WHAT THE BIRDS SAY. When they chatter together, the robins and sparrows, all the day long; What do they talk of? The sky and the sunshine, Of love and of friendship, and all the sweet trifles Of matches in prospect; -how Robin and Jenny At home, and went off on a lark with the rest. Such mild little slanders! such innocent gossip! O birds in the tree-tops! O robins and sparrows! us, And all the sweet nothings we fancy you say ? CAROLINE A. MASON. Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge. Titus Andronicus, Act 1, Sc. 2. THE WREN'S NEST. I took the wren's nest: Heaven forgive me! Its merry architects so small Had scarcely finished their wee hall And Love within chirp multiplied; I took the wren's nest: How many hours of happy pains Before the pretty house was made ! And she 'll fly back, and find it I took the wren's nest : Bird, forgive me! gone! Thou and thy mate, sans let, sans fear, In many a busy home to come. I took the wren's nest: God forgive me! DINAH MARIA (MULOCK) CRAIK. ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, And not feel my sorrow's share? Can a mother sit and hear An infant groan, an infant fear? And can He who smiles on all And not sit beside the nest, And not sit both night and day, Oh no! never can it be ! Never, never can it be ! WILLIAM BLAKE. THE SHEPHERD'S HOME. My banks they are furnished with bees, And my hills are white over with sheep. Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow. Not a pine in the grove is there seen, Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a sweet-brier entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold. I found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed ; But let me such plunder forbear, She will say 't was a barbarous deed; For he ne'er could be true, she averred, Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue. SHENSTONE (d. 1673). THE WOOD-PIGEON'S HOME. Come with me, if but in fancy, To the wood, the green soft shade: 'Tis a haven, pure and lovely, For the good of mankind made. Listen! you can hear the cooing, In the branches all around. In the city and the open, Man has built or tilled the land; But the home of the wood-pigeon Bears the touch of God's own hand. THE SHAG. "What is that great bird, sister, tell me, Perched high on the top of the crag ?" ""Tis the cormorant, dear little brother; The fishermen call it the shag.” "But what does it there, sister, tell me, ANON. |