OLD STORY BOOKS.
Old Story Books! Old Story Books! we owe ye much, old friends,
Bright-colour'd threads in Memory's warp, of which Death holds the ends.
Who can forget ye! who can spurn the ministers of joy
That waited on the lisping girl and petticoated boy?
I know that ye could win my heart when every bribe or threat
Fail'd to allay my stamping rage, or break my sullen pet.
A "promised story" was enough—I turn'd, with eager smile,
To learn about the naughty "pig that would not mount the stile."
Bright-colour'd threads in Memory's warp, of which Death holds the ends.
Who can forget ye! who can spurn the ministers of joy
That waited on the lisping girl and petticoated boy?
I know that ye could win my heart when every bribe or threat
Fail'd to allay my stamping rage, or break my sullen pet.
A "promised story" was enough—I turn'd, with eager smile,
To learn about the naughty "pig that would not mount the stile."
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