HUNTING SONG

Up, up! ye dames and lasses gay! 
To the meadows trip away. 
’Tis you must tend the flocks this morn,
And scare the small birds from the corn. 
  Not a soul at home may stay: 
    For the shepherds must go
    With lance and bow
  To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.

Leave the hearth and leave the house
To the cricket and the mouse: 
Find grannam out a sunny seat,
With babe and lambkin at her feet. 
  Not a soul at home may stay: 
    For the shepherds must go
    With lance and bow
  To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day.
                        Samuel T. Coleridge.

THE FIR-TREE

The winds have blown more bitter
Each darkening day of fall;
High over all the house-tops
The stars are far and small
I wonder, will my fir-tree
Be green in spite of all?

O grief is colder—­colder
Than wind from any part;
And tears of grief are bitter tears,
And doubt’s a sorer smart! 
But I promised to my fir-tree
To keep the fragrant heart.
               Josephine Preston Peabody.

HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN

“I’ll tell you how the leaves came down,”
  The great tree to his children said,
“You’re getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,
  Yes, very sleepy, little Red. 
  It is quite time to go to bed.”

“Ah!” begged each silly, pouting leaf,
  “Let us a little longer stay;
Dear Father Tree, behold our grief;
  Tis such a very pleasant day
  We do not want to go away.”

So, for just one more merry day
  To the great tree the leaflets clung,
Frolicked and danced, and had their way,
  Upon the autumn breezes swung,
  Whispering all their sports among,—­

“Perhaps the great tree will forget,
  And let us stay until the spring,
If we all beg, and coax, and fret.” 
  But the great tree did no such thing;
  He smiled to hear their whispering.

“Come, children, all to bed,” he cried;
  And ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
He shook his head, and far and wide,
  Fluttering and rustling everywhere,
  Down sped the leaflets through the air.

I saw them; on the ground they lay,
  Golden and red, a huddled swarm,
Waiting till one from far away,
  White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
  Should come to wrap them safe and warm.

The great bare tree looked down and smiled,
  “Good-night, dear little leaves,” he said. 
And from below each sleepy child
  Replied, “Good-night,” and murmured,
  “It is so nice to go to bed!”
                             Susan Coolidge.

THE LITTLE LADYBIRD

Ladybird, ladybird! fly away home! 
  The field-mouse has gone to her nest,
The daisies have shut up their sleepy red eyes,
  And the bees and the birds are at rest.