In tones of love, in tones of warning, She hailed me through my brief career; And kiss and buffet, night and morning, Told me my grandmamma was near; Whether she praised me high and clear Through her unrivalled circulation, Or, sanctimonious insincere, She damned me with a misquotation— A chequered but a sweet relation, Say, was it not, my granny dear? Believe me, granny, altogether Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, Oft brought a light into my eyes— For notice still the writer cries. In any civil age or nation, The book that is not talked of dies. So that shall be my termination: Whether in praise or execration, Still, if you love me, criticise! FAREWELL FAREWELL, and when forth I through the Golden Gates to Golden Isles Steer without smiling, through the sea of smiles, Isle upon isle, in the seas of the south, Isle upon island, sea upon sea, Why should I sail, why should the breeze? I have been young, and I have counted friends. A hopeless sail I spread, too late, too late. Why should I from isle to isle Sail, a hopeless sailor? THE FAR-FARERS THE broad sun, The bright day: White sails On the blue bay: The far-farers Draw away. Light the fires And close the door. To the old homes, To the loved shore, The far-farers Return no more. COME, MY LITTLE CHILDREN, HERE ARE SONGS FOR YOU COME, my little children, here are songs for you; Some are short and some are long, and all, all are new. You must learn to sing them very small and clear, Very true to time and tune and pleasing to the ear. Mark the note that rises, mark the notes that fall, Mark the time when broken, and the swing of it all. So when night is come, and you have gone to bed, All the songs you love to sing shall echo in your head. HOME FROM THE DAISIED MEADOWS HOME from the daisied meadows, where you linger yet— Home, golden-headed playmate, ere the sun is set; For the dews are falling fast And the night has come at last. Home with you, home and lay your little head at rest, Safe, safe, my little darling, on your mother’s breast. Lullaby, darling; your mother is watching you; she’ll be your guardian and shield. Lullaby, slumber, my darling, till morning be bright upon mountain and field. Long, long the shadows fall. All white and smooth at home your little bed is laid. All round your head be angels. EARLY IN THE MORNING I HEAR ON YOUR PIANO EARLY in the morning I hear on your piano You (at least, I guess it’s you) proceed to learn to play. Mostly little minds should take and tackle their piano While the birds are singing in the morning of the day. FAIR ISLE AT SEA