Part 1
SING-SONG
A NURSERY RHYME BOOK
BY CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI
WITH ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ARTHUR HUGHES
ENGRAVED BY THE BROTHERS DALZIEL
LONDON
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1893
CONTENTS
A baby's cradle with no baby in it
A city plum is not a plum
A diamond or a coal?
A frisky lamb
A house of cards
A linnet in a gilded cage
All the bells were ringing
A motherless soft lambkin
An emerald is as green as grass
Angels at the foot
A pin has a head, but has no hair
A pocket handkerchief to hem
A ring upon her finger
A rose has thorns as well as honey
A toadstool comes up in a night
A white hen sitting
Baby cry
Baby lies so fast asleep
Blind from my birth
Boats sail on the rivers
Bread and milk for breakfast
Brown and furry
Brownie, Brownie, let down your milk
Clever little Willie wee
Crimson curtains round my mother’s bed
Crying, my little on, footsore and weary?
Currants on a bush
Dancing on the hill-tops
Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush
“Ding a ding”
Eight o’clock
Ferry me across the water
Fly away, fly away over the sea
“Goodbye in fear, goodbye in sorrow”
Growing in the vale
Heartsease in my garden bed
Hear what the mournful linnets say
Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth
Hop-o’-my-thumb and little Jack Horner
Hopping frog, hop here and be seen
How many seconds in a minute?
Hurt no living thing
I am a King
I caught a little ladybird
I dreamt I caught a little owl
I dug and dug amongst the snow
If all were rain and never sun
If a mouse could fly
If a pig wore a wig
If hope grew on a bush
If I were a Queen
If stars dropped out of heaven
If the moon came from heaven
If the sun could tell us half
I have a little husband
I have a Poll parrot
I have but one rose in the world
I know a baby, such a baby
In the meadow—what in the meadow?
I planted a hand
Is the moon tired? she looks so pale
January cold desolate
“Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!”
Lie a-bed
Love me,—I love you
Lullaby, oh, lullaby!
Margaret has a milking-pail
Minnie and Mattie
Minnie bakes oaten cakes
Mix a pancake
Motherless baby and babyless mother
Mother shake the cherry tree
My baby has a father and a mother
My baby has a mottled fist
Oh, fair to see
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east
One and one are two
On the grassy banks
O sailor, come ashore
Our little baby fell asleep
O wind, where have you been
O wind, why do you never rest
Playing at bob cherry
Pussy has a whiskered face
Roses blushing red and white
Rosy maiden Winifred
Rushes in a watery place
Seldom “can’t”
Sing me a song
Stroke a flint, and there is nothing to admire
Swift and sure the swallow
The city mouse lives in a house
The days are clear
The dear old woman in the lane
The dog lies in his kennel
The horses of the sea
The lily has an air
The lily has a smooth stalk
The peach tree on the southern wall
The peacock has a score of eyes
There is but one May in the year
There is one that has a head without an eye
There’s snow on the fields
The rose that blushes rosy red
The rose with such a bonny blush
The summer nights are short
The wind has such a rainy sound
Three little children
Three plum buns
Twist me a crown of wind-flowers
Under the ivy bush
Wee wee husband
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow
What does the bee do?
What does the donkey bray about?
What do the stars do?
What is pink? a rose is pink
What will you give me for my pound?
When a mounting skylark sings
When fishes set umbrellas up
When the cows come home the milk is coming
Where innocent bright-eyes daisies are
Who has seen the wind?
Why did baby die
Wrens and robins in the hedge
Your brother has a falcon
Angels at the foot, And Angels at the head, And like a curly little lamb My pretty babe in bed.
Love me,—I love you, Love me, my baby; Sing it high, sing it low, Sing it as may be.
Mother’s arms under you, Her eyes above you; Sing it high, sing it low, Love me,—I love you.
My baby has a father and a mother, Rich little baby! Fatherless, motherless, I know another Forlorn as may be: Poor little baby!
