Rhymes and jingles by Mary Mapes Dodge

If I were a boy again,—ah, me!—
How very, very good I'd be!
I would not sulk, I would not cry,
I'd scorn to coax for cake or pie.
I would not cause Mamma distress,
I'd never hate to wash and dress.
I'd rather learn a task than play,
And ne'er from school I'd run away.
I'd any time my jack-knife lend,
And share my toys with every friend.
I'd gladly go to bed at six,
And never be “as cross as sticks.”
I'd run with joy to take a pill,
And mustard wear whenever ill.
I'd never wish to skate or swim,
But wisely think of dangers grim.
And, oh, I'd never, just for fun,
Beg to go hunting with a gun!

At every naughty thing I did—
For mischief might be somewhere hid—
I'd drop at once upon my knees,
And say, “Dear Teacher, flog me, please.”

It's easy to be good, you see,
When looking back from sixty-three.

FAIR PLAY

One twilight hour,—well, long ago,
Some Katydids—
Yes, Katydids—
Assembled in the linden row,
'Mid buzzing things of many kinds,
To ease their puzzled little minds,
Just Katydids?
Yes, Katydids.

Then one most gravely raised his head,
And to his nimble comrades said:
“Now, brothers, in this peaceful spot,
We'll see if Katy did or not.
Let us take up the case with zest,
Decide the point, then let it rest.
No frank opinion need be hid;
And, as for me, I think she did.”

Convincing argument ensued,
Though none would willingly be rude.
Each an opinion firm expressed,
In strong yet simple language dressed:

“Katy did!”
“Katy didn't!”
“Katy did!”
“Katy didn't!”

We threw our summer casement wide;
Nothing we saw (how well they hide!)
But softly through the listening night
Still came those arguments polite:

“Katy did!”
“Katy didn't!”
“Katy did!”
“Katy! didn't!”

We felt through all the tumult fine
That sounding order: “Comrades mine
Let each be heard. Speak freely, friends!
Debate, when honest, never ends.
No frank opinion need be hid;
And, as for me, I think she did.”

Soft sighed the breeze, and starlight grew;
Our lighted casement blinked, we knew;
And still we smiled, and let it in—
That softly shrill, persistent din;
That undertone: “Speak freely, friends!
Debate, when honest, never ends.”

Ah! was it so?
Not girls? O-h! Oh!
Not boys? Well, no!
But Katydids—
Just Katydids!

[Fire in the window! flashes in the pane!]

Fire in the window! flashes in the pane!
Fire on the roof-top! blazing weather-vane!
Turn about, weather-vane! put the fire out!
The sun's going down, sir, I haven't a doubt.

Bye Baby Night is Come

Bye, baby, day is over,
Bees are drowsing in the clover,
Bye, baby, bye!
Now the sun to bed is gliding,
All the pretty flowers are hiding;
Bye, baby, bye!

Bye, baby, birds are sleeping;
One by one the stars are peeping;
Bye, baby, bye!
In the far-off sky they twinkle—
While the cows come “tinkle, tinkle;”
Bye, baby, bye!

Bye, baby, mother holds thee;
Loving, tender care enfolds thee;
Bye, baby, bye!
Angels in thy dreams caress thee!
Through the darkness guard and bless thee!
Bye, baby, bye!

[Oh, no!]

Oh, no!
'Tis n't so!
Papa's watch
Won't go?

It must go—
Guess I know!
Last night
I wound it tight,
And greased it nice
With camphor-ice.

Let's Play

Last summer, on a cloudy day
I heard two youngsters plan their play:

WILLIE:
“Let's play that you're a lion,
And I'm a little chap
You, fierce and strong, a-watching,
I, going to take a nap.
And when I've shut my eyes, Ben,
You'll steal close up to me—”

BEN:
‘And as to what will happen next
Why just you wait and see!”

This settled, Ben stole, crouching,
Into a “thicket deep,”
Ready to spring when Willie
Should “play he was asleep.”

When, suddenly, with livid gleam,
A roar of thunder broke,
And Willie, terrified, sprang up,—
Indignant at the joke.

“You shouldn't flash your eyes like that!
You shouldn't roar and bawl!—”
And, to this day, poor Willie thinks
The “lion” did it all!

Little Jo's Compliment

Once in a lifetime something comes
So cheery and bright that it really hums;
Sweet to remember as years go by,
With joy and love in it: that is why.

You see it was this way: Little Jo,
My own dear darling from top to toe,
Not because of a way she had—
Not because she was good or bad—
Or anything charmingly so and so,
But only just because she was Jo—
Well, she and I one beautiful day
Were watching some merry children play.
'Twas a romping, gay, light-hearted band;
But Baby Jo slipped her little hand
In mine, and whispered: “Now, couldn't we go
Somewhere and play by ourselves, you know?
They're nice and good, but you and me—
Our play is so diff'rent, don't you see!”

Whether young or old, when you start to play
With a little tot, you should feel “her way.”
And so I did. Years were quite forgot.
I was six to her six—yet, six to a dot.
And when she added: “They're happy. Let's run!”
We slipped away, and we had great fun.

