THE LYTTEL BOY
SOME time there ben a lyttel boy
That wolde not renne and play,
And helpless like that little tyke
Ben allwais in the way.
“Goe, make you merrie with the rest,”
His weary moder cried;
But with a frown he catcht her gown
And hong untill her side.
That boy did love his moder well,
Which spake him faire, I ween;
He loved to stand and hold her hand
And ken her with his een;
His cosset bleated in the croft,
His toys unheeded lay,—
He wolde not goe, but, tarrying soe,
Ben allwais in the way.
Godde loveth children and doth gird
His throne with soche as these,
And he doth smile in plaisaunce while
They cluster at his knees;
And some time, when he looked on earth
And watched the bairns at play,
He kenned with joy a lyttel boy
Ben allwais in the way.
And then a moder felt her heart
How that it ben to-torne,
She kissed eche day till she ben gray
The shoon he use to worn;
No bairn let hold untill her gown
Nor played upon the floore,—
Godde’s was the joy; a lyttel boy
Ben in the way no more!
TEENY-WEENY
EVERY evening, after tea,
Teeny-Weeny comes to me,
And, astride my willing knee,
Plies his lash and rides away;
Though that palfrey, all too spare,
Finds his burden hard to bear,
Teeny-Weeny doesn’t care;
He commands, and I obey!
First it’s trot, and gallop then;
Now it’s back to trot again;
Teeny-Weeny likes it when
He is riding fierce and fast.
Then his dark eyes brighter grow
And his cheeks are all aglow:
“More!” he cries, and never “Whoa!”
Till the horse breaks down at last.
Oh, the strange and lovely sights
Teeny-Weeny sees of nights,
As he makes those famous flights
On that wondrous horse of his!
Oftentimes before he knows,
Wearylike his eyelids close,
And, still smiling, off he goes
Where the land of By-low is.
There he sees the folk of fay
Hard at ring-a-rosie play,
And he hears those fairies say:
“Come, let’s chase him to and fro!”
But, with a defiant shout,
Teeny puts that host to rout;
Of this tale I make no doubt,
Every night he tells it so.