 introduction from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Introduction. To Mrs. Bell Angler. Dear Estante. Many years ago you used to rock me to sleep, cradling me in your arms and singing me pretty songs. Surely you have not forgotten that time, and I recall it with tenderness. You were very beautiful then, but you are more beautiful now. For, in the years that have come and gone since then, the joys and the sorrows of maternity have impressed their saintly grace upon the dear face I used to kiss, and have made your gentle heart gentler still. Beloved lady, in memory of years to be recalled only on thought, and in token of my gratitude and affection I bring you these little love songs, and reverently I lay them at your feet. Eugene Field. Chicago. November 1st. 1894. End of Introduction. The Rockabye Lady from Love Songs of Childhood. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Rockabye Lady. The Rockabye Lady from Hushabye Street. Come stealing. Come scraping. The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, and each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet. She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, when she findeth you sleeping. There is one little dream of a beautiful drum, rubber-dub at Goeth. There is one little dream of a big sugar plum, and lo, thick and fast the other dreams come of poppkins that bang, and tiny tops that hum, and a trumpet that bloweth. And dollies peep out of these wee little dreams with a laughter and singing, and boats who are floating on silvery streams, and the stars peek-a-boo with their own misty gleams, and up, up, and up with the mother-moon beams, the fairies go winging. Will you dream of these dreams that are tiny and fleet? They'll come to you, sleeping. So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, for the Rockabye Lady from Hushabye Street, with poppies that hang from her head to her feet, come stealing. Come scraping. End of The Rockabye Lady. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Boo. On afternoons, when Baby Boy has had a splendid nap, and sits, like any monarch on his throne, in nurse's lap, in some such wise my handkerchief, I hold before my face, and cautiously, and quietly, I move about the place. Then, with a cry, I suddenly expose my face to view, and you should hear him laugh and crow when I say, Boo! Sometimes the rascal tries to make believe that he is scared. And really, when I first began, he stared, and stared, and stared. And then his underlip came out, and farther out it came. Till mom and the nurse agreed, it was a cruel shame. But now what does that same wee, tarling, lisping baby do, but laugh and kick his little heels when I say, Boo! He laughs and kicks his little heels rapturously, and then, in shrill despotic trouble bids me, do it all again! And I, of course, I do it, for as his progenitor, it is such pretty pleasant play as this, that I am for. And it is, oh, such fun! I ensure that we shall rue, the time when we are both too old to play the game. Boo! End of Boo! From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org, recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Garden and Cradle. When I babe, he goeth walking in his garden. Around his tinkling feet the sunbeams play. The posies they are good to him, and bow them as they should to him, as faireth he upon his kingly way. And birdlings of the wood to him make music, gentle music, all the day. When I babe, he goeth walking in his garden. When I babe, he goeth swinging in his cradle. Then the night it looketh ever sweetly down. The little stars are kind to him. The moon, she hath a mind to him. And the layeth on his head at golden crown. And singeth then the wind to him, a song, the gentle song of Bethlehem town. When I babe, he goeth swinging in his cradle. End of Garden and Cradle. The night wind. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The night wind. Have you ever heard the wind go, eww, tis a pitiful sound here. It seems to chill you through and through, with a strange and speechless fear. Tis the voice at the night that broods outside, when folk should be asleep. And many and many is the time I've cried to the darkness brooding far and wide over the land and the deep. Whom do you want, oh lonely night, that you wail the long hours through? And the night would say in its ghostly way, eww, my mother told me long ago, when I was a little tad, that when the night went wailing so, somebody had been bad. And then, when I was snug in bed, wither I had been sent. With the blankets pulled up round my head, I'd think of what my mother'd said, and wonder what boy she meant. And who's been bad today, I'd ask, of the wind that hoarsely blew. And the voice would say in its meaningful way, eww, eww. And this was true, I must allow. You'll not believe it, though. Yes, though, I'm quite a model now. I was not always so. And if you doubt what things I say, suppose you make the test. Suppose when you've been bad some day, and up to bed are sent away, from mother and the rest. Suppose you ask, who has been bad? And then you'll hear what's true. For the wind will moan in its roofless tone. You, you, you. End of the night wind. Kissing time. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Kissing time. Tis when the lark goes soaring, and the bee is at the bud, when the lightly dancing zappers sing over field and flood, when all sweet things in nature seem joyfully a chime. Tis then I wake my darling, for it is kissing time. Go pretty lark of soaring, and suck your sweet so bee. Sing all ye winds of summer, your songs to mine and me. For with your song and rapture, cometh the moment when, it's half past kissing time, and time to kiss again. So so the days go fleeting, like golden fancies free, and every day that cometh is full of sweets for me, and sweetest are those moments my darling comes to climb into my lap to mind me, that it is kissing time. Sometimes maybe he wanders, a heedless aimless way. Sometimes maybe he loiters in pretty prattling play, but presently be thinks him and hastens to me then, for it's half past kissing time, and time to kiss again. End of kissing time. Just for Christmas. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashalkova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Just for Christmas. Father calls me William. Sister calls me Will. Mother calls me Willie, but the fellas call me Bill. Money glad I ain't a girl, rather be a boy. Without them sashes, curls, and things that's worn by Fauntleroy. Love to chomp green apples and go swimming in the lake. Hate to take the castor oil, the gift for bellyache. Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me. But just for Christmas, I was good as I can be. Got a yellow dog named Sport. Sick of him on the cat. First thing she knows, she don't know where she is at. Got a clipper slid. And when those kids go out to slide, along comes the grocery cart, and we all hook a ride. But sometimes when the grocer man is worried he didn't cross, he reaches at us with his whip, and ropes up his horse. And then I laugh and holler, Oh, you never touched me. But just for Christmas, I was good as I can be. Grandma says she hopes that when I get to be a man, I'll be a missionary, like her oldest brother Dan. As was I that by the cannibals that lives on Ceylon's Isle, where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile. But Grandma, she has never been to see a Wild West show. No read the life of Daniel Booner else I guess she'd know that Buffalo Bill and Cowboys is good enough for me. Except just for for Christmas, when I'm good as I can be. And then old Sport he hangs her out so solemn like and still, his eyes they seem as saying, What's the matter, little Bill? The old cat sinks down off a perch and wonders what's become of them two enemies of her that used to make things home. But I am so polite and tend so earnestly to be. The mother says to father, How improved I really is. But father haven't been a boy his self, suspicions me when just for Christmas I'm as good as I can be. For Christmas with its lots and lots of candies, cakes, and toys was made they say for proper kids and not for naughty boys. So wash your face and brush your hair and mind your peas and queues, and don't bust out your pantaloons and don't wear out your shoes. Say yes them to the ladies and yes sir to the men. And when there's company don't pass your plate for pie again. But think of the things you'd like to see upon that tree. Just for Christmas. Be as good as you can be. End of Just for Christmas. Beard and Baby. