 | Snow-berries. A book for young folks |  |
A FISHERMAN.
A fisherman leaned on a clapboard gate
He was often used to pass;
'T was sunset, and two little boys
Were playing on the grass.
He was often used to pass;
'T was sunset, and two little boys
Were playing on the grass.
91
The watchdog by the door-stone sat,
And bayed the rising moon,
And the mother milked her cow and sung
An old and pleasant tune.
And bayed the rising moon,
And the mother milked her cow and sung
An old and pleasant tune.
The children left their play and ran,
And, leaning on her knee,
She milked the milk into their mouths,
Laughing with girlish glee.
And, leaning on her knee,
She milked the milk into their mouths,
Laughing with girlish glee.
And as she carried her frothy pail
Slow to the rustic door,
One little one held at her skirt behind,
And the other one before.
Slow to the rustic door,
One little one held at her skirt behind,
And the other one before.
She stopped, and hugging both their heads
Against her loving breast,
They looked like two bright little birds
A-peeping from one nest.
Against her loving breast,
They looked like two bright little birds
A-peeping from one nest.
The sunburnt fisher went his way,
Sighing, alas, alas!
It was not for the little boys
That played upon the grass.
Sighing, alas, alas!
It was not for the little boys
That played upon the grass.
And when he came where cold gray stones
Were standing, many a pair,
He put his net from his shoulder down,—
His little boy was there.
Were standing, many a pair,
He put his net from his shoulder down,—
His little boy was there.
| Snow-berries. A book for young folks | |