"O look!" the little Fanny cried,
As wandering by her mother's side,
They pass'd a cottage neat tho' poor,
With woodbines clustering round the door,
"Oh look, mamma, what lovely flowers!
I here could stand and gaze for hours.
That beauteous rose, those lilies fair,
And that gay bed of tulips there!
Oh! how I wish they all were mine,
They'd make my empty garden shine."
"Your empty garden, Fanny! pray
Have all your flowers been stol'n away?
Or do you for your neighbour's sigh,
Because your own you leave to die?
The little girl whose flowers these are,
Watches and prunes them all with care;
She rises early, labours hard,
And does not toil nor care regard,
But thinks her trouble well repaid,
If she her parents thus can aid.
These flowers to market off she takes,
And many pence by them she makes;
You surely, therefore, would not strive
Of this advantage to deprive
The grateful child, who takes such pains,
To help her parents' scanty gains.
But come, my love, we must not stay,
That show'r will reach us on our way;
Come, Fanny, come,"—"Mamma, I will,"
But Fanny staid and linger'd still;
Each plant and flower at length being view'd,
Her way she thoughtfully pursu'd.
A week had pass'd, when Fanny ran
To her mamma, and thus began:
"Mamma, when you have time, I pray,
That you would kindly walk this way,
And let me show you what, last night,
I finish'd ready for your sight."
Mamma complies, and Fanny bounds
Delighted, through the verdant grounds;
With sparkling eye and step elate,
Open she throws the garden gate,
"And look!" she cries, in joyful tone,
"What play-hours in one week have done;
No weeds do now my garden spoil,
The stones I clear'd, and turn'd the soil,
The trees I prun'd, I planted flowers,
And water'd them with plenteous showers:
Perhaps, mamma, with time and care,
Some nosegays I may hence prepare
For that good girl, who takes such pains
To help her parents' scanty gains."