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information order volunteer. Please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Beard and Baby. I say, as one who never feared the wrath of a subscriber's bullet, I pity him who has a beard but has no little girl to pull it. When wife and I have finished tea, a baby woos me with her prattle, and perched proudly on my knee, she gives my petted whiskers battle. With both her hands she tugs away, while scolding at me kind as spiteful. You'll not believe me when I say I find the torture quite delightful. No other would presume, Iween, to trifle with this her suit wonder. Else would I rise eventual mean, and rent his vandal frame asunder. But when her baby fingers pull, this glass is sleek and silky treasure. That cup of happiness is full, and I fairly glow with pride and pleasure. And sweet as still, through all the day I seem to hear her winsome prattle, I seem to feel her hands at play, as though she gave me sport of battle. Yes, having the music seems to steal, where thought of her forever lingers, and round my heart I always feel the twining of her dimpled fingers. End of Beard and Baby. The Dinky Bird from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, order volunteer. Please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Dinky Bird. In an ocean way out yonder, as all sapient people know, is the land of wonder-wonder, where the children love to go. It's their playing, romping, swinging, that give great joy to me. While the Dinky Bird goes singing in the Amfalula Tree. There the gumdrops grow like cherries, and taffies thick as peas. Caramels you pick like berries, when and where and how you please. Big red sugar plums are clinging to the cliffs beside that sea, where the Dinky Bird is singing in the Amfalula Tree. So when children shout and scamper and make merry all the day, when there's not to put a damper to the ardour of their play. When I hear their laughter ringing, that I'm sure as sure can be, that the Dinky Bird is singing in the Amfalula Tree. For the Dinky Bird's bravuras and staccatos are so sweet, his roulades appoggiaturas and robustos so complete, that the youth of every nation, be they near or far away, have a special delectation in that gladsome round delay. Their eyes go bright and brighter, their lungs begin to crow, their hearts get light and lighter and their cheeks are all aglow. For an echo cometh bringing the news to all and me, that the Dinky Bird is singing in the Amfalula Tree. I'm sure you like to go there, to see your feathered friend, and so many goodies grow there you would like to comprehend. Speed little dreams you're winging to that land across the sea, where the Dinky Bird is singing in the Amfalula Tree. End of The Dinky Bird. The Drum. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Drum. I'm a beautiful red-red drum, and I train with the soldier-boys, as up the street we come, wonderful as our noise, this Tom and Jim and Phil and Dick and Nat and Fred, while Widow Cutler's Bill and I march on ahead, with the rat-tat-tat and a tum-tidium tum-tum, or there's bushes of fun in that, for boys with a little red drum. The engines came last night while the soldiers were at bed. They gobbled a Chinese kite, and off to the woods they fled. The woods are the cherry trees down in the orchard lot, and the soldiers are marching to seize the booty the engines got, with tum-tidium tum-tum and a rat-tat-tat, when soldiers marching come, engines had better scat. Step up there, little Fred, and Charlie, have a mind. Jim is as far ahead as you two are behind. Ready with gun and sword, your valorous work to do. Yonder the engine hoarder lying in wait for you, and the hearts go pit-a-pat when they hear the soldiers come, the rat-tat-tat and a tum-tidium tum-tum. Course it's all in play. The skulking engine crew that hustled the kite away. A little white boy is like you, but honest or just and fun, it is all the same to me. And when the battle is won, home once again march we, with a rat-tat-tat and a tum-tidium tum-tum, and there's glory enough in that for the boys with a little red drum. End of The Drum The Dead Babe From Love Songs of Childhood This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squidwasha Lakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Dead Babe Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, in agony I knelt and said, Oh God, what have I done? Or in what wise offended thee, that thou shouldst take away from me my little son? Upon the thousand useless lives, upon the guilt that vaunting thrives, thy wrath were better spent. Why shouldst thou take my little son? Why shouldst thou vent thy wrath upon this innocent? Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, before mine eyes the vision spread, of things that might have been, a centrist riot, cruel strife, forgotten prayers, a wasted life, dark red with sin. Then with sweet music in the air, I saw another vision there, a shepherd in whose keep, a little lamb, my little child, of worldly wisdom undefiled, they fast asleep. Last night, as my dear babe lay dead, in those two messages I read, a wisdom manifest, and though my arms be childless now, I am content, to him I bow, who knoweth best. End of the dead babe. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Happy Household It's when the birds go piping, and the daylight slowly breaks, that, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes. For it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me, for when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be. End of the lactile fluid he partakes with great ado, while grandma laughs, and grandpa laughs, and a wife she laughs, and I, will I laugh too. You'd think to see us carrying on about the little tad, that like is not, that baby was a first we'd ever had, but sex alive he isn't, yet we people make a fuss, as if the only baby in the world had come to us. And a morning, noon, and night time, whatever he may do, grandma she laughs, grandpa he laughs, wife she laughs, and I, of course laugh too. But once, a likely spell ago, when that poor little chick, from teething or from some such ill of infancy, fell sick, you wouldn't know us people as the same that went about to feel and go all over, just to hear him crow and shout. And though the doctor pooed our fears, and said he'd pull him through, old grandma cried, and grandpa cried, and wife she cried, and I, yes I cried too. It makes us all feel good, to have a baby on the place, with his everlasting crowing, and his dimpling, dumpling face, the patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere, and when he shakes those fists of his, good-bye to every care. No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo, old