And day's eyes and butter-cups, cow's lips and crow's feet Were glittering in the sun. She threw down her book, and caught up her crook, And after her sheep did run. She ran, and she ran, and ever as she ran, The grass grew higher and higher; Till over the hill the sun began To set in a flame of fire. She ran on still--up the grassy hill, And the grass grew higher and higher; When she reached its crown, the sun was down, And had left a trail of fire. The sheep and their tails were gone, all gone-- And no more trail behind them! Yes, yes! they were there--long-tailed and fair, But, alas! she could not find them. Purple and gold, and rosy and blue, With their tails all white behind them, Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun; She saw them, but could not find them. After the sun, like clouds they did run, But she knew they were her sheep: She sat down to cry, and look up at the sky, But she cried herself asleep. And as she slept the dew fell fast, And the wind blew from the sky; And strange things took place that shun the day's face, Because they are sweet and shy. Nibble, nibble, crop! she heard as she woke: A hundred little lambs Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet That grew in the trails of their dams. Little Bo Peep caught up her crook, And wiped the tears that did blind her. And nibble, nibble crop! without a stop! The lambs came eating behind her. Home, home she came, both tired and lame, With three times as many sheep. In a month or more, they'll be as big as before, And then she'll laugh in her sleep. But what would you say, if one fine day, When they've got their bushiest tails, Their grown up game should be just the same, And she have to follow their trails? Never weep, Bo Peep, though you lose your sheep, And do not know where to find them; 'Tis after the sun the mothers have run, And there are their lambs behind them. I confess again to having touched up a little, but it loses far more in Diamond's sweet voice singing it than it gains by a rhyme here and there. Some of them were out of books Mr. Raymond had given him. These he always knew, but about the others he could seldom tell. Sometimes he would say, “I made that one.” but generally he would say, “I don't know; I found it somewhere;” or “I got it at the back of the north wind.” One evening I found him sitting on the grassy slope under the house, with his Dulcimer in his arms and his little brother rolling on the grass beside them. He was chanting in his usual way, more like the sound of a brook than anything else I can think of. When I went up to them he ceased his chant. “Do go on, Diamond. Don't mind me,” I said.