By the craggy hillside,

Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring

As dig one up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We dare n't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men ;

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together;

Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl's feather!

William Allingham.

CASTLES IN THE AIR.

THE bonnie, bonnie bairn

Who sits with careless grace,

Glowring in the fire,

With his wee, round face,
Laughing at the gusty flame,
What sees he there?

Ha! the young dreamer
Builds castles in the air.

His wee, chubby face,

And his rough, curly head, Are dancing and nodding

To the fire in its bed;

A wee thing makes us think,

A small thing makes us stare, There are more folks than him Building castles in the air.

Such a night in winter

May well make him cold;
His chin upon his chubby hand
Will soon make him old.

His brow is smooth and broad,
Oh pray that busy care
Would let the wean alone

With his castles in the air!

He'll glower at the fire,

And he'll glance at the light!

But many sparkling stars

Are swallowed up in night;

Older eyes than his

Are dazzled by a glare

Hearts are broken-heads are turned

With castles in the air.

-James Ballantyne

Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.

Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep?

Ask me not this, little child, if you

You are too bold :

love me :

I must obey my dear Father above me,
And do as I'm told.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?
Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that loves me.

-Lord Houghton.

THE NEW MOON.

DEAR mother, how pretty
The moon looks to-night!
She was never so cunning before ;
Her two little horns

Are so sharp and so bright,
I hope she'll not grow any more.

If I were up there,
With you and my friends,
I'd rock in it nicely, you'd see ;

I'd sit in the middle

And hold by both ends;

Oh, what a bright cradle 't would be!

I would call to the stars

To keep out of the way,

Lest we should rock over their toes;

And then I would rock

Till the dawn of the day,

And see where the pretty moon goes.