THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE.

When I was sick and lay abed,

I had two pillows at my head,

And all my toys beside me lay

To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so

I watched my leaden soldiers go,

With different uniforms and drills,

Among the bedclothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets

All up and down among the sheets;

Or brought my trees and houses out,

And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still,

That sits upon the pillow-hill,

And sees before him, dale and plain,

The pleasant land of counterpane.

—Robert Louis Stevenson.

There’s a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree,

“He’s singing to me! He’s singing to me!”

And what does he say, little girl, little boy?

“Oh, the world’s running over with joy!

Don’t you hear? Don’t you see?

Hush! Look! In my tree,

I’m as happy as happy can be!”

And the brown thrush keeps singing, “A nest do you see,

And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree?

Don’t meddle! Don’t touch! little girl, little boy,

Or the world will lose some of its joy!

Now I’m glad! Now I’m free!

And I always shall be,

If you never bring sorrow to me.”

So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree,

To you and to me, to you and to me:

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy,

“Oh, the world’s running over with joy!

But long it won’t be,

Don’t you know? don’t you see?

Unless we are as good as can be!”

—Lucy Larcom.