SUMMER WOODS.

Some are strong and some are weak ;
Some love day and some love night;
But whate'er a bird is,

Whate'er loves it has delight
In the joyous song it sings;
In the liquid air it cleaves;
In the sunshine, in the shower,
In the nest it weaves!

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MARY HOWITT.

SUMMER WOODS.

COME ye into the summer woods s;
There entereth no annoy;

All greenly wave the chestnut leaves,
And the earth is full of joy.

I cannot tell you half the sights
Of beauty you may see,
The bursts of golden sunshine,
And many a shady tree.

There, lightly swung, in bowery glades,
The honeysuckles twine;

There blooms the rose-red campion,

And the dark-red columbine.

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SUMMER WOODS.

There grows the four-leaved plant "true-love,"
In some dusk woodland spot;
There grows the enchanter's night-shade,
And the wood forget-me-not.

And many a merry bird is there,
Unscared by lawless men;

The blue-winged jay, the woodpecker,
And the golden-crested wren.

Come down, and ye shall see them all,
The timid and the bold;

For their sweet life of pleasantness,
It is not to be told.

And far within that summer-wood,
Among the leaves so green,
There flows a little gurgling brook,
The brightest e'er was seen.

There come the little gentle birds,
Without a fear of ill;

Down to the murmuring water's edge
And freely drink their fill!

And dash about and splash about,

The merry little things;

And look askance with bright black eyes,

And flirt their dripping wings.

SUMMER WOODS.

I've seen the freakish squirrels drop
Down from their leafy tree,
The little squirrels with the old,-
Great joy it was to me!

And down unto the running brook
I've seen them nimbly go;

And the bright water seemed to speak
A welcome kind and low.

The nodding plants they bow their heads,
As if, in heartsome cheer,
They spake unto those little things,
""T is merry living here!"

O, how my heart ran o'er with joy!
I saw that all was good,
And how we might glean up delight
All round us, if we would!

And many a wood-mouse dwelleth there,
Beneath the old wood-shade,
And all day long has work to do,

Nor is of aught afraid.

The green shoots grow above their heads,
And roots so fresh and fine

Beneath their feet, nor is there strife

'Mong them for mine and thine.

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LITTLE BELL.

There is enough for every one,
And they lovingly agree;

We might learn a lesson, all of us,
Beneath the green-wood tree!

MARY HOWITT.

LITTLE BELL.

"He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast."

PIPED the Blackbird on the beechwood spray,
"Pretty maid, slow wandering this way,

What's your name?" quoth he

"What's your name? O, stop and straight unfold
Pretty maid, with showery curls of gold!"
"Little Bell," said she.

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks,
Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks,
"Bonny bird!" quoth she,

"Sing me your best song before I go."
"Here's the very finest song I know,
Little Bell," said he.

And the blackbird piped

you never heard

Half so gay a song from any bird

Full of quips and wiles,

LITTLE BELL.

Now so round and rich, now soft and slow,
All for love of that sweet face below,
Dimpled o'er with smiles.

And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out, freely o'er and o'er, 'Neath the morning skies,

In the little childish heart below,

All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow,
And shine forth in happy overflow

From the blue, bright eyes.

Down the dell she tripped; and through the glade Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade,

And from out the tree

Swung and leaped and frolicked, void of fear, While bold Blackbird piped, that all might hear, "Little Bell!" piped he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern:

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Squirrel, Squirrel, to your task return;
Bring me nuts!" quoth she.

Up, away! the frisky squirrel hies

Golden woodlights glancing in his eyes -
And adown the tree,

Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun,
In the little lap drop, one by one

Hark, how Blackbird pipes to see the fun!
'66 'Happy Bell!" pipes he.