They must have changed a deal since then: The misses tall and fair And those three lusty, handsome men, Would they be girls and boys again Were I to happen there, Down in that spot beside the sea Where we made such tumultuous glee In dull autumnal weather? Ah me! the years go swiftly by, And yet how fondly I recall The week when we were children all-- Dear Hawthorne children, you and I-- Just eight of us, together! LITTLE BLUE PIGEON Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-- Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging-- Swinging the nest where her little one lies. Away out yonder I see a star-- Silvery star with a tinkling song; To the soft dew falling I hear it calling-- Calling and tinkling the night along. In through the window a moonbeam comes-- Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; All silently creeping, it asks: “Is he sleeping-- Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?” Up from the sea there floats the sob Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning-- Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings-- Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing?--see, I am swinging-- Swinging the nest where my darling lies. THE LYTTEL BOY Some time there ben a lyttel boy That wolde not renne and play, And helpless like that little tyke Ben allwais in the way. “Goe, make you merrie with the rest,” His weary moder cried; But with a frown he catcht her gown And hong untill her side. That boy did love his moder well, Which spake him faire, I ween; He loved to stand and hold her hand And ken her with his een; His cosset bleated in the croft, His toys unheeded lay,-- He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe, Ben allwais in the way. Godde loveth children and doth gird His throne with soche as these, And he doth smile in plaisaunce while They cluster at his knees; And some time, when he looked on earth And watched the bairns at play, He kenned with joy a lyttel boy Ben allwais in the way. And then a moder felt her heart How that it ben to-torne, She kissed eche day till she ben gray The shoon he use to worn; No bairn let hold untill her gown Nor played upon the floore,-- Godde’s was the joy; a lyttel boy Ben in the way no more! TEENY-WEENY Every evening, after tea, Teeny-Weeny comes to me, And, astride my willing knee, Plies his lash and rides away; Though that palfrey, all too spare, Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care; He commands, and I obey!