Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (488 page)

SYSTEM

Every night my prayers I say,

And get my dinner every day;

And every day that I’ve been good,

I get an orange after food.

The child that is not clean and neat,

With lots of toys and things to eat,

He is a naughty child, I’m sure —

Or else his dear papa is poor.

A GOOD BOY

I woke before the morning, I was happy all the day,

I never said an ugly word, but smiled and stuck to play.

And now at last the sun is going down behind the wood,

And I am very happy, for I know that I’ve been good.

My bed is waiting cool and fresh, with linen smooth and fair

And I must be off to sleepsin-by, and not forget my prayer.

I know that, till to-morrow I shall see the sun arise,

No ugly dream shall fright my mind, no ugly sight my eyes.

But slumber hold me tightly till I waken in the dawn,

And hear the thrushes singing in the lilacs round the lawn.

ESCAPE AT BEDTIME

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out

Through the blinds and the windows and bars;

And high overhead and all moving about,

There were thousands of millions of stars.

There ne’er were such thousands of leaves on a tree,

Nor of people in church or the Park,

As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me,

And that glittered and winked in the dark.

The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all,

And the star of the sailor, and Mars,

These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall

Would be half full of water and stars.

They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries,

And they soon had me packed into bed;

But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes,

And the stars going round in my head.

MARCHING SONG

Bring the comb and play upon it!

Marching, here we come!

Willie cocks his highland bonnet,

Johnnie beats the drum.

Mary Jane commands the party,

Peter leads the rear;

Feet in time, alert and hearty,

Each a Grenadier!

All in the most martial manner

Marching double-quick;

While the napkin, like a banner,

Waves upon the stick!

Here’s enough of fame and pillage,

Great commander Jane!

Now that we’ve been round the village,

Let’s go home again.

THE COW

The friendly cow all red and white,

I love with all my heart:

She gives me cream with all her might,

To eat with apple-tart.

She wanders lowing here and there,

And yet she cannot stray,

All in the pleasant open air,

The pleasant light of day;

And blown by all the winds that pass

And wet with all the showers,

She walks among the meadow grass

And eats the meadow flowers.

HAPPY THOUGHT

The world is so full of a number of things,

I’m sure we should all be as happy as kings.

THE WIND

I saw you toss the kites on high

And blow the birds about the sky;

And all around I heard you pass,

Like ladies’ skirts across the grass —

O wind, a-blowing all day long,

O wind, that sings so loud a song!

I saw the different things you did,

But always you yourself you hid.

I felt you push, I heard you call,

I could not see yourself at all —

O wind, a-blowing all day long,

O wind, that sings so loud a song!

O you that are so strong and cold,

O blower, are you young or old?

Are you a beast of field and tree,

Or just a stronger child than me?

O wind, a-blowing all day long,

O wind, that sings so loud a song!

KEEPSAKE MILL

Over the borders, a sin without pardon,

Breaking the branches and crawling below,

Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,

Down by the banks of the river, we go.

Here is the mill with the humming of thunder,

Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,

Here is the sluice with the race running under —

Marvellous places, though handy to home!

Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,

Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;

Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,

Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.

Years may go by, and the wheel in the river

Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,

Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever

Long after all of the boys are away.

Home from the Indies and home from the ocean,

Heroes and soldiers we all shall come home;

Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,

Turning and churning that river to foam.

You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,