Page 171—Moo Moo Land

The Cowboy's Song
"Mooly cow, mooly cow,
Home from the wood
They sent me to fetch you
As fast as I could.
The sun has gone down—
It is time to go home,
Mooly cow, mooly cow,
Why don't you come?
Your udders are full,
And the milkmaid is there,
And the children are all waiting,
Their suppers to share.
I have let the long bars down—
Why don't you pass thro'"
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow,
Have you not been
Regaling all day
Where the pastures are green?
No doubt it was pleasant,
Dear Mooly, to see
The clear running brook
And the wide-spreading tree,
The clover to crop,
And the streamlet to wade,
To drink the cool water
And lie in the shade;
But now it is night—
They are waiting for you."
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow,
Where do you go
When all the green pastures
Are covered in with snow?
You can go to the barn,
And we feed you with hay,
And the maid goes to milk
You there, every day;
She pats you, she loves you,
She strokes your sleek hide,
She speaks to you kindly,
And sits by your side:
Then come along home,
Pretty Mooly cow, do."
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
"Mooly cow, mooly cow,
Whisking your tail
The milkmaid is waiting,
I say, with her pail;
She tucks up her petticoats,
Tidy and neat,
And places the three-legged
Stool for her seat.
What can you be staring at,
Mooly? You know
That we ought to have gone
Home an hour ago.
How dark it is growing!
O, what shall I do?"
The mooly cow only said, "Moo-o-o!"
That Calf
To the yard, by the barn,
Came the farmer one morn,
And calling the cattle, he said,
While they trembled with fright:
"Now which of you, last night,
Shut the barn door while I was abed?"
Each one of them all shook his head.
Now the little calf Spot,
She was down in the lot,
And the way the rest talked was a shame;
For no one, night before,
Saw her shut up the door;
But they said that she did, all the same,
For they always made her take the blame.
Said the horse (dapple gray),
"I was not up that way
Last night, as I recollect;"
And the bull, passing by,
Tossed his horns very high,
And said, "Let who may be here object,
I say this, that calf I suspect.
Then out spoke the cow,
"It is terrible now,
To accuse honest folks of such tricks."
Said the cock in the tree,
"I'm sure 'twasn't me;"
And the sheep all cried, "Bah! (there were six)
Now that calf's got herself in a fix."
"Why, of course we all knew
'Twas the wrong thing to do,"
Said the chickens. "Of course," said the cat.
"I suppose," cried the mule,
Some folks think me a fool,
But I'm not quite as simple as that;
The poor calf never knows what she's at."
Just that moment, the calf,
Who was always the laugh
And the jest of the yard, came in sight.
"Did you shut my barn door?"
Asked the farmer once more,
"I did, sir, I closed it last night,"
Said the calf; "and I thought that was right."
Then each one shook his head,
"She will catch it," they cried,
"Serves her right for her meddlesome ways."
Said the farmer, "Come here,
Little bossy, my dear,
You have done what I cannot repay,
And your fortune is made from to-day.
"For a wonder, last night,
I forgot the door quite,
And if you had not shut it so neat,
All my colts had slipped in,
And gone right to the bin,
And got what they ought not to eat,
They'd have founded themselves on wheat."
The each hoof of them
All began to loudly to bawl,
The very mule smiled, the cock crew;
"Little Spotty, my dear,
You're a favourite here,"
They cried, "we all said it was you,
We were so glad to give you your due."
And the calf answered knowingly, "Boo!"
Phoebe Cary

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Page 172—Baa Baa Land

The Lost Lamb
Storm upon the mountain,
Rainy torrents beating,
And the little snow-white lamb,
Bleating, ever bleating!
Storm upon the mountain,
Night upon its throne,
And the little snow-white lamb,
Left alone, alone!
Down the glen the shepherd
Drives his flock afar;
Through the murky mist and cloud,
Shines no beacon star.
Fast he hurries onward,
Never hears the moan
Of the pretty snow-white lamb,
Left alone, alone!
Up the glen he races,
Breasts the bitter wind,
Scours across the plain, and leaves
Wood and wold behind;—
Storm upon the mountain,
Night upon its throne—
There he finds the little lamb,
Left alone, alone!
Struggling, panting, sobbing,
Kneeling on the ground,
Round the pretty creature's neck
Both his arms were wound;
Soon, within his bosom,
All its bleatings done,
Home he bears the little lamb,
Left alone, alone!
Oh! the happy faces,
By the shepherd's fire!
High without the tempest roars,
But the laugh rings higher,
Young and old together
Make that joy their own—
In their midst the little lamb,
Left alone, alone!
T. Westwood