The sailor he sails the sea:

I wish he would capture a little sea-horse And send him home to me.

I wish, as he sails

Through the tropical gales,
He would catch me a sea-bird, too,
With its silver wings

And the song it sings,

And its breast of down and dew!

I wish he would catch me a

Little mermaid,

Some island where he lands,

With her dripping curls,

And her crown of pearls,

And the looking-glass in her hands!

Sail far o'er the fabulous main!

And if I were a sailor,

I'd sail with you,

Though I never sailed back again.
James Whitcomb Riley.

The Land of Story-Books*
At evening when the lamp is lit,
Around the fire my parents sit;
They sit at home and talk and sing,
And do not play at anything.

Now, with my little gun, I crawl
All in the dark along the wall,

And follow round the forest track

Away behind the sofa back.

There, in the night, where none can spy,

All in my hunter's camp I lie,

And play at books that I have read

Till it is time to go to bed.

These are the hills, these are the woods,

These are my starry solitudes;

And there the river by whose brink

The roaring lions come to drink.

*From "A Child's Garden of Verses," by Robert Louis Stevenson. By permission of Charles Scribner's Sons.

I see the others far away

As if in firelit camp they lay,
And I, like to an Indian scout,
Around their party prowled about.

So, when my nurse comes in for me,
Home I return across the sea,
And go to bed with backward looks
At my dear land of Story-books.

Robert Louis Stevenson.

The City Child

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?

"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones, Roses and lilies and Canterbury bells."

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?

"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,

Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Going into Breeches

Joy to Philip! he this day
Has his long coats cast away,
And (the childish season gone)
Put the manly breeches on.
Officer on gay parade,

Red-coat in his first cockade,
Bridegroom in his wedding-trim,
Birthday beau surpassing him,
Never did with conscious gait
Strut about in half the state
Or the pride (yet free from sin)
Of my little MANIKIN:

Never was there pride or bliss

Half so rational as his.

Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em,
Philip's limbs have got their freedom-
He can run, or he can ride,
And do twenty things beside,
Which his petticoats forbade;
Is he not a happy lad?

Now he's under other banners

He must leave his former manners;
Bid adieu to female games

And forget their very names;
Puss-in-corners, hide-and-seek,
Sports for girls and punies weak!

Baste-the-bear he now may play at;
Leap-frog, foot-ball sport away at;
Show his skill and strength at cricket,
Mark his distance, pitch his wicket;
Run about in winter's snow
Till his cheeks and fingers glow;
Climb a tree or scale a wall
Without any fear to fall.
If he get a hurt or bruise,
To complain he must refuse,
Though the anguish and the smart
Go unto his little heart;

He must have his courage ready,
Keep his voice and visage steady;
Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum,
That a tear may never come;
And his grief must only speak
From the colour in his cheek.
This and more he must endure,
Hero he in miniature.

This and more must now be done,

Now the breeches are put on.

Charles and Mary Lamb.