Our little baby fell asleep, And may not wake again For days and days, and weeks and weeks But then he’ll wake again, And come with his own pretty look, And kiss Mamma again.
“Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!” Crows the cock before the morn “Kikirikee! kikirikee!” Roses in the east are born.
“Kookoorookoo! kookoorookoo!” Early birds begin their singing; “Kikirikee! kikirikee!” The day, the day, the day is springing.
Baby cry— Oh fie!— At the physic in the cup: Gulp it twice And gulp it thrice, Baby gulp it up.
Eight o’clock; The postman’s knock! Five letters for Papa; One for Lou, And none for you, And three for dear Mamma.
Bread and milk for breakfast, And woollen frocks to wear, And a crumb for robin redbreast On the cold days of the year.
There’s snow on the fields, And cold in the cottage, While I sit in the chimney nook Supping hot pottage.
My clothes are soft and warm, Fold upon fold, But I’m so sorry for the poor Out in the cold.
Dead in the cold, a song-singing thrush, Dead at the foot of a snowberry bush,— Weave him a coffin of rush, Dig him a grave where the soft mosses grow, Raise him a tombstone of snow.
I dug and dug amongst the snow, And thought the flowers would never grow; I dug and dug amongst the sand, And still no green thing came to hand.
Melt, O snow! the warm winds blow To thaw the flowers and melt the snow But all the winds from every land Will rear no blossom from the sand.
A city plum is not a plum; A dumb-bell is no bell, though dumb A party rat is not a rat; A sailor’s cat is not a cat; A soldier’s frog is not a frog; A captain’s log is not a log.
Your brother has a falcon, Your sister has a flower; But what is left for mannikin, Born within an hour?
I’ll nurse you on my knee, my knee, My own little son; I’ll rock you, rock you, in my arms, My least little one.
Hear what the mournful linnets say: “We built our nest compact and warm. But cruel boys came round our way And took our summerhouse by storm.
“They crushed the eggs so neatly laid; So now we sit with drooping wing, And watch the ruin they have made, Too late to build, too sad to sing.”
A baby’s cradle with no baby in it, A baby’s grave where autumn leaves drop sere; The sweet soul gathered home to Paradise, The body waiting here.
Hop-o’-my-thumb and little Jack Horner, What do you mean by tearing and fighting? Sturdy dog Trot close round the corner, I never caught him growling and biting.
Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth. Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth; Faith is like a lily lifted high and white, Love is like a lovely rose the world’s delight; Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth, But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.
O wind, why do you never rest, Wandering, whistling to and fro, Bringing rain out of the west, From the dim north bringing snow?
Crying, my little one, footsore and weary? Fall asleep, pretty one, warm on my shoulder: I must tramp on through the winter night dreary, While the snow falls on me colder and colder.
You are my one, and I have not another; Sleep soft, my darling, my trouble and treasure; Sleep warm and soft in the arms of your mother, Dreaming of pretty things, dreaming of pleasure.
Growing in the vale By the uplands hilly, Growing straight and frail, Lady Daffadowndilly.
In a golden crown, And a scant green gown While the spring blows chilly, Lady Daffadown, Sweet Daffadowndilly.
A linnet in a gilded cage,— A linnet on a bough,— In frosty winter one might doubt Which bird is luckier now.
But let the trees burst out in leaf, And nests be on the bough, Which linnet is the luckier bird, Oh who could doubt it now?
Wrens and robins in the hedge, Wrens and robins here and there; Building, perching, pecking, fluttering, Everywhere!
My baby has a mottled fist, My baby has a neck in creases; My baby kisses and is kissed, For he’s the very thing for kisses.
Why did baby die, Making Father sigh, Mother cry?
Flowers, that bloom to die, Make no reply Of “why?” But bow and die.
If all were rain and never sun, No bow could span the hill; If all were sun and never rain, There’d be no rainbow still.
O wind, where have you been, That you blow so sweet? Among the violets Which blossom at your feet.
The honeysuckle waits For Summer and for heat. But violets in the chilly Spring Make the turf so sweet.