And that was all. But now you know
Why I was made happy by little Jo.
For she without knowing all it meant
Had paid me a precious compliment.

The Pensive Cricket.

One cold November morning,
All gay companions scorning,
A pensive cricket sought
In melancholy thought
His woes to stifle.
“Alas! alas!” cried he,
“Ah woe, ah woe is me!
I really do not see
Why I should be
So melan-melancholy. Ah me!
Let's see.”

He thought, and thought, and thought,—
That cricket did.
“It is not love nor care,
That fills me with despair.
My chirp is sharp and sweet,
And nimble are my feet;
My appetite is good,
And bountiful my food;
My coat is smooth and bright;
My wings are free and light,—
Then ah, and oh, ah me!
What can the matter be?”

Long time the cricket sighed,
And muttered low: “Confound it!”
Then joyfully he cried:
“Eureka! Oh, Eureka!”
By which he meant, “I've found it”—
The learned little shrieker.
“It is—ah well-a-day!
Because my girl's away,
My nimble, dimble Dolly,
My cheery, deary Polly.
Oh, queen of little girls!
I like her sunny curls;
I like her eyes and hair,
Her funny little stare,
Her way of jumping quick
Whene'er she hears me click.
She's loving and she's neat,
She's spry and true and sweet;
And though I caper free,
She never steps on me.

“Kee-nick! kee-nick!
Ker-tick! a-tick!
And now the thought has come,
To-morrow she'll be home!
My Polly, Polly, Polly,
My nimble, dimble Dolly!
I'll dance to-night
In the bright moonlight,

To-morrow I'll see Polly!—
Tra la! How very jolly!”

Next night the house with pleasure rang;
For Polly-girl had come;
The cricket on the hearthstone sang,
And home once more was home.

[When I am big, I mean to buy]

When I am big, I mean to buy
A dozen platters of pumpkin-pie,
A barrel of nuts, to have 'em handy,
And fifty pounds of sugar-candy.

When I am big, I mean to wear
A long-tailed-coat, and crop my hair;
I'll buy a paper, and read the news,
And sit up late whenever I choose.

ELFIN JACK the Giant Killer

Do not think the story
Of the giant-killer's glory
Is known and cherished only by yourselves,
O, my dears;
For his deeds so daring,
And his trick of scaring
All his foes, are quite familiar to the elves,
It appears.

In the starlight tender—
In the moonlight's splendor
Do they gather and recount every deed,
It is said;
How he met a hornet,
Who was playing on a cornet,
Out of tune; and he slew him with a reed,—
Slew him dead!

How, growing ever bolder,
With his reed upon his shoulder,
And an acorn-shield upon his little arm,
Well equipped—
He sought a mighty giant,
Who was known as “Worm, the Pliant,”
And after giving battle, fierce and warm,
Left him whipped.

How he saw a spider
With her victim, dead beside her,
Told her, in a voice of fury, to begone
From his sight;
How he killed her when she'd risen
To her cruel, fatal prison,
And nobly freed her captives, so forlorn,—
Gallant knight!

Ah, but the elves are proudest,
And ring his praises loudest,
When telling of a snail, grim and hoary,
In his mail.
With those fearful horns before him,
Jack gallantly upbore him,
And killed him with a thrust (to his glory)
In the tail!

List in the starlight tender,—
List in the moonlight's splendor,—
For a whirring, like hurrahing, in the glen,
Far and near.
'Tis the elves who, looking back
To their giant-killer, Jack,
Tell his story to each other,—funny men!
With a cheer.

TROUBLED

If it were not for fairies, this world would be drear;
(I'm sure there are fairies,—heigh-ho!)
The grass would not tangle,
The bluebells would jangle,
The days would be stupid and queer, you know,
And everything dull if the fairies should go.
(I'm sure they are true,—heigh-ho!)

I love to believe in the godmother's mice,
And Hop-o'-my-Thumb, heigh-ho!
And it's cruel in Willy
To call me a silly.
If brothers would only be nice, you know,
Not tease and make fun, all my troubles would go,—
I'd believe in the fairies forever,—heigh-ho!

[A black-nosed kitten will slumber all the day]

A black-nosed kitten will slumber all the day;
A white-nosed kitten is ever glad to play;
A yellow-nosed kitten will answer to your call;
And a gray-nosed kitten I wouldn't have at all!

[Don't trust Chatter, who whispers low]

Don't trust Chatter, who whispers low,
And tells you stories of Prue and Joe.
Be sure when she whispers to Joe and Prue,
She'll tell them many a tale of you.

[Here's plenty of shells and clay and water]

Here's plenty of shells and clay and water,
Make me some country pies, my daughter.”
“Oh! yes, mamma—and the sun is hot,
I can heat my oven as well as not.
If you will take, why, I will make—
Pit 'em and pat 'em and set 'em to bake.”

Little Charley

What is coming? Something bright.
It fills the doorway with its light;
It thrills the room with music sweet
Of laugh and prattle and little feet;
It makes it bloom like a garden bed
With white and blue and yellow and red;
It covers the wall with pictures made
Of every moment's light and shade,
And heightens all the sunlit air
With dancing eyes and flowing hair,
Bidding our hearts sing out with joy—
And yet it's only a little boy,
Only our little Charley.

