Castles in the Air Creep awa', my bairnie, ye're ower young to learn Better creepin' cannie, than fa'in' wi' a bang, 257 Ye'll creep, an' ye'll hotch, an' ye'll nod to your mither, Rest ye on the floor till your wee limbs grow strang, The wee birdie fa's when it tries ower soon to flee, James Ballantine (1808-1877] CASTLES IN THE AIR THE bonnie, bonnie bairn who sits poking in the ase,' His wee chubby face and his touzie curly pow He sees muckle castles towering to the moon; Warlds whommlin' up and doun, bleezing wi' a flare,— For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken? Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld: He'll glower at the fire, and he'll keek at the light; Hearts are broken, heads are turned, wi' castles in the air. UNDER MY WINDOW UNDER my window, under my window, There's Bell with her bonnet of satin sheen, Under my window, under my window, Merry and clear, the voice I hear Of each glad-hearted rover. Ah! sly little Kate, she steals my roses; And Maud and Bell twine wreaths and posies, Under my window, under my window, I catch them all together:- Under my window, under my window, Thomas Westwood [1814?-1888] Little Bell 259 LITTLE BELL He prayeth well who loveth well THE ANCIENT MARINER PIPED the blackbird on the beechwood spray' "Pretty maid, slow wandering this way, What's your name?" quoth he— "What's your name? Oh stop and straight unfold, Pretty maid with showery curls of gold,' "Little Bell," said she. Little Bell sat down beneath the rocksTossed aside her gleaming golden locks― "Bonny bird," quoth she, "Sing me your best song before I go." "Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell," said he. And the blackbird piped; you never heard Full of quips and wiles, Now so round and rich, now soft and slow. And the while the bonny bird did pour In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes. Down the dell she tripped and through the glade, And from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear,- While bold blackbird piped that all might hear"Little Bell," piped he. Little Bell sat down amid the fern- Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, Little Bell looked up and down the glade— Down came squirrel eager for his fare- Ah the merry three! And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And shine out in happy overflow From her blue, bright eyes. By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear "What good child is this," the angel said, "That, with happy heart, beside her bed. Prays so lovingly?" Low and soft, oh! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, "Bell, dear Bell!" crooned he. "Whom God's creatures love," the angel fair Murmured, "God doth bless with angels' care; The Barefoot Boy 261 Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm-Love deep and kind Thomas Westwood [1814?-1888] THE BAREFOOT BOY BLESSINGS on thee, little man, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; Prince thou art,-the grown-up man Let the million-dollared ride! Oh for boyhood's painless play, |