 | The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey |  |
“Do, mother, do!” the quick-eared urchins cried,
Two little lasses, to the father's side
Close clinging, as they looked from him, to spy
The answering language of the mother's eye.
There was denial, and she shook her head:
“Nay, nay—no harm will come to them,” she said,
“The mistress lets them off, these short dark days,
An hour the earlier; and our Liz, she says,
May quite be trusted—and I know 'tis true—
To take care of herself and Jenny too.
And so she ought—she seven come first of May,
Two years the oldest: and they give away
The Christmas bounty at the school to-day.”
Two little lasses, to the father's side
Close clinging, as they looked from him, to spy
The answering language of the mother's eye.
There was denial, and she shook her head:
“Nay, nay—no harm will come to them,” she said,
“The mistress lets them off, these short dark days,
An hour the earlier; and our Liz, she says,
May quite be trusted—and I know 'tis true—
To take care of herself and Jenny too.
And so she ought—she seven come first of May,
Two years the oldest: and they give away
The Christmas bounty at the school to-day.”
| The Poetical Works of Caroline Bowles Southey | |