When I was sick and lay abed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bedclothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still, That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.

--_Robert Louis Stevenson._

THE BROWN THRUSH.

There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree, "He's singing to me! He's singing to me!"

And what does he say, little girl, little boy?

"Oh, the world's running over with joy!

Don't you hear? Don't you see?

Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!"

And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?

Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy, Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I'm glad! Now I'm free!

And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me."

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me: And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy!

But long it won't be, Don't you know? don't you see?

Unless we are as good as can be!"

--_Lucy Larcom._

THE SILVER BOAT.

There is a boat upon a sea; It never stops for you or me.

The sea is blue, the boat is white; It sails through winter and summer night.

The swarthy child in India land Points to the prow with eager hand; The little Lapland babies cry For the silver boat a-sailing by.

It fears no gale, it fears no wreck; It never meets a change or check Through weather fine or weather wild.

The oldest saw it when a child.

Upon another sea below Full many vessels come and go; Upon the swaying, swinging tide Into the distant worlds they ride.

And strange to tell, the sea below, Where countless vessels come and go, Obeys the little boat on high Through all the centuries sailing by.

--_Anon._

THE DANDELION.

Bright little dandelion, Downy, yellow face, Peeping up among the gra.s.s With such gentle grace; Minding not the April wind Blowing rude and cold; Brave little dandelion, With a heart of gold.

Meek little dandelion, Changing into curls At the magic touch of these Merry boys and girls.

When they pinch thy dainty throat, Strip thy dress of green, On thy soft and gentle face Not a cloud is seen.

Poor little dandelion, Now all gone to seed, Scattered roughly by the wind Like a common weed.

Thou hast lived thy little life Smiling every day; Who could do a better thing In a better way?

--_Anon._

AFTERNOON IN FEBRUARY.

The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes, The red sun flashes On village windows That glimmer red.

The snow recommences; The buried fences Mark no longer The road o'er the plain;

While through the meadows, Like fearful shadows, Slowly pa.s.ses A funeral train.

The bell is pealing, And every feeling Within me responds To the dismal knell.

Shadows are trailing, My heart is bewailing And tolling within Like a funeral bell.

--_Longfellow._

NIKOLINA.[4]

Oh, tell me, little children, have you seen her-- The tiny maid from Norway, Nikolina?

Oh, her eyes are blue as corn-flowers 'mid the corn, And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn.

Oh, buy the baby's blossoms if you meet her, And stay with gentle looks and words to greet her; She'll gaze at you and smile and clasp your hand, But not one word of yours can understand.

"Nikolina!" Swift she turns if any call her, As she stands among the poppies, hardly taller; Breaking off their flaming scarlet cups for you, With spikes of slender larkspur, brightly blue.

In her little garden many a flower is growing-- Red, gold and purple, in the soft wind blowing; But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay Is sweeter, quainter, brighter, lovelier even than they.

Oh, tell me, little children, have you seen her-- This baby girl from Norway, Nikolina?

Slowly she's learning English words to try And thank you if her flowers you buy.

--_Celia Thaxter._

[4] Copyrighted by Houghton, Mifflin & Co. Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

LOST![5]