Mamma gave us a single Peach,
She shar'd it among seven;
Now you may think that unto each
But a small piece was given.
Yet though each share was very small,
We own'd when it was eaten,
Being so little for us all
Did its fine flavour heighten.
The tear was in our parent's eye,
It seem'd quite out of season;
When we ask'd wherefore she did cry,
She thus explain'd the reason.
"The cause, my children, I may say,
Was joy, and not dejection;
The Peach, which made you all so gay,
Gave rise to this reflection:
"It's many a mother's lot to share,
Seven hungry children viewing,
A morsel of the coarsest fare,
As I this Peach was doing."
CHUSING A NAME
I have got a new-born sister;
I was nigh the first that kiss'd her.
When the nursing woman brought her
To Papa, his infant daughter,
How Papa's dear eyes did glisten!—
She will shortly be to christen:
And Papa has made the offer,
I shall have the naming of her.
Now I wonder what would please her,
Charlotte, Julia, or Louisa.
Ann and Mary, they're too common;
Joan's too formal for a woman;
Jane's a prettier name beside;
But we had a Jane that died.
They would say, if 'twas Rebecca,
That she was a little Quaker,
Edith's pretty, but that looks
Better in old English books;
Ellen's left off long ago;
Blanche is out of fashion now.
None that I have nam'd as yet
Are so good as Margaret.
Emily is neat and fine.
What do you think of Caroline?
How I'm puzzled and perplext
What to chuse or think of next!
I am in a little fever.
Lest the name that I shall give her
Should disgrace her or defame her
I will leave Papa to name her.
CRUMBS TO THE BIRDS
A bird appears a thoughtless thing,
He's ever living on the wing,
And keeps up such a carolling,
That little else to do but sing
A man would guess had he.