Brownie, Brownie, let down your milk White as swansdown and smooth as silk, Fresh as dew and pure as snow: For I know where the cowslips blow, And you shall have a cowslip wreath No sweeter scented than your breath.
On the grassy banks Lambkins at their pranks; Woolly sisters, woolly brothers Jumping off their feet While their woolly mothers Watch by them and bleat.
Rushes in a watery place, And reeds in a hollow; A soaring skylark in the sky, A darting swallow; And where pale blossom used to hang Ripe fruit to follow.
Minnie and Mattie And fat little May, Out in the country, Spending a day.
Such a bright day, With the sun glowing, And the trees half in leaf, And the grass growing.
Pinky white pigling Squeals through his snout, Woolly white lambkin Frisks all about.
Cluck! cluck! the nursing hen Summons her folk,— Ducklings all downy soft Yellow as yolk.
Cluck! cluck! the mother hen Summons her chickens To peck the dainty bits Found in her pickings.
Minnie and Mattie And May carry posies, Half of sweet violets, Half of primroses.
Give the sun time enough, Glowing and glowing, He’ll rouse the roses And bring them blowing.
Don’t wait for roses Losing to-day, O Minnie, Mattie, And wise little May.
Violets and primroses Blossom to-day For Minnie and Mattie And fat little May.
Heartsease in my garden bed, With sweetwilliam white and red, Honeysuckle on my wall:— Heartsease blossoms in my heart When sweet William comes to call, But it withers when we part, And the honey-trumpets fall.
If I were a Queen, What would I do? I’d make you King, And I’d wait on you.
If I were a King, What would I do? I’d make you Queen, For I’d marry you.
What are heavy? sea-sand and sorrow: What are brief? to-day and to-morrow: What are frail? Spring blossoms and youth What are deep? the ocean and truth.
Stroke a flint, and there is nothing to admire: Strike a flint, and forthwith flash out sparks of fire.
There is but one May in the year, And sometimes May is wet and cold; There is but one May in the year Before the year grows old.
Yet though it be the chilliest May, With least of sun and most of showers, Its wind and dew, its night and day, Bring up the flowers.
The summer nights are short Where northern days are long: For hours and hours lark after lark Trills out his song.
The summer days are short Where southern nights are long: Yet short the night when nightingales Trill out their song.
The days are clear, Day after day, When April’s here, That leads to May, And June Must follow soon: Stay, June, stay!— If only we could stop the moon And June!
Twist me a crown of wind-flowers; That I may fly away To hear the singers at their song, And players at their play. Put on your crown of wind-flowers But whither would you go? Beyond the surging of the sea And the storms that blow. Alas! your crown of wind-flowers Can never make you fly: I twist them in a crown to-day, And to-night they die.
Brown and furry Caterpillar in a hurry, Take your walk To the shady leaf, or stalk, Or what not, Which may be the chosen spot. No toad spy you, Hovering bird of prey pass by you Spin and die, To live again a butterfly.
A toadstool comes up in a night,— Learn the lesson, little folk:— An oak grows on a hundred years, But then it is an oak.
A pocket handkerchief to hem— On dear, oh dear, oh dear! How many stitches it will take Before it’s done, I fear.
Yet set a stitch and then a stitch, And stitch and stitch away, Till stitch by stitch the hem is done— And after work is play!
If a pig wore a wig, What could we say? Treat him as a gentleman, And say “Good day.” If his tail chanced to fail, What could we do?— Send him to the tailoress To get one new.
Seldom “can’t,” Seldom “don’t” Never “shan’t,” Never “won’t.”
1 and 1 are 2 That’s for me and you.
2 and 2 are 4— That’s a couple more.
3 and 3 are 6 Barley-sugar sticks.
4 and 4 are 8 Tumblers at the gate.
5 and 5 are 10 Bluff seafaring men.
6 and 6 are 12 Garden lads who delve.
7 and 7 are 14 Young men bent on sporting.
8 and 8 are 16 Pills the doctor’s mixing.
9 and 9 are 18 Passengers kept waiting.
