A Swinging Song

Merry it is on a summer’s day,
All through the meadows to wend away;
To watch the brooks glide fast or slow,
And the little fish twinkle down below;
To hear the lark in the blue sky sing,
Oh, sure enough, ’tis a merry thing--But
’tis merrier far to swing--to swing!

Merry it is on a winter’s night,
To listen to tales of elf and sprite,
Of caves and castles so dim and old,--
The dismallest tales that ever were told;--
And then to laugh, and then to sing,
You may take my word is a merry thing,--
But ’tis merrier far to swing--to swing!

Down with the hoop upon the green;
Down with the ringing tambourine;--
Little heed we for this or for that;
Off with the bonnet, off with the hat!
Away we go like birds on the wing!
Higher yet! higher yet! “Now for the King!”
This is the way we swing--we swing!

Scarcely the bough bends, Claude is so light,
Mount up behind him--there, that is right!
Down bends the branch now;--swing him away;
Higher yet--higher yet--higher I say!
Oh, what a joy it is! Now let us sing
“A pear for the Queen--an apple for the King!”
And shake the old tree as we swing--we swing!