Tiny folk of wintry days

by Edith Matilda Thomas

TINY FOLK

OF

W I N T R Y⁠D A Y S

NEW ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS AND
IN MONOTINT BY

MAUD HUMPHREY

Illustrator of "Babes of the Year"

NEW VERSES BY

EDITH M. THOMAS

Author of "Babes of the Year"

NEW YORK

Copyright, 1889, by

Frederick A. Stokes & Brother
MDCCCLXXXIX

COPYRIGHT 1889 BY FREDERICK A. STOKES & BROTHER

The Russian Child.

Little subject of the Czar

Tell us what your projects are.

"Oh, beneath the singing pine

I will build a palace fine

All of sparkling snow and ice,

Decked with many a rich device!

And I'll not be there alone,

For I'll build a royal throne,

And I'll make a Czar of snow

And trim courtiers bowing low,

On his head a crown he'll wear,

In his hand a sceptre bear!

Then a guard of snow I'll set,

With an icy bayonet,

At the door, to keep afar

All who plot against my Czar."

—EDITH M. THOMAS

Dutch Child.

Oh, a sturdy little pilgrim

All the way from Hollow-Land

With your cosey cap and muff.

⁠And your skates in hand!

If I tried to catch and kiss you

Roly-poly, round, and sweet,

⁠I suspect that you would tie

⁠Wings upon your feet.

⁠Away, away you will be flitting

⁠Down the river smooth as glass;

⁠I, upon the bank, will throw

⁠Kisses as you pass.

—EDITH M. THOMAS

A Little Highlander.

Here's a brave lad from the highlands and heather—

Here's a true lad with tartan and feather,—

Full of the joy of the wild spring weather!

⁠March!

⁠March!

Who within doors with dull care would be staying

When the wind, through the naked treetops straying,

Sounds like a pibroch that minstrels are playing?

⁠March!

⁠March!

Here's a blithe heart as light as the swallow,

Here's a bold chieftain—who'll follow, who'll follow,

Over the meadow, up hill and down hollow?

⁠March!

⁠March!

—EDITH M. THOMAS.

American Child.

---

The Volunteer Speaks.

---

Yes, I am ready to be

A soldier by land or sea,

⁠For my heart is warm and true;

I am my Country's knight,

Peace will I keep—or fight—

⁠Just as she bids me do!

—EDITH M. THOMAS.

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Swedish Child.

I met a little Swedish child,

⁠And deep and thoughtful were her eyes;

My willing fancy she beguiled

⁠With many a legend strange and wild.

She told of witching water-sprites,

⁠Of nimble dwarfs and giants grim,

Of dancers 'mid the Northern Lights

⁠That wave their banners o'er the heights.

She sang me may a cunning rhyme,

⁠Then up she rose in haste, and cried,

"I must be gone the church-bells chime,

⁠I'll tell the rest another time!"

—EDITH M. THOMAS.

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Canadian Child.

"Gay little cousin

⁠Beyond the Great Lakes

(A darling rose-bud

⁠Amid the white flakes!)

How far is it, pray,

⁠To the foot of the hill?"

"A swallow's flight

⁠So smooth and so still!"

"And, prithee, how far

⁠To the top of the hill?"

"Oh, a snail's pace

⁠With a patient will!"

—EDITH M. THOMAS