PREFACE.

In the simple title of “Rhymes for the Nursery,” the pretensions of this little volume are fully explained. In the Nursery they are designed to circulate, and within its sanctuary walls, the writers claim shelter from the eye of criticism; though, should they appear to have admitted any sentiment, injudicious, erroneous, or dangerous, they ask not such an indulgence.

It has been questioned, by authority they respect, whether ideas adapted to the comprehension of infancy, admit the restrictions of rhyme and metre? With humility, therefore, the present attempt has been made: should it, however, in any degree, prove successful, the writers must certainly acknowledge themselves indebted rather to the plainness of prose, than to the decorations of poetry.

CONTENTS

RHYMES

FOR THE

NURSERY.

The Cow.

Thank you, pretty cow, that made

Pleasant milk to soak my bread,

Ev’ry day, and ev’ry night,

Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.

Do not chew the hemlock rank,

Growing on the weedy bank;

But the yellow cowslips eat,

They will make it very sweet.

Where the purple violet grows,

Where the bubbling water flows,

Where the grass is fresh and fine,

Pretty cow, go there and dine.

Good Night.

Baby, baby, lay your head

On your pretty cradle-bed;

Shut your eye-peeps, now the day

And the light are gone away;

All the clothes are tuck’d in tight;

Little baby dear, good night.

Yes, my darling, well I know

How the bitter wind doth blow;

And the winter’s snow and rain,

Patter on the window-pane;

But they cannot come in here,

To my little baby dear.

For the curtains warm are spread

Round about her cradle-bed;

And her little nightcap hides

Ev’ry breath of air besides:

So, till morning shineth bright,

Little baby dear, good night.

Getting up.

Baby, baby, ope your eye,

For the sun is in the sky,

And he’s peeping once again

Through the frosty window-pane;

Little baby, do not keep

Any longer fast asleep.

There now, sit in mother’s lap,

That she may untie your cap:

For the little strings have got

Twisted into such a knot:

Ah! for shame, you’ve been at play

With the bobbin, as you lay.

There it comes, now let us see

Where your petticoats can be:

Oh! they’re in the window-seat,

Folded very smooth and neat:

When my baby older grows,

She shall double up her clothes.

Now one pretty little kiss,

For dressing you so nice as this;

And, before we go down stairs,

Don’t forget to say your pray’rs;

For ’tis God who loves to keep

Little babies while they sleep.

Mamma and the Baby.

What a little thing am I!

Hardly higher than the table;

I can eat, and play, and cry,

But to work I am not able.

Nothing in the world I know,

But mamma will try and show me:

Sweet mamma, I love her so,

She’s so very kind unto me.

And she sets me on her knee

Very often, for some kisses:

Oh! how good I’ll try to be.

For such a dear mamma as this is.

The Sparrows.

Hop about, pretty sparrows, and pick up the hay,

And the twigs, and the wool, and the moss;

Indeed, I’ll stand far enough out of your way,

Don’t fly from the window so cross.

I don’t mean to catch you, you dear little Dick,

And fasten you up in a cage;

To hop all day long on a straight bit of stick,

Or to flutter about in a rage.

I only just want to stand by you and see

How you gather the twigs for your house;

Or sit at the foot of the jenneting tree,

While you twitter a song in the boughs.

Oh dear, if you’d eat a crumb out of my hand,

How happy and glad I should be!

Then come, pretty bird, while I quietly stand

At the foot of the jenneting tree.

Good Mamma.

Love, come and sit upon my knee,

And give me kisses, one, two, three,

And tell me whether you love me,

My baby.

For this I’m sure, that I love you,

And many, many things I do,

And all day long I sit and sew

For baby.

And then at night I lie awake,

Thinking of things that I can make,

And trouble that I mean to take

For baby.

And when you’re good and do not cry,

Nor into wicked passions fly,

You can’t think how papa and I

Love baby.

But if my little girl should grow

To be a naughty child, I know

’Twould grieve mamma to serve her so,

My baby.

And when you saw me pale and thin,

By grieving for my baby’s sin,

I think you’d wish that you had been

A better baby.

Learning to go alone.

Come, my darling, come away,

Take a pretty walk to-day;

Run along, and never fear,

I’ll take care of baby dear:

Up and down with little feet,

That’s the way to walk, my sweet.

Now it is so very near,

Soon she’ll get to mother dear.

There she comes along at last:

Here’s my finger, hold it fast;

Now one pretty little kiss,

After such a walk as this.

The little Girl that beat her Sister.

Go, go, my naughty girl, and kiss

Your little sister dear;

I must not have such things as this,

Nor noisy quarrels here.

What! little children scold and fight,

That ought to be so mild;

O! Mary, ’tis a shocking sight

To see an angry child.

I can’t imagine, for my part,

The reason of your folly,

As if she did you any hurt

By playing with your dolly.

See, how the little tears do run

Fast from her wat’ry eye:

Come, my sweet innocent, have done,

’Twill do no good to cry.

Go, Mary, wipe her tears away,

And make it up with kisses;

And never turn a pretty play

To such a pet as this is.

The little Girl to her Dolly.

There, go to sleep, Dolly, in own mother’s lap;

I’ve put on your night-gown and neat little cap;

So sleep, pretty baby, and shut up your eye,

Bye bye, little Dolly, lie still, and bye bye.

I’ll lay my clean handkerchief over your head,

And then make believe that my lap is your bed;

So hush, little dear, and be sure you don’t cry:

Bye bye, little Dolly, lie still, and bye bye.

There, now it is morning, and time to get up,

And I’ll crumb you a mess in my doll’s china cup;

So wake, little baby, and open your eye,

For I think it high time to have done with bye bye.

a.t.