And whilst in knowledge I rejoice, In my Redeemer's praise. The oaks are budding, and, beneath, The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath, The welcome guest of settled Spring, Come, summer visitant, attach To my reed roof your nest of clay, And let my ear your music catch, Low twittering underneath the thatch At the gray dawn of day. C. SMITH. THE NIGHTINGALE. S it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Which a grove of myrtles made, The Robin. Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring, -Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, King Pandion, he is dead, All thy friends are lapped in lead. All thy fellow birds do sing None alive will pity me. 243 R. BARNEFIELD. THE ROBIN. EE, mamma, what a sweet little prize I have found! A robin that lay half benumbed on the ground. I caught him, and fed him, and warmed in my breast, And now he's as nimble and blithe as the best. Look, look, how he flutters!-He'll slip from my hold: But stay,-sure 'tis cruel, with wings made to soar, THE ROBIN'S PETITION. SUPPLIANT to your window comes, Who trusts your faith and fears no guile, He claims admittance for your crumbs, And reads his passport in your smile. For cold and cheerless is the day, And he has sought the hedges round; No berry hangs upon the spray, Nor worm or ant-egg can be found. Secure his suit will be preferred, No fears his slender feet deter, For sacred is the household bird, That wears the scarlet stomacher." 245 The Robin's Petition. Lucy the prayer assenting heard, The feathered suppliant flew to her, And fondly cherished was the bird, That wears the scarlet stomacher. Emboldened then, he'd fearless perch And warbling on her snowy arm, A graver moralist, who used From all some lesson to infer, Thus said, as on the bird she mused, Pluming his scarlet stomacher. Where are his gay companions now, The migrant tribes are fled away To skies where insect myriads swarm, They vanish with the summer day, Nor bide the bitter northern storm. But still is this sweet ministrel heard, While lowers December dark and drear. The social, cheerful, household bird, That wears the scarlet stomacher. And thus in life's propitious hour, They the more happy fly to court. Then let us to the selfish herd Of fortune's parasites prefer, The friend like this our winter bird, CHARLOTTE SMITH. THE OWL. N the hollow tree, in the grey old tower, The spectral owl doth dwell; Dull, hated, despised in the sunshine hour, But at dusk, he's abroad and well : Not a bird of the forest e'er mates with him ; But at night, when the woods grow still and dim, Oh, when the night falls, and roosts the fowl, And the owl hath a bride who is fond and bold, And with eyes like the shine of the moonshine cold Not a feather she moves, not a carol she sings, As she waits in her tree so still; But when her heart heareth his flapping wings, She hoots out her welcome shrill! Oh, when the moon shines, and the dogs do howl, |