Ee en Pieri

Iw a large old house, with two kind aunts,
The little Marian dwelt;

And a happy child she was, I ween,
For though at times she felt

That playmates would be better far
Than either birds or flowers,

Yet her kind old aunts, and story books,
Soothed many lonely hours.

Her favorite haunt, in the summer-time,
Was a large old apple-tree ;

And oft amid the boughs she sat,
With her pet book on her knee.

The “ Pilgrim’s Progress” was its name,
And Marian loved it much;

It is, indeed, a glorious book,
There are not many such !

She read it in her little bed,
Beside the winter fire,

And in summer-time in the apple-tree,
As though she would never tire.

But, unexplained, ’tis just the book
To puzzle the young brain ;

And the poor child had no kind friend,
Its meaning to explain.

For though her aunts were very kind,
They were not overwise,
And only said, “ Don’t read so, child,
I’m sure you'll spoil your eyes.”
(319 )