He has no thought of any wrong, He scans me with a fearless eye; Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, The little sandpiper and I. Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, The tempest rushes through the sky; THE SKYLARK. JAMES HOGG. BIRD of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place,— O to abide in the desert with thee! Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the rainbow's rim, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling-place, O to abide in the desert with thee! ROBIN REDBREAST. WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. GOODBY, goodby to Summer! But Robin's here in coat of brown, O Robin dear! Robin sings so sweetly In the falling of the year. The leaves come down in hosts; But soon they'll turn to ghosts; It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, O Robin dear! And what will this poor Robin do? The fire-side for the cricket, The wheat-stack for the mouse, The branches plumed with snow,- Where can poor Robin go? O Robin dear! And a crumb of bread for Robin, WHEN daffodils begin to peer, with heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why then comes in the sweet o' the year, for the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. THE BIRD. WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. "BIRDIE, Birdie, will you, pet? You'll have silken quilts and a velvet bed, "I'd rather sleep in the ivy wall: No rain comes through, though I hear it fall ; "O Birdie, Birdie, will you, pet? "Oh! thanks for diamonds, and thanks for jet; But here is something daintier yet, A feather necklace, round and round, That I would not sell for a thousand pound!” "O Birdie, Birdie, won't you, pet? "Can running water be drunk from gold? A rocking twig is the finest chair, And the softest paths lie through the air: THE OWL. ALFRED TENNYSON. WHEN cats run home and light is come, And the whirring sail goes round; When merry milkmaids click the latch, Twice or thrice his roundelay; Alone and warming his five wits, FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL. ALFRED TENNYSON. FLOWER in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies ;- |