Once more he stept into the street,
And to his lips again
Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane;
And ere he blew three notes
(such sweet
Soft notes as yet musician's cunning
Never gave the enraptured air)
There was a rustling,
that seemed like a bustling
Of merry crowds justling at pitching and
hustling,
Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes
clattering,
Little hands clapping and little tongues
chattering,
And, like fowls in a farm–yard when barley
is scattering,
Out came the children running.
All the little boys and girls,
With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls,
And sparkling eyes and teeth like
pearls.
Tripping
and skipping,
ran merrily after
The wonderful music with shouting and
laughter.
