Page 87—Play Land

Playtime
Play-time, play-time, hurrah!
Out in the fields together!
Don't let us lose a moment's time,
This fine, bright, glorious weather.
Run, boys! Run, boys! faster!
Ball and the bats for cricket;
Jack, you're the fastest runner here,
Be off, and pitch the wicket.
Football for those who choose—
The goal stick—go, Jim, fix it;
Give us the ball; who's won the toss?
Now, for the first who kicks it.
No lazy ones today;
Off, stretch your legs running!
Now for the hip, hip, hip, hurrah!
And let the noise be stunning.
Hear how it echoes round!
Another and another!
No fear of noise, it won't disturb
Old granny and poor mother.
Hullo there! no foul play!
Dick, what is that you're saying?
No bad words and no cruel sport;
We're come for fun and playing.
Romping
Why now, my dear boys, this is always the way,
You can't be contented with innocent play;
But this sort of romping, so noisy and high,
Is never left off till it ends in a cry.
What! are there no games you can take a delight in,
But kicking and knocking, and tearing, and fighting?
It is a sad thing to be forced to conclude
That boys can't be merry, without being rude.
Now what is the reason you never can play
Without snatching each other's playthings away?
Would it be any hardship to let them alone,
When every one of you has toys of his own?
I often have told you before, my dear boys,
That I do not object to your making a noise;
Or running and jumping about, anyhow,
But fighting and mischief I cannot allow.
So, if any more of these quarrels are heard,
I tell you this once, and I'll keep to my word,
I'll take every marble, and spintop and ball,
And not let you play with each other at all.
Nurse's Song
When the voices of children are heard on the green,
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast,
And everything else is still.
"Then come home my children, the sun is gone down
And the dews of the night arise;
Come, come, leave off play, and let us away,
Till the morning appears in the skies."
"No, no, let us play, for it is yet day,
And we cannot go to sleep;
Besides in the sky the little birds fly,
And the hills are covered with sheep."
"Well, well, go and play till the light fades away,
And then go home to bed."
The little ones leaped, and shouted and laughed,
And all the hills echoed.
W. Blake

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