For oh, the fields were green and glad, In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm The rain-cloud lifted, the sunset light As the plains of heaven the land grew bright, Then loud and clear called the happy bird, And rapturously he sang, Till wood and meadow and river side With jubilant echoes rang. But the sun dropped down in the quiet west, All nature softly sank to rest, And the April day had passed. - Celia Thaxter DON'T KILL THE BIRDS. DON'T ON'T kill the birds, the pretty birds, Soon as the joyous spring has come, Oh! let them joyous live; And never seek to take the life That you can never give. Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, 'Twould make the earth a cheerless place, Do not disturb their sport; But let them warble forth their songs, Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, They claim our warmest love. No spot can be a cheerless place Where'er their presence be. Colesworthy A ANXIETY. LITTLE bird sat on the edge of her nest; That day she had done her very best, And had filled every one of their little crops; She had filled her own just over-full, And hence was feeling a little dull. "Oh, dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, While her crop stuck out like a feather bed "I've had twenty to-day, and the children five each, Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders, No one will say I don't do as I preach : I'm one of the best of bird providers. "There's five in my crop," said a wee, wee bird, The yellow-beaks they slept on and on, They never had heard of the dread to-morrow; The fact, as I say, was, she'd had too many; Name you may call it that will not hurt you; But the little fellow who knew of five, Nor troubled his head about any more, Woke very early, felt quite alive, And wanted a sixth to add to his store, When his mother awoke and rubbed her eyes, Dragging a huge worm out of a hole! 'Twas of this same hero the proverb took form, "Tis the early bird that catches the worm." George Macdonald Μ' ROBERT OF LINCOLN. ERRILY swinging on brier and weed, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name; Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, Wearing a bright black wedding coat; White are his shoulders, and white his crest; "Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass, while her husband sings, "Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Modest and shy as a nun is she, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man, Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can! Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: "Bob-o'-link, bob-o'link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, |