grandma laughs, and grandpa laughs, wife she laughs, and I, you bet I laugh too. End of the happy household. So, so rock-a-bye, so, from love songs of childhood, this is a Libra Vox recording, all Libra Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Veal. So, so rock-a-bye, so, So, so rock-a-bye, so, off to the garden where dreamykins grow, and here is a kiss on your winky-bling eyes, and here is a kiss on your dimple-down cheek, and here is a kiss for the treasure that lies in the beautiful garden way up in the skies, which you seek. Now mind these three kisses wherever you go, so, so rock-a-bye, so. There's one little fumfe who lives there, I know, for he dances all night with the dreamykins grow. I sent him this kiss on your droopy-drop eyes, I sent him this kiss on your rosy-red cheek, and here is a kiss for the dream that shall rise when the fumfe shall dance, and those faraway skies which you seek. Be sure that you pay those three kisses you owe, so, so rock-a-bye, so. And by low as you rock-a-bye go, don't forget mother who love with you so, and here is her kiss on your weepy-dee-bies, and here is her kiss on your peachy-pink cheek, and here is her kiss for the dreamland that lies like a babe on the breast of those faraway skies which you seek. The blinking-white garden where dreamykins grow, so, so rock-a-bye, so. End of so, so rock-a-bye, so. The Song of Luddy Dudd from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Song of Luddy Dudd. A sunbeam comes a-creeping into my dear one's nest, and sings to our baby sleeping the song that I love the best, to his little Luddy Dudd in the morning, to his little Luddy Dudd at night, and all day long to the same sweet song of that waterling, toddling, coddling little mite, Luddy Dudd. The bird to the toss and clover, the bee to the swaying butt, keeps singing that sweet song over of wee little Luddy Dudd, to his little Luddy Dudd in the morning, to his little Luddy Dudd at night, and all day long to the same dear song of that growing, growing, knowing little sprite, Luddy Dudd. Luddy Dudd's cradle is swinging where softly the night winds blow, and Luddy Dudd's mother is singing a song that is sweet and low. To his little Luddy Dudd in the morning, to his little Luddy Dudd at night, and all day long to the same sweet song of my nearest and my dearest heart's delight, Luddy Dudd, and of the song of Luddy Dudd. THE DUEL The gingham dog and the calico cat side by side on the table sat. It was half past twelve, and what do you think? Nor one, nor tether, had slept a wink. The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate appeared to know, as sure as fate, there was going to be a terrible spat. I wasn't there. I simply stayed what was told to me by the Chinese plate. The gingham dog went wow, wow, wow, and the calico cat replied meow. The air was littered an hour or so with bits of gingham and calico, while the old Dutch clock in the chimney place up with its hands before its face, for it always dreaded a family row. Now mind, I'm only telling you what the old Dutch clock declares is true. The Chinese plate looked very blue and wailed, oh dear, what shall we do? But the gingham dog and the calico cat wallowed this way and tumbled that, employing every tooth and claw in the awfulest way you ever saw, and oh how the gingham and calico flew! Don't fancy I exaggerate, I got my news from the Chinese plate. Next morning, where the two had sat, they found no trace of dog or cat, and some folks think, and to this day, the burglar stole that pair away, but the truth about the cat and pup is this, they ate each other up. Now what do you really think of that? The old Dutch clock had told me so, and that is how I come to know. End of The Duel. Good Children's Street, from Love Songs to Childhood. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org, recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Good Children's Street. There's a dear little home in Good Children's Street, my heart turneth fondly today, where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet make sweetest of music at play, where the sunshine of love illumines each face and warms every heart in that old-fashioned place. For dear little children go romping about with dollies in tin tops and drums, and my how they frolic and scamper and shout till bedtime to speedily comes. O days they are golden, days they are fleet, with little folk living in Good Children's Street. See, here comes an army with guns painted red, and swords, caps, and plumes of all sorts. The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead on a stick horse that prances and snorts. O legions of soldiers, you're certain to me. Nice make-believe soldiers in Good Children's Street. And yonder Odette wields her dolly about, poor dolly, I'm sure she is ill. For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out, and her voice is asthmatically shrill. Then, too, I observe, she has minus her feet, which causes much sorrow in Good Children's Street. Tis so dear the children go romping about with dollies in banners and drums, and I venture to say they are sadly put out when an end to their jubilee comes. O days they are golden and days they are fleet, with little folk living in Good Children's Street. But when falls at night over a river in town, those little folk vanish from sight, and an angel all white from the sky comeeth down and guardeth their babes through the night, and singeth her lullabies tender and sweet to the dear little people in Good Children's Street. Though elsewhere the world be o'burdened with care, if though poverty fault my lot, though toil and vexation be always my share, what care I they trouble me not? This thought maketh life of a joyous and sweet, tis a dear little home in Good Children's Street. And of Good Children's Street. The delectable ballad of the Waller Lot. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The delectable ballad of the Waller Lot. Up yonder, in Buena Park, there is a famous spot. In legend and in history, it collapsed the Waller Lot. Their children play in daytime at Lover's Stroll by Dark, which is the goodliest tristing place in all Buena Park. Once on a time that Butch's maid, sweet little sissy, not, took out her pretty doll to walk within the Waller Lot. While thus she faired from Ravenswood came Injun's or the Plain, and seized upon that Butch's maid and rent her doll in Twain. Which was a piteous thing to hear, her lamentations wild. She tore her golden curls and cried, My child, my child, my child! Alas! What care to those Injun chiefs how bitterly wailed she? They never had been mothers, and they could not hope to be. Have done with tears, they rudely quoth. Then they bound her hands, for they proposed to take her off to distant border lands. But joy! For Mr. Eddie's barn doth a willy cloud behold, the sight that makes his hair rise up, and all his blood run cold. He put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled long and clear, and presently a gurdly horde of cowboys did appear. Cryed willy cloud, My comrades bold, haste to the Waller Lot, and rescue from that Injun band our charming sissy not. Spare neither Injun buck nor squaw, but smite them, hide in hair. Spare neither sex nor age nor size, and no conditioned spare. Then sped that cowboy band away, full of vengeful wrath, and Kendall Evans rode ahead upon the hickory laugh. And next came gallant Daddy Field, and willy's brother Kent. Daddy Boys and Robbie James, and murderous purpose bent. For they were much beholden to that maid. In Soothe, the Lot were very, very much in love with the charming sissy