10 and 10 are 20 Roses—pleasant plenty!
11 and 11 are 22 Sums for brother George to do.
12 and 12 are 24 Pretty pictures, and no more.
How many seconds in a minute? Sixty, and no more in it.
How many minutes in an hour? Sixty for sun and shower.
How many hours in a day? Twenty-four for work and play.
How many days in a week? Seven both to hear and speak.
How many weeks in a month? Four, as the swift moon runn’th.
How many months in a year? Twelve the almanack makes clear.
How many years in an age? One hundred says the sage.
How many ages in time? No one knows the rhyme.
What will you give me for my pound? Full twenty shillings round. What will you give me for my shilling? Twelve pence to give I’m willing. What will you give me for my penny? Four farthings, just so many.
January cold desolate; February all dripping wet; March wind ranges; April changes; Birds sing in tune To flowers of May, And sunny June Brings longest day; In scorched July The storm-clouds fly Lightning-torn; August bears corn, September fruit; In rough October Earth must disrobe her; Stars fall and shoot In keen November; And night is long And cold is strong In bleak December.
What is pink? a rose is pink By the fountain’s brink. What is red? a poppy’s red In its barlev bed. What is blue? the sky is blue Where the clouds float thro’. What is white? a swan is white Sailing in the light. What is yellow: pears are yellow, Rich and ripe and mellow. What is green? the grass is green. With small flowers between. What is violet? clouds are violet In the summer twilight. What is orange? why, an orange, Just an orange!
Mother shake the cherry-tree, Susan catch a cherry; Oh how funny that will be, Let’s be merry! One for brother, one for sister, Two for mother more, Six for father, hot and tired, Knocking at the door.
A pin has a head, but has no hair; A clock has a face, but no mouth there Needles have eyes, but they cannot see; A fly has a trunk without lock or key; A timepiece may lose, but cannot win; A corn-field dimples without a chin; A hill has no leg, but has a foot; A wine-glass a stem, but not a root; A watch has hands, but no thumb or finger A boot has a tongue, but is no singer; Rivers run, though they have no feet; A saw has teeth, but it does not eat; Ash-trees have keys, yet never a lock; And baby crows, without being a cock.
Hopping frog, hop here and be seen, I’ll not pelt you with stick or stone: Your cap is laced and your coat is green; Good bye, we’ll let each other alone.
Plodding toad, plod here and be looked at, You the finger of scorn is crooked at: But though you’re lumpish, you’re harmless too; You won’t hurt me, and I won’t hurt you.
Where innocent bright-eyed daisies are, With blades of grass between, Each daisy stands up like a star Out of a sky of green.
The city mouse Jives in a house;— The garden mouse lives in a bower, He’s friendly with the frogs and toads, And sees the pretty plants in flower.
The city mouse eats bread and cheese;— The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stalks, Poor little timid furry man.
What does the donkey bray about? What does the pig grunt through his snout? What does the goose mean by a hiss? Oh, Nurse, if you can tell me this, I’ll give you such a kiss. The cockatoo calls “cockatoo,” The magpie chatters “how d’ye do?” The jackdaw bids me “go away,” Cuckoo cries “cuckoo” half the day: What do the others say?
Three plum buns To eat here at the stile In the clover meadow, For we have walked a mile.
One for you, and one for me, And one left over: Give it to the boy who shouts To scare sheep from the clover.
A motherless soft lambkin Alone upon a hill; No mother’s fleece to shelter him And wrap him from the cold:— I’ll run to him and comfort him, I’ll fetch him, that I will; I’ll care for him and feed him Until he’s strong and bold.
Dancing on the hill-tops, Singing in the valleys, Laughing with the echoes, Merry little Alice.
Playing games with lambkins In the flowering valleys, Gathering pretty posies, Helpful little Alice.
If her father’s cottage Turned into a palace, And he owned the hill-tops And the flowering valleys, She’d be none the happier, Happy little Alice.
When fishes set umbrellas up If the rain-drops run, Lizards will want their parasols To shade them from the sun.
