98 A CHILD OF THE PEOPLE 



them in the tinkling water, while such a smile lit 

 up its face ! So that the curious person longed to 

 say : " Come with me, little Pete, and I will take you 

 to the music's home. I will show you such a pretty 

 purling streamlet. I know it well. Out of the 

 quiet hill it comes, and down the cradled valley 

 passes, over beds of golden pebble, and into the 

 clearest of crystal pools. In these the silver fish 

 are glinting, and blue forget-me-nots grow round 

 about, and high overhead meet the pink wild roses 

 in arch and tangle and woven growths. And the 

 stream like a glistening skein of silk goes on and 

 on, till it comes to the ford below the cottage, 

 and there the children play. And as it goes it 

 sings a little song, and this is the burden of it. 

 Only the song is far, far prettier than this, which is 

 only its prose and sense : 



See! I was horn of a silver cloud 

 That moves about the morning star 



And I go singifig soft or loud 

 Where any children are. 



Mine is the touch of the dewy grass ; 



The golden sunrise sent me here 

 To greet the children as they pass. 



And tell them love is near. 