not. What wonder! She was beauty's queen, and good beyond compare. Moreover, it was known she was her wealthy father's heir. Now, when the Injun saw that band, they trembled with a fright, and yet they thought the cheapest thing to do was stay and fight. So sturdily misted their ground, nor would their prisoner yield. Despite the wrath of willy clow and gallant Daddy Field. Oh, never fierce her battle raged upon the Waller Lot, and never blood more freely flowed than flowed for sissy not. An Injun chief of monstrous eyes got Kendall Evans down, and Robbie James was soon overthrown by one of great renown. And Daddy Field was sorely done, and willy clow was hurt. Another gallant cowboy band lay wallowing in the dirt, but still they strove with might and may until all the Waller Lot was strewn with hair and guts of gore all-all for sissy not. Then cried the maiden in despair, Alas, I sadly fear, the battle and my hopes are lost, unless some help appear. Loas, she spoke, she saw far, the rescuer looming up. The pride of all Bonaparte, clow's famous yellow pup. Now sick'em, Don, the maiden cried. Now sick'em, Don, she cried. Obidiant Don at once complied as ordered, so did he. He sicked them all so passing well, that overcome by fright, the Indian Horde gave up the fray and safely sought in flight. They ran and ran and ran and ran, or valley plain and hill, and if they are not walking now, by then they're running still. The cub-boys rose up from the dust, with faces black and blue. Remember, beauteous maid, said they, we've bled and died for you. And though we suffer grievously, we gladly hail the lot, that brings us toils and pains and wounds, for charming sissy not. But sissy not still wailed and wept, and still her fate reviled. For who could pat her dolly up? Who? Who could mend her child? Then out her doting mother came and soothed her daughter then. Give not, my darling, I will sew your dolly up again. Joy soon succeeded into grief, and tears were soon dried up, and dignities were heaped upon close noble yellow pup. Him all that goodly company did as deliver her hail. They tied a ribbon round his neck, another round his tail, and every anniversary day upon the waller lot, they celebrate the victory won for charming sissy not. And I, the poet of these folk, amorted to compile, this truly famous history in good old ballad style, which having done as to have earned the sweet rewards of fame, and what same style I did begin, I now shall end the same. So let us sing, long live the king, long live the queen and jack, long live the ten spot and the ace, and also all the pat. End of The Deluctable Ballad of the Waller Lot The Stork From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox Recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, order volunteer. Please visit librivox.org Recording by Squid Vajlakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Stork Last night the stork came stalking. And stork, beneath your wing lay, lapped in dreamless slumber, the tiniest little thing. From baby land, out yonder beside the silver sea, you brought a priceless treasure as gift to mine and me. Last night my dear one listened, and, wife, you knew the cry. The dear old stork has sought our home a many times gone by, and in your gentle bosom I found the pretty thing. That from the realm out yonder our friend the stork did bring. Last night a babe awakened and babe. How strange and new must seem the home in people the stork has brought you to. And yet me thinks you like them. You neither stare nor weep, but closer to my dear one you cuddle, and you sleep. Last night my heart grew fonder. O happy heart of mine, sing of the inspirations that round my pathway shine, and sing your sweetest love song to this dear nestling wee. The stork from way out wander hath brought to mind in me. End of The Stork The Bottle Tree From Love Songs of Childhood This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Bottle Tree A Bottle Tree bloometh in a winky way land. High-ho for a bottle, I say. A snug little berth in that ship I demand that it rocketh the Bottle Tree babies away with a Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day, and reaches its fruit to each weed-dimpled hand. You take of that fruit as much as you list, for collocks and nuisance that doesn't exist. So cuddle me, and cuddle me fast, and cuddle me snug in my cradle away, for I hunger and thirst for that precious repast, high-ho for a bottle, I say. The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day, high-ho for winky way land, and Bottle Tree fruit, as I've heard people say, mixbellies of Bottle Tree babies expand, and that is a trick I would faint understand. High-ho for a bottle today, and high-ho for a bottle tonight, a bottle of milk that is creamy and white. So cuddle me close, and cuddle me fast, and cuddle me snug in my cradle away, for I hunger and thirst for that precious repast, high-ho for a bottle, I say. End of The Bottle Tree Googly Goo from Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox Recording All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information, Order Volunteer, please visit librivox.org Recording by Squid Vashlakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Googly Goo Of mornings, bright and early, when the lark is on the wing, and the robin in the maple hops from her nest to sing, from yonder cheery chamber comeeth a mellow coup, to the sweet persuasive treble of my little googly goo. The sunbeams hear his music, and they seek his little bed, and they dance their prettiest dances round his golden curly head. Chartiches, gallops, minuets, gavots, and waltzes, too, dance they unto the music of my googling googly goo. My heart, my heart at leapeth to hear that treble tone, put music like thy music, my darling and my known, and patiently yes, cheerfully I toil the long day through, my labor seemeth lightened by the song of googly goo. I may not see his antics, nor kiss his dimpled cheek. I may not smooth the tresses the sunbeams love to seek, it mattereth not. The echo of his sweet persuasive cool recurth to remind me of my little googly goo. And when I come at evening, I stand without the door, and patiently I listen for that dear sound once more, and often times I wonder, oh God, what should I do, if any ill should happen to my little googly goo? Then in a fright I call him, I hear his gleeful shouts, be gone ye dreadful boatings, be gone ye killing doubts, forth my arms about him my heart warms through and through, with the oogling and the googling of my little googly goo. End of googly goo. The bench leg advice from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Bench Leg Advice. Speaking of dogs, my Bench Leg Advice had most of the virtues in the area of ice. Some folks call them sooner. A name that arose from his predisposition to chronic repose arouses ambition he couldn't be beat. You bet your he got thar on all his four feet. Most dogs has some forte, like hunting and such. But the sports of the field didn't bother him much. It was just a plain dog, and contended to be on peaceable terms with the neighbors and me. Used to fiddle and squirm and grunt, oh, how nice, when I tickled the back of that Bench Leg Advice. He was long in the borough like a fice otter bee. His color was yaller, as ever you see. His tail curling upward was long, loose and slim. When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him. His legs were so crooked. My Bench Leg Advice was as tall setting down as he was standing up. He'd lie by the stove of a night and regret the various fiddles and things he had at. When a stranger, most likely a tramp, came along, he'd