CONTENTED JOHN.

One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher,
Although he was poor, did not want to be richer;
For all such vain wishes in him were prevented
By a fortunate habit of being contented.

Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food,
John never was found in a murmuring mood;
For this he was constantly heard to declare,
What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear.

"For why should I grumble and murmur?" he said;
"If I cannot get meat, I can surely get bread;
And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper,
It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper."

If John was afflicted with sickness or pain,
He wished himself better, but did not complain,
Nor lie down and fret in despondence and sorrow,
But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow.

If any one wronged him or treated him ill,
Why, John was good-natured and sociable still;
For he said that revenging the injury done

Would be making two rogues when there need be but one.

236

I WOULD I WERE A NOTE.

And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world without even a grumble; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher.

JANE TAYLOR.

I WOULD I WERE A NOTE.

I would I were a note

From a sweet bird's throat!

I'd float on forever,

And melt away never.

I would I were a note

From a sweet bird's throat!

But I am what I am!

As content as a lamb,

No new state I'll covet;

For how long should I love it?

No, I'll be what I am,

As content as a lamb!

WISHING.

Ring-ting! I wish I were a Primrose,
A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring!
The stooping boughs above me,

The wand'ring bee to love me,
The fern and moss to creep across,
And the Elm-tree for our king!

Nay stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree,
A great, lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay!
The winds would set them dancing,

The sun and moonshine glance in,
The birds would house among the boughs,
And sweetly sing.

A Robin or a little Wren, everywhere to go;

Through forest, field, or garden,

And ask no leave or pardon,

Till winter comes with icy thumbs
To ruffle up our wing!

Well- tell! Where should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell?

Before a day was over,

Home comes the rover,

For mother's kiss

sweeter this

ALLINGHAM.

GIVE ME A WISH.

"Be my fairy, mother,

Give me a wish a day; Something, as well in sunshine As when the rain-drops play."

"And if I were a fairy,

With but one wish to spare, What should I give thee, darling,

To quiet thine earnest prayer?"

“I'd like a little brook, mother,

All for my very own,

To laugh all day among the trees,
And shine on the mossy stone;

"To run right under the window,
And sing me fast asleep;

With soft steps and a tender sound,
Over the grass to creep.

"Make it run down the hill, mother,
With a leap like a tinkling bell,
So fast I never can catch the leaf
That into its fountain fell.