Page:Wee wee songs for our little pets.djvu/145

The wandering Indian oft partook
    The generous farmer's cheer;
He liked his food, but better still
    His cider fine and clear.

And as he quaff'd the pleasant draught,
    The kitchen fire before,
He longed for some to carry home,
    And asked for more and more.

The farmer saw a basket new
    Beside the Indian bold,
And smiling said, "I'll give to you
    As much as that will hold."

Both laughed, for how could liquid thing
    Within a basket stay;
But yet the jest unanswering,
    The Indian went his way,

When next from rest the farmer sprung,
    So very cold the morn,
The icicles like diamonds hung
    On every spray and thorn.

The brook that babbled by his door
    Was deep, and clear, and strong,
And yet unfettered by the frost,
    Leaped merrily along.