lift up his voice in significant song. You wondered, by gum, how there ever was space in that bosom it isn't to hold so much base. Of day times he'd sneak the road and lie down, and tackle the country dogs coming to town. By common consent he was boss in St. Joe, for what he took hold of he never let go. And a dude that came caught in our girl left a slice of his white flannel suit with that Bench Leg Advice. He was good to us kids when we pulled at his fur or twisted his tail he would never demer. He seemed to enjoy all our playing our chaff, first tongue it hang out, and he'd laugh and laugh, and once when the homeboy boy fell through the ice he was drug clean ashore by that Bench Leg Advice. We all have our choice, and you, like the rest, allow that the dog which you've got is the best. I wouldn't give much for the boy it grows up with no friendship subsistence between him and a pup, when a fellow gets old I'd tell you it's nice to think of his youth and his Bench Leg Advice. To think of the springtime whiteback in St. Joe, of the peach trees a blooming and the daisies a blow, to think of the play in the meadow and grove, when little legs razzle and the little hands strove, to think of the loyalty, valor, and truth of the friendships that hallow the season of youth. End of the Bench Leg Advice. Little Miss Bragg, from Love Songs of Childhood, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Little Miss Bragg. Little Miss Bragg has much to say to the rich little lady from Over the Way, and the rich little lady puts out a lip, as she looks at her own white dainty slip, and wishes that she could wear a gown as pretty as gingham a faded brown. For Little Miss Bragg, she lays much stress on the privileges of a gingham dress. Aha! Oh-ho! The rich little lady from Over the Way has beautiful dolls and vast array, yet she envies the raggedy homemade doll she hears at Little Miss Bragg's stole. For the raggedy doll can fear no hurt from wet or heat or tumble or dirt. Her nose is inked, and her mouth is too, and one eye is black and the other is blue. Aha! Oh-ho! The rich little lady goes out to ride with footmen standing up outside, yet wishes that, sometimes, after dark her father would trundle her in the park. That sometimes, her mother would sing the things Little Miss Bragg says her mother sings, when through the attic window streams the moonlight full of golden dreams. Aha! Oh-ho! Yes, Little Miss Bragg has much to say to the rich little lady from Over the Way, and yet, who knows? But from her heart, off in the bitter size upstart, a prize to lose their burn, and sting in the grace of the tongue that loves to sing praise of the treasures all its own. So I've come to love that treble tone. Aha! Oh-ho! End of Little Miss Bragg. The Humming Top from Love Songs of Childhood. This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Humming Top. The Top at Hummeth a sweet, sweet song to my dear little boy at play. Merrily singeth all day long, as it spineth and spineth away. And my dear little boy he laugheth with joy when he heareth a monotone, of that busy thing that loveth to sing, the song that is all its own. Hold fast the string, and wind it tight, that the song be loud and clear. Now hurl the top with all your might upon the banquet here, and straight from the string the joyous thing boundeth and spineth along, and it whirs and it churs and it burrs and it purrs ever its pretty song. Will ever my dear little boy grow old, as some have grown before? Will ever his heart feel faint and cold when he heareth the songs of your? Will ever this toy of my dear little boy, when the years have worn away, singeth and loveth a long ago, as it singeth to me today. End of The Humming Top. Lady Button Eyes from Love Songs of Childhood. This is the LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Lady Button Eyes. When the busy day is done, and my weary little one rocketh gently to and fro, when the night winds softly blow, and the crickets in the glen chirp and chirp and chirp again, when upon the haunted green fairies dance around their queen, then from yonder misty skies, cometh Lady Button Eyes. Fever-murk and mist and gloom, to our quiet, cozy home, where to singing, sweet and low, rocks a cradle to and fro, where the clock's dull monotone telleth of the day that's done, where the moonbeams hover or the playthings sleeping on the floor, where my weary wee one lies, cometh Lady Button Eyes. Cometh like a fleeting ghost from some distant eerie coast, never footfall can you hear, as that spirit fareth near, never whisper, never word from that shadow queen is heard, an ethereal raiment dite, from the realm of fey and sprite, in the depth of yonder skies, cometh Lady Button Eyes. Lath she her hands upon my dear weary little one, and those white hands, overspread, like a veil, the curly head, seem to fondle and caress every little silk interest, then she smooths the eyelids down over those two eyes of brown, in such soothing, tender wise, cometh Lady Button Eyes. Dearest, feel upon your brow that caressing magic now, for the crickets in the glen chirp and chirp and chirp again, while upon the haunted green fairies dance around their gleam, and the moonbeams hover or playthings sleeping on the floor. Hush, my sweet, from yonder skies cometh Lady Button Eyes. End of Lady Button Eyes. The Ride to Bumpville Play that my knee was a calico mare, saddled and bridled for Bumpville. Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare, and gallop away to Bumpville. I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat for this calico mare's prodigiously fleet, and to many adventures you're likely to meet as you journey along to Bumpville. This calico mare both gallops and trots, while whisking you off to Bumpville. She paces, she shies, and she stumbles in spots, in that torturous road to Bumpville. And sometimes the strangely mercurial steed will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed, when one is en route to Bumpville. She's scared of the cars when the engine goes tooot down by the crossing at Bumpville. You'd better look out for that treacherous route bearing you off to Bumpville. With a snort she rears up behind her most heels and executes jigs and Virginia reels. Woods fails to explain how embarrassed one feels, dancing so wildly to Bumpville. It's a bumpy bump in its jiggity jog, journeying on to Bumpville. It's over the hilltop and down to the bog, you'll ride on your way to Bumpville. It's rattledy bang over Boulder and Stump. There are rivers to four, there are fences to jump, and the corduroy road goes bump-dee-bump, mile after mile to Bumpville. Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing making the journey to Bumpville. So I think, on the whole, it were purdent to bring an end to this ride to Bumpville. For though she has uttered no protest or plaint, the calico mare must be blowing in faint. What's more to the point I'm bloated if I ain't, so play we have got to Bumpville. End of the ride to Bumpville. The Brook, from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org, recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Brook. I looked in the Brook and saw a face. Hey, how! But a child was I. They were rushes and willows in that place, and they clutched to the Brook as the Brook ran by, and the Brook it ran its own sweet way, as the child doth run in heedless play. And as it ran I heard it say, hasten with me to the roistering sea, that is wroth with the flame of the morning sky. I look in the Brook and see a face. Hey, how! But the years go by. The rushes are dead in the old time place, and the willows I knew when a child was I. And the Brook it seemeth to me to say, as ever it stealeth on its way, solemnly now, and not in play. Oh, come with me to the slumber of sea, that is gray with the peace of the evening sky. Hey, how! But the years go by. I would to God that a child were I. End of the Brook. Picnic Time. