Cole's Funny Picture Book No. 1
When grass and weeds fail.
"And then a warm cover
They always provide,
Dear madam, to shelter
Your delicate hide,
For my own part, I know
I receive much from man,
And for him, in return,
I do all I can."
The cow, upon this,
Cast her eyes on the grass,
Not pleas'd at thus being
Reproved by an ass,
Yet, thought she, "I'm determined
I'll benefit by't,
For I really believe
That the fellow is right."
Jane Taylor
The Cow
Come, children, listen to me now,
And you will hear about the cow;
You'll find her useful, alive or dead,
Whether she's black, or white, or red.
When milkmaids milk her morn and night
She gives them milk so fresh and white,
And this we, little children, think
Is very nice for us to drink.
The curdled milk they press and squeeze,
And so they make it into cheese;
The cream they skim and shake in churns,
And then it soon to butter turns.
And when she's dead, her flesh is good,
For beef is a very wholesome food,
But though 'twill make us brave and strong,
To eat too much, you know, is wrong.
Her skin, with lime and bark together,
The tanner tans, and makes into leather,
And without that, what should we do
For soles of every boot and shoe?
The shoemaker cuts it with his knife
And bound the tops are by his wife;
And so they nail them to the last,
And then they stitch them tight and fast.
The hair that grows upon her back
Is taken, whether white or black,
And mix'd with plaster, short or long,
Which makes it very firm and strong.
And, last of all, if cut with care,
Her horns make combs to comb our hair;
And so we learn--thanks to our teachers--
That cows are very useful creatures.
[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
[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
The Pet Lamb
The dew was falling fast,
The stars began to blink;
I heard a voice; it said,
"Drink, pretty creature, drink!"
And looking o'er the hedge
Before me I espied
A snow-white mountain lamb,
With a maiden by its side.
Nor sheep nor kine were near;
The lamb was all alone,
And by a slender cord
Was tethered to a stone;
With one knee on the grass
Did the little maiden kneel,
While to this mountain lamb.
She gave its evening meal.
"What ails thee, young one; what?
Why pull so at thy cord?
Is it not well with thee?
Well both for bed and board?
Thy plot of grass is soft,
And green as grass can be;
Rest, little young one, rest;
What is't that aileth thee?
"What is it thou would'st seek?
What is wanting to thy heart?
Thy limbs, are they not strong?
And beautiful thou art.
This grass is tender grass;
These flowers they have no peers;
And that green corn all day long
Is rustling in they ears!
"Rest little young one, rest;
Hast thou forgot the day
Why my father found the first
In places far away;
Many flocks were on the hills,
But thou wert owned by none,
And thy mother from thy side
For evermore was gone.
"He took thee in his arms,
And in pity brought thee home;
Oh! blessed day for thee!
Then whither would'st thou roam?
A faithful nurse thou hast;
The dam that did the yean
Upon the mountain top
No kinder could have been.
"Thou know'st that thrice a day
I have brought thee in this can
Fresh water from the brook,
As clear as ever ran.
And twice, too, in the day,
When the ground is wet with dew,
I bring thee draughts of milk--
Warm milk it is, and new.
"Here, then, thou need'st not dread
The raven in the sky;
Night and day thou'rt safe;
Our cottage is hard by.
Why bleat so after me?
Why pull so at thy chain?
Sleep, and at break of day,
I will come to thee again."
Wordsworth
A Visit to the Lambs
Mother, let's go and see the lambs;
This warm and sunny day
I think must make them very glad,
And full of fun and play.
Ah, there they are. You pretty things!
Now, don't you run away;
I'm come on purpose, that I am,
To see you this fine day.
What pretty little heads you've got,
And such good-natured eyes!
And ruff of wool all round your necks--
How nicely curl'd it lies!
Come here, my little lambkin, come,
And lick my hand--now do!
How silly to be so afraid!
Indeed I won't hurt you.
Just put your hand upon its back,
Mother, how nice and warm!
There, pretty lamb, you see I don't
Intend to do you harm.
Easy Poetry
[Page 173--Baa Baa Land]
The Pet Lamb
Once on a time, a shepherd lived
Within a cottage small;
The grey thatched roof was shaded by
An elm-tree dark and tall;
While all around, stretched far away,
A wild and lonesome moor,
Except a little daisied field
Before the trellised door.
Now, it was on a cold March day,
When on the moorland wide
The shepherd found a trembling lamb
By its mother's side;
And so pitiful it bleated,
As with the cold it shook,
He wrapped it up beneath his coat,
And home the poor lamb took.
He placed it by the warm fireside,
And then his children fed
This little lamb, whose mother died,
With milk and sweet brown bread,
Until it ran about the floor,
Or at the door would stand;
And grew so tame, it ate its food
From out the children's hand.
It followed them where'er they went,
Came ever at their call,
And dearly was this pretty lamb
Beloved by them all.
And often on a market-day,
When cotters crossed the moor,
They stopped to praise the snow-white lamb,
Beside the cottage door;
They patted it upon its head,
And stroked it with the hand,
And vowed it was the prettiest lamb
They'd seen in all the land.
Now, this kind shepherd was as ill,
As ill as he could be,
And kept his bed for many a week,
And nothing earned he;
And when he had got well again,