And he thinks it no great matter at all
If a little boy runs and jumps and climbs;
And Mamma should be willing to let me crawl
Through the bannister-rails, in the hall, sometimes.
And Bridget, she made a great mistake,
In stirring up such a bother, you see,
For the Bishop—he didn't care for cake,
And really liked to play games with me.
But though he's so honoured in words and act—
(Stoop down, for this is a secret now)—
He couldn't spell Boston! That's a fact!
But whispered to me to tell him how.
Emily Huntington Miller.
* * * * *
HANNAH BINDING SHOES.
Poor lone Hannah,
Sitting at the window, binding shoes!
Faded, wrinkled,
Sitting, stitching, in a mournful muse.
Bright-eyed beauty once was she,
When the bloom was on the tree;—
Spring and winter,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Not a neighbour
Passing, nod or answer will refuse
To her whisper,
"Is there from the fishers any news?"
Oh, her heart's adrift with one
On an endless voyage gone;—
Night and morning,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.
Fair young Hannah,
Ben the sunburnt fisher, gaily woos;
Hale and clever,
For a willing heart and hand he sues
May-day skies are all aglow,
And the waves are laughing so!
For her wedding
Hannah leaves her window and her shoes.
May is passing;
'Mid the apple-boughs a pigeon coos;
Hannah shudders,
For the wild south-wester mischief brews.
Round the rocks of Marblehead,
Outward bound a schooner sped;
Silent, lonesome,
Hannah's at the window, binding shoes.