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Picnic Time. It's June again, and in my soul I feel the fillin' joy, that's sure to come this time of year to every little boy. For, every June, the Sunday schools at Picnics may be seen, where fields beyond the swell and flood stand dressed in livin' green, where little girls are scared to death with spiders, bugs, and ants, and little boys get grass stains on their golden meat and pants. It's June again, and with it all what happiness is mine. There's going to be a picnic, and I'm going to jine. One year I'd jine the Baptists, and goodness how it rained. But Grandpa says that that's the way Baptiso is explained, and once I'd dine the Piscopills, and had a heap of fun, but the boss of all the Picnics was a Presbyterian. They had so many puddin's, salads, sandwiches, and pies, that a fellow wish to stomach was as hungry as his eyes. Oh yes, the Impresbyterians give you're so fine, though when they have a picnic, you bet I'm going to jine. But at this time the Methodists have special claims on me. For they're going to have a picnic on the 21st, D.V. Why should a liberal universalist, like me, object to share that joy is a fellowship with every friendly sect? However heterodox their articles of faith, else wise may be, their doctrine of fried chicken is a saving grace to me. So on the 21st of June, the weather bein' fine, they're going to give a picnic, and I'm going to jine. End of Picnic Time. When I grow to be a man, so that we once prattle ran, I shall build a castle so, with a gateway broad and grand. Here a pretty vine shall grow, there a soldier guard shall stand, and the tower shall be so high, folks will wonder, by and by. Shuffle shun-quoth. Yes, I know. Thus I build it long ago. Here a gate and there a wall. Here a window, there a door. Here a steeple wondrous tall riseth evermore and more. But the years have leveled low, what I build it long ago. So they gossip at their play, heedless of the fleeting day. One speaks of the long ago, where his dead hopes buried lie. One with chubby cheeks aglow, pretoleth of the by and by. Side by side, they build their blocks. Shuffle shun and ember locks. End of Shuffle Shun and ember locks. The Shud-Eye Train. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, Order Volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Shud-Eye Train. Come, my little one, with me. There are wondrous sights to see as the evening shadows fall. In your pretty cap and gown, don't detain the Shud-Eye Train. Tingling the bell of Goeth, toot toot the whistle bloweth, and we hear the warning call. I'll aboard for Shud-Eye Town. Over hill and over plain soon will speed the Shud-Eye Train. Through the blue where bloom the stars, and the mother moon looks down. Wheel away to the land of Faye. Oh, the sights that we shall see there. Come, my little one, with me there. It is a goodly train of cars. I'll aboard for Shud-Eye Town. Swifter than a wild bird's flight, through the realms of fleecy light, we shall speed and speed away. Let the night and end be frown. What care we harroth she be? To the bellow land above us, to the bellow folk who love us, let us hasten while we may. I'll aboard for Shud-Eye Town. Shud-Eye Town is passing fair. Golden dreams await us there. We shall dream those dreams, my dear, till the mother moon goes down. See unfold the lights untold, and in those mysterious places we shall see beloved faces, and beloved voices here in the grace of Shud-Eye Town. Heavy are your eyes, my sweet. Weary are your little feet. Nestle closer up to me, and your pretty cap and gown. Don't detain the Shud-Eye train. Tingling the bell it goeth. Toot toot the whistle bloweth. Oh, the sights that we shall see. I'll aboard for Shud-Eye Town. End of the Shud-Eye train. Little, O dear, from Love Songs of Childhood, this is a Libravox recording. All Libravox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, Order Volunteer, please visit librivox.org Recording by Squid Vajralakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Little, O dear, see what a wonderful garden is here. Planted and trimmed for my little, O dear. Poses so gaudy in grass of such brown. Search ye the country, and hunt ye the town, and never ye'll meet with a garden so queer as this one I've made for my little, O dear. Marigolds white in butter-cups blue, lilies all dabbled with honey and dew. The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, roses and pansies and violets, all make proper obeisance and reverent cheer. Went into her garden, steps the little, O dear. End up at the top of that lavender tree, a silver bird singeth as only can she. Forever and only she singeth the song, I love you, I love you, the happy day long. Then the echo, the echo that smideth me here, I love you, I love you, my little, O dear. The garden may wither, the silver bird fly. But what care with my little precious, or I? From her pathway of flowers set in springtime upstart she walketh a tenderer way to my heart. And oh, it is always the summertime here, with that song of I love you, my little, O dear. End of little, O dear. The flyaway horse, from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibraVox recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording Resquid Vajlokova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Flyaway Horse. Oh, what a wondrous horse is the Flyaway Horse. Perhaps you have seen him before. Perhaps while he slept, his shadow has swept through the moonlight that floats on the floor. For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, that the Flyaway Horse with a nail and a pull at the rain and a toss of his mane is up on his heels. The moon in the sky, as it galloped by, cries, Oh, what a marvellous sight! And the stars in dismay hide their faces away in the lap of old grandmother Knight. It is yonder, out yonder, the Flyaway Horse speedeth ever and ever away, over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, over streamlets that sing at their play, over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, while the ships they go sailing below. And he speedeth so fast, that the men at the mast adjudge him some portent of woe. What ho there, they cry, as he flourishes by with the whisk of his beautiful tail, and the fish in the sea are as scared as can be from the nautilus up to the whale. And the Flyaway Horse seeks those faraway lands you little folk dream of at night, where candy trees grow and parks flow, and cornfields with popcorn are white. And the beasts in the wood are ever so good to children who visit them there, what glorious stride of a lion to ride, or to wrestle around with a bear. The monkeys, they say, come on, let us play! And they frisk in the coconut trees, while the parrots, that cling to the peanut vines, sing or converse with comparative ease. Off! scamper to bed! You shall ride him to-night, for as soon as you fall in the sleep, with a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away over forest and hillside and deep. But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear are those beautiful lands over there, where the Flyaway Horse wings his faraway course, with a wee one consigned to his care. Then Grammar will cry in amazement, oh, my, and shall think it could never be so, and only we too shall know it is true. You and I, little precious, shall