The peacock has a score of eyes, With which he cannot see; The cod-fish has a silent sound, However that may be; No dandelions tell the time, Although they turn to clocks; Cat’s-cradle does not hold the cat. Nor foxglove fit the fox.
Pussy has a whiskered face, Kitty has such pretty ways; Doggie scampers when I call, And has a heart to love us all.
The dog lies in his kennel, And Puss purrs on the rug, And baby perches on my knee For me to love and hug.
Pat the dog and stroke the cat, Each in its degree; And cuddle and kiss my baby, And baby kiss me.
If hope grew on a bush, And joy grew on a tree, What a nosegay for the plucking There would be! But oh! in windy autumn, When frail flowers wither, What should we do for hope and joy, Fading together?
I planted a hand And there came up a palm, I planted a heart And there came up balm. Then I planted a wish, But there sprang a thorn, While heaven frowned with thunder And earth sighed forlorn.
Under the ivy bush One sits sighing, And under the willow tree One sits crying:—
Under the ivy bush Cease from your sighing, But under the willow tree Lie down a-dying.
I am a King, Or an Emperor rather, I wear crown-imperial And prince’s-feather; Golden-rod is the sceptre I wield and wag, And a broad purple flag-flower Waves for my flag.
Elder the pithy With old-man and sage, These are my councillors Green in old age; Lords-and-ladies in silence Stand round me and wait, While gay ragged-robin Makes bows at my gate.
There is one that has a head without an eye, And there’s one that has an eye without a head: You may find the answer if you try; And when all is said, Half the answer hangs upon a thread!
If a mouse could fly, Or if a crow could swim, Or if a sprat could walk and talk, I’d like to be like him.
If a mouse could fly, He might fly away; Or if a crow could swim, It might turn him grey; Or if a sprat could walk and talk, What would he find to say?
Sing me a song— What shall I sing?— Three merry sisters Dancing in a ring, Light and fleet upon their feet As birds upon the wing.
Tell me a tale— What shall I tell?— Two mournful sisters, And a tolling knell, Tolling ding and tolling dong, Ding dong bell.
The lily has an air, And the snowdrop a grace, And the sweetpea a way, And the heartsease a face,— Yet there’s nothing like the rose When she blows.
Margaret has a milking-pail, And she rises early; Thomas has a threshing-flail, And he’s up betimes. Sometimes crossing through the grass Where the dew lies pearly, They say “Good morrow” as they pass By the leafy limes.
In the meadow—what in the meadow? Bluebells, buttercups, meadowsweet, And fairy rings for the children’s feet In the meadow. In the garden—what in the garden? Jacob’s-ladder and Solomon’s-seal, And Love-lies-bleeding beside All-heal In the garden.
A frisky lamb And a frisky child Playing their pranks In a cowslip meadow: The sky all blue And the air all mild And the fields all sun And the lanes half shadow.
Mix a pancake, Stir a pancake, Pop it in the pan; Fry the pancake, Toss the pancake,— Catch it if you can.
The wind has such a rainy sound Moaning through the town, The sea has such a windy sound,— Will the ships go down?
The apples in the orchard Tumble from their tree.— Oh, will the ships go down, go down, In the windy sea?
Three little children On the wide wide earth, Motherless children— Cared for from their birth By tender angels.
Three little children On the wide wide sea, Motherless children— Safe as safe can be With guardian angels.
Fly away, fly away over the sea, Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done; Come again, come again, come back to me, Bringing the summer and bringing the sun.
Minnie bakes oaten cakes, Minnie brews ale, All because her Johnny’s coming Home from sea. And she glows like a rose, Who was so pale, And “Are you sure the church clock goes?” Says she.
A white hen sitting On white eggs three: Next, three speckled chickens As plump as plump can be.
An owl, and a hawk, And a bat come to see: But chicks beneath their mother’s wing Squat safe as safe can be.
Currants on a bush, And figs upon a stem, And cherries on a bending bough, And Ned to gather them.