"Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care,
But I love dearly, the clear, cool air,
And my snug little nest in the old oak-tree."

"Little bird! little bird! stay with me."

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Nay, little damsel! away I'll fly

To greener fields and warmer sky;

When Spring returns with pattering rain,
You'll hear my merry song again."

แ

'Little bird! little bird! who'll guide thee Over the hills and over the sea?

Foolish one! come in the house to stay,

For I'm very sure you'll lose your way."

Ah, no, little maiden! God guides me

Over the hills, and over the sea ;

I will be free as the rushing air,

And sing of sunshine everywhere."

L. Maria Child

THE ORIOLES.

FOUR little mouths agape for ever;

Four little throats which are never full; Four little nestlings, who dissever

One big worm, by a mighty pull.

Up on a limb the lazy fellow !

Perches the father, bold and gay,
Proud of his coat of black and yellow,
Always singing throughout the day.

Close at their side, the watchful mother,
Quietly sober in dress and song,
Chooses her place, and asks no other,
Flying and gleaning all day long.

Four little mouths in time grow smaller,
Four little throats in time are filled;

Four little nestlings quite appall her,

Spreading their wings for the sun to gild.

Lazy no longer sits the father,

His is the care of the singing-school; He must teach them to fly, and gather Splendid worms by the nearest pool.

Singing away on the shaken branches, Under the light of the happy sun; Dropping through blossoms like avalanches, Father Oriole's work is done.

Four little beaks their mouths embolden, Four little throats are round and strong; Four little nestlings, fledged and golden, Graduate in the world of song.

A BIRD'S-EYE VIEW.

QUOTH the boy, "I'll climb that tree,
And bring down a nest I know."
Quoth the girl, "I will not see
Little birds defrauded so!
Cowardly, their nests to take,
And their little hearts to break,

And their little nests to steal
Leave them happy for my sake!
Surely little birds can feel!"

Quoth the boy, "My senses whirl ;
Until now I never heard

Of the wisdom of a girl,

Or the feelings of a bird!

Pretty Mrs. Solomon,

Tell me what you reckon on

When you prate in such a strain ;
If I wring their necks anon,
Certainly they might feel-pain!"

Quoth the girl, "I watch them talk,
Making love and making fun,
In the pretty ash-tree walk,
When my daily task is done :
In their little eyes I find
They are very fond and kind.
Every change of song or voice
Plainly proveth to my soul
They can suffer and rejoice."

And the little Robin-bird

(Nice brown back and crimson breast)
All the conversation heard,

Sitting trembling in his nest.

"What a world," he cried, "of bliss-
Full of birds and girls, were this!

Blithe we'd answer to their call;

But a great mistake it is

Boys were ever made at all."

Poems written for a Child.

SING ON, BLITHE BIRD !

I'VE plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tre, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me.

I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer

With their wild eyes, like glittering beads, to note if harm were

near;

I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good

To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the wood.

And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing,
He pecks his swelling breast and neck, and trims his little wing.
He will not fly; he knows full well, while chirping on that spray,
I would not harm him for a world, or interrupt his lay.

Sing on, sing on, blithe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness,

It has been aching many a day with measures full of sadness! - William Motherwell.

THE SANDPIPER.

ACROSS the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I,
And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered drift-wood, bleached and dry.
The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,

As up and down the beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds

Scud, black and swift, across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white light-houses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach,
One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry;

He starts not at my fitful song,

Nor flash of fluttering drapery.