know. And of the Flyaway Horse. Swing high and swing low, from Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, Swing high and swing low, It's all for the waiting as weary days go, And it's, oh, for the heartache that smite with me, When I sing my song over and over again. Swing high and swing low, While the breezes they blow. Swing high and swing low, The sea singeth so, And it waileth anon in its ebb and its flow, And a sleeper sleeps on to that song of the sea, In a wrecketh he ever of mine or of me. Swing high and swing low, While the breezes they blow. It was offer a sailor their father would go. End of swing high and swing low. When I was a boy, From love songs of childhood, This is a Libra Vox recording. All Libra Vox recordings are in the public domain. For more information order volunteer please visit LIBRIVOX.org. Recording by Squid Vashalakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. When I was a boy, Up in the attic, While I slept when I was a boy, A little boy, In through the lattice the moonlight crept, Bringing a tide of dreams that swept over the low red trundle bed, Bathing the tangled curly head, While moonbeams played at hide-and-seek, With the dimples on the sun-brown cheek, When I was a boy, a little boy, And oh, the dreams, the dreams I dreamed, When I was a boy, a little boy, For the grace that through the lattice, Streamed over my folded eyelids, Seemed to have the gift of prophecy, And to bring me glimpses of times to be, When manhood's clarions seemed to call, Ah, that was the sweetest dream of all, When I was a boy, a little boy. I'd like to sleep where I used to sleep, When I was a boy, a little boy, For in the lattice the moon would peep, Bringing her tide of dreams to sweep the crosses and griefs of the years, Away from the heart that is weary and faint today, And those dreams should give me back again a peace I have never known since then, When I was a boy, a little boy, And of when I was a boy, at play, From love songs of childhood, this is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, order volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squidwash Lakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. At Play. Play that you are mother, dear, And play that papa is your bow, Play that we sit in the corner here, Just as we used to, long ago, Playing so. We lovers, too, are just as happy as we can be, And I'll say I love you to you, And you say I love you to me, I love you we both shall say, All in earnest, and all in play. Or, play that you are that other one That some time came and went away, And play that the light of years Of gone stole into my heart again today, Playing that you are the one I knew In the days that never again may be. I'll say I love you to you, And you say I love you to me, I love you my heart shall say, To the ghost of the past come back today. Or, play that you sought this nestling place For your own sweet self, With that dual guise of your pretty mother in your face, And the look of that other in your eyes. So the dear old love shall live anew As I hold my darling on my knee, And I'll say I love you to you, And you say I love you to me. Oh, many a strange true thing we say and do, When we pretend to play. End of at play. A Valentine. From Love Songs of Childhood, This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Squid Vashalakova. Love Songs of Childhood, by Eugene Field. A Valentine. Go Cupid! And my sweetheart Tell, I love her well. Yes, though she tramples on my heart And rends that bleeding thing apart, And though she rolls a scornful eye On doting men when I go by, And though she scouts at everything As tribute unto her I bring, Apple-banana caramel, Hey, Cupid, to my love and tell In spite of all, I love her well. And further say I have a sled Cushed in blue and painted red. Grocery man has promised I can hitch Whenever he goes by. Go tell her that, and furthermore, I miss we heart that a score of other little girls And plure the boon of riding on that sled Painted and hitched, as foresaid. And tell her, Cupid, only she Shall ride upon that sled with me. Tell her all this, and further tell I love her well. End of A Valentine. Little Alaloni. From Love Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Squid Vajlakova. Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. Little Alaloni. Little Alaloni's feet Pitter-patter in the hall And his mother runs to meet And to kiss her toddling sweet Air perchance you fall. He is, oh, so weak and small. Yet what danger Shall he fear When his mother hovereth near And he hears her cheering call Alaloni. Little Alaloni's face Is all aglow with glee As around that romping place At a terrifying pace, Lungeth, plungeeth he And that hero seems to be All unconscious of our cheers Only one dear voice he hears Calling reassuringly. Alaloni. Though his legs bend with their load Though his feet seem so small That you cannot help for bode Some disastrous episode In that noisy hall Neither threatening bump Or fall little Alaloni fears But with sweet bravado Steers wither comes that cheery call Alaloni. Ah, That in the years to come When he shares of sorrow's store When his feet are chill and numb When his cross is burdensome And his heart is sore When his feet are chill and numb And his heart is sore Would that he could hear once more The gentle voice he used to hear Divine his mother, love and cheer Calling from yonder's spirit shore All All alone End of little Alaloni See in things From love songs of childhood This is the LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information Order volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Squid Vashalakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field See in things I ain't a fear to snakes Or toads Or bugs or worms Or mice And things that girls are scared of I think you're awful nice I'm pretty brave I guess And yet I hate to go to bed For when I'm tucked up warm and snug And when my prayers are sad Mother tells me happy dreams And takes away the light And leaves me lying all alone And seeing things at night Sometimes they're in the corner Sometimes they're by the door Sometimes they're all astounding In the middle of the floor Sometimes they are sitting down Sometimes they're walking round so softly And so creepy like they never make a sound Sometimes they are as black as ink And other times they're white But the color ain't no difference When you see things at night Once, when I looked a feller I'd had just moved on our street And father sent me up to bed Without a bite to eat I woke up in the dark And saw things standing in a row A lookin' at me cross-eyed And pittin' at me so Oh, my! I was so scared that time I never slept a mite It's almost all as when I'm bad I see things at night Lucky thing I ain't a girl Or I'd be scared to death Being a boy, I duck my head And hold my breath And I am, oh, so sorry I'm a naughty boy And then I promise to be better And I say my prayers again Grandma tells me that's the only way To make it right when a feller has been wicked And sees things at night Well, whenever naughty boys Would coax me into sin I try to squash the tempter's voice That urges me within And when there's pie for supper Or cake sets big and nice I want to, but I do not pass My plate for them things twice No, rather that starvation Wipe me slowly out of sight Then I should keep a livin' On and seein' things at night End of seein' things The cunnin' little thing From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information Order volunteer, please visit LIBRIVOX.org Recording by Squid Vashlakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Cunnin' Little