Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

Lissom swayings make the willows
One bright sheen,

Which the breeze puffs out in billows
Foamy green.

From the marshy brook that 's smoking
In the fog

I can catch the crool and croaking
Of a frog.

Dogwood stars the slopes are studding,
And I see

Blooms upon the purple-budding
Judas-tree.

Aspen tassels thick are dropping
All about,

And the alder-leaves are cropping

Broader out;

Mouse-ear tufts the hawthorn sprinkle,
Edged with rose;

The park bed of periwinkle

Fresher grows.

Up and down are midges dancing
On the grass:

How their gauzy wings are glancing
As they pass!

What does all this haste and hurry
Mean, I pray -

All this out-door flush and flurry

[blocks in formation]

THE CANARY IN HIS CAGE.

Sing away, ay, sing away,
Merry little bird,
Always gayest of the gay,
Though a woodland roundelay
You ne'er sung nor heard;
Though your life from youth to age
Passes in a narrow cage.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

Like a human soul you seem

Shut in golden bars:

Placed amid earth's sunshine stream,
Singing to the morning beam,
Dreaming 'neath the stars;
Seeing all life's pleasures clear,
But they never can come near.

Never! Sing, bird-poet mine,
As most poets do ; ·
Guessing by an instinct fine
At some happiness divine

Which they never knew.
Lonely in a prison bright
Hymning for the world's delight.

Yet, my birdie, you're content

In your tiny cage:

Not a carol thence is sent

But for happiness is meant
Wisdom pure as sage:
Teaching the pure poet's part
Is to sing with merry heart.

So lie down, thou peevish pen ;
Eyes, shake off all tears;
And, my wee bird, sing again :
I'll translate your song to men
In these future years.
"Howsoe'er thy lot 's assigned,
Meet it with a cheerful mind."

MRS. DINAH MARIA (MULOCK) CRAIK.

[blocks in formation]

Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!

I would n't be so mean as that, now,

I

gave

hairs the nest to make,

But the nest I did not take.

Not I, said the dog, bow-wow!

I would n't be so mean as that, now.

Not I, said the sheep, Oh no!

I would n't treat a poor bird so!

I

gave the wool the nest to line,

But the nest was none of mine.

Baa! baa! said the sheep; Oh no,
I would n't treat a poor bird so.

I would not rob a bird,
Said little Mary Green
I think I never heard

Of any thing so mean.
'Tis very cruel, too,

Said little Alice Neal;

I wonder if she knew

;

How sad the bird would feel?

A little boy hung down his head,
And went and hid behind the bed,
For he stole that pretty nest
From poor little yellow-breast;
And he felt so full of shame

He did n't like to tell his name.

Hymns for Mother and Children.

WHO STOLE THE EGGS?

"Oh, what is the matter with Robin,

That makes her cry round here all day?

I think she must be in great trouble,"
Said Swallow to little Blue Jay.

"I know why the Robin is crying,"

Said Wren, with a sob in her breast; "A naughty bold robber has stolen

Three little blue eggs from her nest.

"He carried them home in his pocket;
I saw him, from up in this tree :
Ah me! how my little heart fluttered

For fear he would come and rob me!"

"Oh! what little boy was so wicked?"
Said Swallow, beginning to cry;
"I would n't be guilty of robbing

A dear little bird's-nest

- not I."

"Nor I!" said the birds in a chorus: "A cruel and mischievous boy!

I pity his father and mother;

He surely can't give them much joy.

"I guess he forgot what a pleasure
The dear little robins all bring,

In early spring-time and in summer,
By the beautiful songs that they sing.

[ocr errors]

I

guess he forgot that the rule is,

To do as you'd be always done by ; guess he forgot that from heaven

There looks down an All-seeing Eye."

MRS. C. F. Berry.

« ПредишнаНапред »