In deserts scorched and lone. And out came trooping courtly dames, On steeds caparisoned in gold, With bridles ringing free. Came king and queen; came warrior stout; Came lord and lady fair, All gallant, beautiful, and bold, |