Thing When baby wakes of mornings Then it's Wake Ye People All For another day of song and play Has come at our darling's call And, till she gets her dinner She makes the welkin' ring And she won't keep still Till she's had her fill The Cunnin' Little Thing When baby goes a-walking Oh, how her patties fly For that's the way the babies say To other folk, bye-bye The trees bend down to kiss her And the birds in rapture sing As there she stands and waves her hands The Cunnin' Little Thing When baby goes a-walking In her bed at close of day At hide and seek on her dainty cheek The dreams and the dimples play Then it's Sleep In the tender kisses The guardian angels bring from the far above To my sweetest love You Cunnin' Little Thing End of The Cunnin' Little Thing The dolls wooing From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information, order volunteer Please visit librivox.org Recording by Squid Vajalakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field The Dolls Wooing The Little French Doll Was a dear little doll tricked out In the sweetest of dresses Her eyes were a hue, a most delicate blue And dark as the night were heard Her eyes were a hue, a most delicate blue And dark as the night were heard And dark as the night were heard Tresses. Her dear little mouth Was fluted and red And this little French doll was so very well bred, that whenever it costed Her little mouth said, Mama Mama The stocky-knit doll With one arm and one leg Had once been a handsome young fellow But now he appeared rather Frowsy and bleared in his torn Regimentals of yellow. Yet his heart gave a curious thump In the little toy cart near the window One day, and heard the sweet voice Of that French doll he say, Mama Mama He listened so long And he listened so hard That anon he grew ever so tender For it's everywhere known That the feminine tone Gets away with all masculine gender He up and he wooed her With soldierly zest But all she replied to the love He professed with a plaintive words You have guessed, Mama Mama Her mother, a sweet little lady Of five, vouched safe To parental protection And although stocky-knit wasn't Blue-blooded, yet she really Could make no objection. So soldier and dolly were wedded One day, and a moment ago As I journeyed that way I'm sure that I heard a wee baby Voice say, Mama Mama The doll's wooing Inscription for my little son's silver plate From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer Please visit L-I-B-R-I-V-O-X-DAT-O-R-G Recording by Squid Varshalakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Inscription for my little son's silver plate When thou dost eat from off this plate I charge thee Be thou temperate Unto thine elders at the board Do thou sweet reverence accord And, though to dignity inclined Unto the serving folk be kind Be ever mindful of the poor Nor turn them hungry from the door And unto God For health and food And all that in thy life is good Give thou thy heart in gratitude End of Inscription for my little son's silver plate Fisherman Jim's Kids From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer Please visit L-I-B-R-I-V-O-X-DAT-O-R-G Recording by Squid Varshalakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Fisherman Jim's Kids Fisherman Jim lived on the hill With his bonny wife and his little boys Twas Blow ye winds as blow ye will Not when you wreck of your cold and noise For happy and warm were he and his And he dandled his kids upon his knee To the song of the sea Fisherman Jim would sail all day But when come night Upon the sands his little kids ran From their play Cull into him and wave in their hands Though the wind was fresh And the sea was high He'd hear them, you bet Above the roar of the waves on the shore Once Fisherman Jim sailed into the bay As the sun went down in a cloudy sky And never a kid saw he at play And he listened in vain For the welcoming cry In his little house he learned it all And he clenched his hands And he bowed his head The fishman Jim sailed Into the bay as the sun went down Into his head The fever, they said It was a pitiful time for Fisherman Jim With them darlings at dye And a four as eyes A stretch in their wee hands out to him And a break in his heart With the old time cries he had heard So often upon the sands But they thought there was help In his boat ashore Till they spoke no more But Fisherman Jim lived on and on Casting his nets and sailing the sea As a man will live When his heart is gone Fisherman Jim lived hopelessly Till once in those years They'd come and said Old Fisherman Jim is powerful, sick Go to him quick Then Fisherman Jim says he to me It's a long, long cruise You understand But over beyond to their age and sea I can see my boys on the shining sand Waiting to help this old hulk Ashore Just as they used to Ah mate, you know In the long ago No sir He wasn't a fear to die For all night long he seemed to see His little boys if the day's gone by And to hear sweet voices Forgot by me And just as the morning sun come up They're holding me by the hands He cried And so he died End of the day And so he died End of Fisherman Jim's kids Fiddlede-dee From Love Songs of Childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVOX.org Recording by Squid Varsh Lakova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Fiddlede-dee There once was a bird that lived up in a tree And all he could whistle was Fiddlede-dee A very provoking, unmusical song For one to be whistling this summer day long Yet always contented and busy was he With that vocal recurrence of Fiddlede-dee Hard by I lived a brave little soldier Of four That weird iteration repented him sore I pray thee, dear mother-mind Fetch me my gun For by our St. Diddy The deed must be done That she'll presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird And his Fiddlede-dee Then out came, dear mother-mind Bringing her son his Awfully truculent little red gun The stock was of pine And the barrel of tin The bang it came out with a bullet went in The right kind of weapon I think you'll agree For staying all foul the go Fiddlede-dee The brave little soldier quiffed never a word And the apony drew a straight bead On that bird, and While that vain creature provokingly sang The gun it went off with a terrible bang Then thou left the youth By my bottle, cried he I've put a quietess on Fiddlede-dee Out came then, dear mother-mind Saying My son, right well have you Wrought with your little red gun Hereafter no evil at all Need I fear With such a brave soldier as you My love here The boy, the bird in the tree He continued to whistle His Fiddlede-dee And of Fiddlede-dee Over the hills and far away From love songs of childhood This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit L-I-B-R-I-V-O-X-D-O-R-G Recording by Squid Vashlykova Love Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple tree He lies and he dreams of the things to be Of battles fought and of victories won Of wrongs overthrown and of great deeds done Of the valor that he shall prove some day Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away It's all for the toil, the live-long day But it mattereth not the soul of flame With a love for riches and power and fame On, O man, while the sun is high Onto the certain joys that lie yonder Where it blaze at the noon of day Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away Over the hills and far away An old man lingers at close of day Now that his journey is almost done His battles fought and his victories won The old-time honesty and truth The trustfulness and the friends of youth Home and mother Where are they? Over the hills and far away Over the years and far away