« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »
I have a little looking-glass upon my parlour shelf,
If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold yourself."
"I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say,
And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day."
The Spider turn'd him round about, and went into his den,
For well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again :
So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly,
Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing;
Your robes are green and purple-there's a crest upon your head;
Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead!"
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly,
Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue—
Thinking only of her crested head-poor foolish thing! at last,
Up jump'd the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast.
He dragg'd her up his winding stair, into his dismal den, Within his little parlour-but she ne'er came out again! And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed:
Unto an evil counsellor close heart and ear and eye, And take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly
WE ARE SEVEN.
A SIMPLE Child,
That lightly draws its breath,
I met a little cottage Girl:
She had a rustic, woodland air,
"Sisters and brothers, little Maid, How many may you be?" "How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.
"And where are they? I pray you tell."
She answered, "Seven are we;
And two are gone to sea.
Two of us in the churchyard lie,
"You say that two at Conway dwell,
Then did the little Maid reply,
“You run about, my little Maid,
"Their graves are green, they may be seen,' The little Maid replied,
"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door,
And they are side by side.
My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem ;
And often after sun-set, Sir,
The first that died was sister Jane;
Till God released her of her pain;
So in the churchyard she was laid;
And when the ground was white with snow,
And I could run and slide,
My brother John was forced to go,
"How many are you then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?" Quick was the little Maid's reply,
"O Master! we are seven.
"But they are dead; those two are dead! Their spirits are in heaven!"
'T was throwing words away: for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"