The Launch.

Come, sister Ellen, get your hat
    And come away with me;
My boat, all rigged with mast and sail,
    I want you so to see!

Do you upon the landing stand,
    While here I'll kneel and blow,
So that the little "Water-witch"
    Beneath the arch may go.

There! there! she's off! how fast she goes
    Across the river wide!
I'd love to sit in her myself,
    And o'er the water glide.

When I'm a man I'll have a boat,
    And every sunny day,
We'll take a long and pleasant sail,
    Till daylight fades away.

H. P. Nichols

No biography available

H. P. Nichols

Soap-Bubbles.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Willie In Heaven:

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

Sunday.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

The Baby.

H. P. Nichols, Simple Poetry

English

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Pull away merrily--over the waters!
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Water-Party On Beaulieu River, In The New Forest

    I thought 'twas a toy of the fancy, a dream
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Up the Hudson.

Song and Chorus.




Up the Hudson!--Fleetly gliding
    To our haunts among the trees!
Joy the gallant vessel guiding
    With a fresh and cheerful breeze!
Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us--
    (Hearts that love us to the core!)
And with fond expressions greet us
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Chorus.


Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
    (Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
    Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!


Up the Hudson!--Rock and river,
    Grove and glen pronounce His praise,
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Voyage Of The Jettie

A shallow stream, from fountains
Deep in the Sandwich mountains,
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And, between its flood-torn shores,
Sped by sail or urged by oars
No keel had vexed it ever.

Alone the dead trees yielding
To the dull axe Time is wielding,
The shy mink and the otter,
And golden leaves and red,
By countless autumns shed,
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Came a skilled seafaring man,
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Over hill and plain he brought her,
Where the boatless Beareamp water
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In The Shadows

I am sailing to the leeward,
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        Soft and slow,
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Brush my paddle as it passes
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All the golden sands awaking
        In the cove;
And the quaint sand-piper, winging
O'er the shallows, ceases singing
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On the water's idle pillow
Sleeps the overhanging willow,
        Green and cool;
Where the rushes lift their burnished
Oval heads from out the tarnished
        Emerald pool.

Where the very silence slumbers,
Water lilies grow in numbers,
        Pure and pale;
All the morning they have rested,
Amber crowned, and pearly crested,
        Fair and frail.

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