StNicholas [serial] . tips. The tears stood in her gentle eyes;Poor little lad! she said, And cuddled him up in her armsAnd knelt down by the bed. And so she held him, close and warm,And sang him off to sleep, While at her nod her waiting-maidsA silent watch did keep. And when the morning smiled again The little page clad him in a suit of white, With velvet cap and cloak, And crystal buckles on his shoes,And led him to the queen, All lovely in her bridal gear,The fairest ever seen. 300 BALLAD OF THE LITTLE PAGE. And he was such a tiny page,He trembled and looked down, IFor he was so
StNicholas [serial] . tips. The tears stood in her gentle eyes;Poor little lad! she said, And cuddled him up in her armsAnd knelt down by the bed. And so she held him, close and warm,And sang him off to sleep, While at her nod her waiting-maidsA silent watch did keep. And when the morning smiled again The little page clad him in a suit of white, With velvet cap and cloak, And crystal buckles on his shoes,And led him to the queen, All lovely in her bridal gear,The fairest ever seen. 300 BALLAD OF THE LITTLE PAGE. And he was such a tiny page,He trembled and looked down, IFor he was sore afraid to seeThe great queen sternly frown. But lo! he heard a soft voice say,O little page, look here! Am I, who sing to sleep so well,A queen for child to fear? He raised his eyes, and lo! the brideLooked on the page and smiled, And then he knew the queen had playedAt nurse-maid for a child. And well he graced the wedding-feast And bore her velvet train,And at his dear queens side thenceforth Was never sad THE BABY CROCUS. By George Bancroft Griffith. There in its own little fragrant domeYou may find the baby crocus at from all scenes of blight and strife,It lives a delicate worldly care and dangers free,It grows bright golden for you and me; In its vaulted cloister in early spring Hears the birds of the wood choir sweetly sing;And all the while God perfects its form,For it sleeps safe shielded from wind and storm! UNDER THE HEADLIGHT. (An all-night ride on the pilot of a locomotive.} By Albert Bigelow Paine. One summer morning, nearly twenty yearsago, I found myself in New Orleans, Louisiana,with very little money indeed. Being rich inyouth and health, this fact did not trouble was rather expert in certain branches of pho-tography, and at once set about obtainingemployment at what I was pleased to call myprofession. But it was a poor year and a dull season. Itramped day after day from gallery to gallery,getting always the same repl
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Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
