Part 15 (2/2)

THE AMBITIOUS CHICKEN.

It was an Easter chicken So blithesome and so gay; He peeped from out his plaster sh.e.l.l All on an Easter Day.

His wings were made of yellow down, His eyes were made of beads; He seemed, in very sooth, to have All that a chicken needs.

He winked and blinked and peeped about, And to himself he said, ”When first a chicken leaves the sh.e.l.l, Of course he must be fed.

”And though I may be young in years, And this my natal morn, I'm quite, _quite_ old enough to know Where people keep the corn.”

He winked and blinked and peeped about, Till in a corner sly He saw a heap of golden corn Piled on a platter high.

”Now, this is well!” the chicken cried; ”Now, this is well, in sooth.

This corn shall nourish and sustain My faint and tender youth.

”And I shall grow and grow apace, And come to high estate, With mighty feathers in my tail, And combs upon my pate.

”To see my beauty and my grace The feathered race will flock, And all will bow them low before The mighty Easter c.o.c.k.”

As thus the chicken proudly spake, And stooped to s.n.a.t.c.h the prize, His head fell off, and rolled away Before his very eyes!!!!

It rolled into the dish of corn, A sad and sombre sight, While still upon its plaster legs, His body stood upright.

And little Mary, when she came With s.h.i.+ning ”popper” bright, To pop the corn, and make the b.a.l.l.s Which were her heart's delight,

Gazed at the dish with wide blue eyes, And ”Oh! Mamma!” she said: ”One piece has gone and _popped itself_ Into a chicken's head!”

THE BOY AND THE BROOK.

Said the boy to the brook that was rippling away, ”Oh, little brook, pretty brook, will you not stay?

Oh, stay with me, play with me, all the day long, And sing in my ears your sweet murmuring song.”

Said the brook to the boy as it hurried away, ”And is't for my music you ask me to stay?

I was silent until from the hillside I gushed; Should I pause for an instant, my song would be hushed.”

Said the boy to the wind that was fluttering past, ”Oh, little wind, pretty wind, whither so fast?

Oh, stay with me, play with me, fan my hot brow, And ever breathe softly and gently as now.”

Said the wind to the boy as it hurried away, ”And is't for my coolness you ask me to stay?

'Tis only in flying you feel my cool breath; Should I pause for an instant, that instant were death.”

<script>