Pretty Lessons in Verse for Good Children; with Some Lessons in Latin, in Easy Rhyme. By Sara Coleridge. The Fourth Edition, with Many Cuts |
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GOING TO BED. |
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 | Pretty Lessons in Verse |  |
48
GOING TO BED.
The heaven's bright eyes are beginning to blink,
And Cynthia's climbing the sky;
And Herbert to rest on his pillow must sink,
And shut up his merry young eye.
And Cynthia's climbing the sky;
And Herbert to rest on his pillow must sink,
And shut up his merry young eye.
If Herbert the land of the hills could behold,
What glories he'd view in the west!
Great Skiddaw, like amber, all molten with gold,
When Phœbus is sinking to rest.
What glories he'd view in the west!
Great Skiddaw, like amber, all molten with gold,
When Phœbus is sinking to rest.
The moon's silver bow and her bright beaming shield
Are equally fair to the sight;
But chill is the night air, and damp is the field,
Where lately you played with delight.
Are equally fair to the sight;
But chill is the night air, and damp is the field,
Where lately you played with delight.
And see the bright Rose, all surcharged with the dew,
Is heavily nodding her head;
In day time how deeply she blushed to the view—
How boldly her petals dispread!
Is heavily nodding her head;
In day time how deeply she blushed to the view—
How boldly her petals dispread!
49
Yon broad crimson Piony welcomes the shades,
That hide her from Phœbus awhile,
For splendour like her's all too speedily fades,
Exposed to his radiant smile.
That hide her from Phœbus awhile,
For splendour like her's all too speedily fades,
Exposed to his radiant smile.
The Tulip is folding her gay painted vest,
And closed is bright Marigold's eye;
Come, dear little boy, let us leave them to rest,
And say, till to-morrow, good bye.
And closed is bright Marigold's eye;
Come, dear little boy, let us leave them to rest,
And say, till to-morrow, good bye.
The Butterflies all have gone home long ago,
That flutter'd among the gay flowers;
Where their homes and their beds are we none of us know,
But perhaps they're as cozy as ours.
That flutter'd among the gay flowers;
Where their homes and their beds are we none of us know,
But perhaps they're as cozy as ours.
The Skylark that carolled so loud and so long,
The Linnet that sang from the hill,
The Blackbird and Throstle, have ended their song,
Each quivering pinion is still.
The Linnet that sang from the hill,
The Blackbird and Throstle, have ended their song,
Each quivering pinion is still.
The hooting old Owl may delight in the dark;
He's dull when the heavens look blue;
But Herbert should rise with the Linnet and Lark,
And so he must rest with them too.
He's dull when the heavens look blue;
But Herbert should rise with the Linnet and Lark,
And so he must rest with them too.
50
The Tiger prowls forth by some Indian stream,
His eyes in the twilight are flashing;
He howls at the moon in the watery gleam—
Their teeth fell Hyænas are gnashing.
His eyes in the twilight are flashing;
He howls at the moon in the watery gleam—
Their teeth fell Hyænas are gnashing.
But our happy land from such monsters is free,
In England they've never a nook;
Their pictures my Herbert takes pleasure to see—
But now let us shut up the book.
In England they've never a nook;
Their pictures my Herbert takes pleasure to see—
But now let us shut up the book.
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