Making it Skip

“I'll make it skip!”
Cried Harry, seizing a bit of stone.
And, in a trice, from our Harry's hand,
With scarce a dip,
Over the water it danced alone,
While we were watching it from the land—
Skip! skip! skip!

“I'll make it skip!”
Now, somehow, that is our Harry's way:
He takes little troubles that vex one so,
Not worth a flip,
And makes them seem to frolic and play
Just by his way of making them go
Skip! skip! skip!

Hark my Children

Hark! hark! O my children, hark!
When the sky has lost its blue
What do the stars sing in the dark?
“We must sparkle, sparkle, through.”

What do leaves say in the storm,
Tossed in whispering heaps, together?
“We can keep the violets warm
'Till they wake in fairer weather.”

What do happy songsters say,
Flitting through the gloomy wood?
“We must sing the gloom away—
Sun or shadow, God is good.”

[Wind for the tree-top, sun for the spear]

Wind for the tree-top, sun for the spear;
Johnny will be a big boy in a year.
When he is big he can battle the storm;
While he is little, we'll wrap him up warm.

FARM LESSONS

“Ho! plowman Kelly! How does it feel
To get in a wagon by climbing the wheel?”
“Nay, nay, little master, don't try it, I beg,
For that is the way that I broke my leg.”

“Kelly, Kelly! Come, show me the way
They turn this machine when they cut the hay!”
“No, no, little master, just let it be—
That hay-cutter cut off my thumb for me.”

“Ho, Kelly! The well-curb is rimmed with moss.
Now look at me while I jump across!”
“Hold, hold, young master! 'Twould be a sin!
I tried it once, and I tumbled in.”

“Kelly, Kelly! Send me to jail,
But I'll pluck a hair from yon pony's tail.”
“Oh, master, master! Come back! Don't try—
That's the very way that I lost my eye.”

“Why, Kelly, man, how under the sun
Can you be so frisky and full of fun?—
With all your mishaps, you are never a spoon—
You're as brave as a lion and wise as a coon.”

“Well, well, young master, maybe it's so,
And maybe it isn't. But this I know:
It just brings trouble and mischief and slaughter,
To be fussin' around where one hadn't ought ter.”

STOCKING SONG ON CHRISTMAS EVE

Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Here we wait thee in a row.
Come, good Santa Claus, we beg,—
Fill us tightly, foot and leg.

Fill us quickly ere you go,—
Fill us till we overflow.
That's the way! and leave us more
Heaped in piles upon the floor.

Little feet that ran all day
Twitch in dreams of merry play;
Little feet that jumped at will
Lie all pink, and warm, and still.

See us, how we lightly swing;
Hear us, how we try to sing.
Welcome, Christmas! heel and toe,
Come and fill us ere you go.

Here we hang till some one nimbly
Jumps with treasure down the chimney.
Bless us! how he'll tickle us!
Funny old St. Nicholas!

BELLE AND THE SILVER DISH-COVER

“O mamma! look,” cried little Belle Dreer;
“There's a girl in the cover like me;
And whenever I move she looks so queer;
It's so funny—I never did see!

“Why, she makes a face if I turn my cheek;
She makes a face if I wink.
Oh! her hair runs off, and she tries to speak;
Why, she's frightened at me, I think!

“Come out, little girl, and see my doll;
Come out of the shine and play.
I haven't a bit of a sister at all,
And my dolly is sick to-day.

“My dolly is sick, and my book is torn,
And my hair will have to be curled;
And mother is reading. It's real forlorn
To be all alone in the world.

“Come out, little girl. Oh! I wish you would
[You mustn't make faces that way.]
I'd lift you out of the shine if I could,
And play with you all the whole day.”

Snow, Snow, Everywhere!

Snow, snow, everywhere!
Snow on frozen mountain peak,
Snow on Flippit's sunny hair,
Snowflakes melting on his cheek.
Snow, snow, wherever you go,
Shifting, drifting, driving snow.

But Flippit does not care a pin,
It's Winter without and Summer within,
So, tumble the flakes, or rattle the storm,
He breathes on his fingers and keeps them warm.

March

In the snowing and the blowing,
In the cruel sleet,
Little flowers begin their growing
Far beneath our feet.
Softly taps the Spring, and cheerly,—
“Darlings, are you here?”
Till they answer, “We are nearly,
Nearly ready, dear.”

“Where is Winter, with his snowing?
Tell us, Spring,” they say.
Then she answers, “He is going,
Going on his way.
Poor old Winter does not love you;
But his time is past;
Soon my birds shall sing above you,—
Set you free at last.”

Snow

Little white feathers,
Filling the air—
Little white feathers!
How came ye there?
“We came from the cloud-birds
Sailing so high;
They're shaking their white wings
Up in the sky.”

Little white feathers,
How swift you go!
Little white snowflakes,
I love you so!
“We are swift because
We have work to do;
But hold up your face,
And we'll kiss you true.”

University of Virginia Library

Going to London

Looking Back

By “Deacon Green.”