 | Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds |  |
THE MORNING'S TASK.
“Sit to your books,” the father said,
“Nor play nor trifle, laugh nor talk;
And when at noon you've spelt and read,
I'll take you all a pleasant walk.”
He left the room, the boys sat still,
Each gravely bent upon his task;
Except the youngest, little Will,
Who yet of this and that would ask.
“Nor play nor trifle, laugh nor talk;
And when at noon you've spelt and read,
I'll take you all a pleasant walk.”
He left the room, the boys sat still,
Each gravely bent upon his task;
Except the youngest, little Will,
Who yet of this and that would ask.
“I've lost my ball,” the prattler cried,
“Has either of you seen my ball?”
“Pray mind your book,” young Charles replied;
“Your noisy talk disturbs us all.
Remember now what we were told,
The time, I warn you, Will, draws near.”
“And what care I?” said Will, so bold;
“I shall be ready, never fear.”
“Has either of you seen my ball?”
“Pray mind your book,” young Charles replied;
“Your noisy talk disturbs us all.
Remember now what we were told,
The time, I warn you, Will, draws near.”
“And what care I?” said Will, so bold;
“I shall be ready, never fear.”
108
He spun his top, he smacked his whip,
At marbles also he would play,
And round the room he chose to skip,
And thus his moments slipt away.
But at the window what comes in?
A dazzling painted butterfly!
“A prize! a prize which I must win!”
Young William loud is heard to cry.
At marbles also he would play,
And round the room he chose to skip,
And thus his moments slipt away.
But at the window what comes in?
A dazzling painted butterfly!
“A prize! a prize which I must win!”
Young William loud is heard to cry.
Quick on the table up he leaps,
Then on the chairs and sofa springs;
Now here, now there, he softly creeps,
And now his books and hat he flings.
The brilliant insect fluttered round,
And out again it gaily flew!
Then through the window, with a bound,
Will jumped, and said, “I'll soon have you.”
Then on the chairs and sofa springs;
Now here, now there, he softly creeps,
And now his books and hat he flings.
The brilliant insect fluttered round,
And out again it gaily flew!
Then through the window, with a bound,
Will jumped, and said, “I'll soon have you.”
From flower to flower the boy it led,
While he pursued the pretty thing:
A way it sprang from bed to bed,
Now sipping dew, now on the wing.
Then to the fields it took its flight:
He thought the prize was worth the chase
O'er hedge and ditch with all his might,
He followed still the pleasing race.
While he pursued the pretty thing:
A way it sprang from bed to bed,
Now sipping dew, now on the wing.
Then to the fields it took its flight:
He thought the prize was worth the chase
O'er hedge and ditch with all his might,
He followed still the pleasing race.
109
To catch it he was much perplexed,
The insect now he sees no more;
While standing thus confounded, vexed,
He hears the village clock strike four.
Towards home he hastens at the sound,
All shame, surprise, and fear, and doubt:
Sisters, nor brothers, could be found:
He asks, and hears they're all gone out.
The insect now he sees no more;
While standing thus confounded, vexed,
He hears the village clock strike four.
Towards home he hastens at the sound,
All shame, surprise, and fear, and doubt:
Sisters, nor brothers, could be found:
He asks, and hears they're all gone out.
With sorrow struck, when this was told,
He wept, and down in sadness sat:
Now o'er the stones a carriage rolled,
And at the door came—rat, tat, tat.
Then from the coach the girls and boys
Stepped out, all smiling, pleased, and gay,
And books, and dolls, and pretty toys,
Bats, ninepins, hoops, and kites had they.
He wept, and down in sadness sat:
Now o'er the stones a carriage rolled,
And at the door came—rat, tat, tat.
Then from the coach the girls and boys
Stepped out, all smiling, pleased, and gay,
And books, and dolls, and pretty toys,
Bats, ninepins, hoops, and kites had they.
“Ah, William!” then the father said,
“Come hither, child; but wherefore cry?
Why droop your face, why hang your head?
Where is the pretty butterfly?
I kept my promise, home I came,
According to my first intent;
You broke your word, and yours the shame,
And we, without you, shopping went.”
“Come hither, child; but wherefore cry?
Why droop your face, why hang your head?
Where is the pretty butterfly?
I kept my promise, home I came,
According to my first intent;
You broke your word, and yours the shame,
And we, without you, shopping went.”
| Jane and Ann Taylor: Original Poems for Infant Minds | |