The Bird's Petition. Mourn not for the owl nor his gloomy plight! The owl hath his share of good: If a prisoner he be in the broad daylight, Thrice fonder, perhaps, since a strange dark fate So when the night falls, and dogs do howl, We know not alway who are kings by day, 247 B. CORNWALL. THE BIRD'S PETITION. H, stay your hand, my little boy, And do not rob my nest; Why should you, for a moment's joy, My happy brood molest? My little ones, my hope and pride, Have not yet learned to fly; They soon will pine and die. Think, gentle boy, what you would feel, If to your bed some thief should steal, Oh, do not, do not climb the tree, To spoil our nest so warm, For you indeed must cruel be If you would do us harm. Return then to your happy home, And to your window I will come, And thank you with a song. S. W. PARTRIDGE. DON'T KILL THE BIRDS. ON'T kill the birds-the little birds That sing about your door, Soon as the joyous spring has come, And chilling storms are o'er. The little birds-how sweet they sing! And do not seek to take their life, Don't kill the birds-the pretty birds That play among the trees; 'Twould make the earth a cheerless place To see no more of these. Don't kill the birds-the happy birds The Sparrow's Nest. 249 THE THRUSH'S NEST. ITHIN a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, That overhung a mole-hill large and round, I heard from morn to morn a merry thrush Sing hymns of rapture, while I drank the sound With joy; and oft, an unintruding guest, I watched her secret toils from day to day, And there I witnessed, in the summer hours, THE SPARROW'S NEST. EHOLD, within the leafy shade, Those bright blue eggs together laid! On me the chance-discovered sight Gleamed like a vision of delight.— I started-seeming to espy The home and sheltered bed, The sparrow's dwelling, which, hard by She looked at it as if she feared it; Still wishing, dreading to be near it : Such heart was in her, being then Was with me when a boy: She gave me eyes, she gave me ears; WORDSWORTH. THE WREN'S NEST. MONG the dwellings framed by birds In snugness may compare. No door the tenement requires, And seldom needs a laboured roof; Yet is it to the fiercest sun Impervious, and storm-proof. So warm, so beautiful withal, And when for their abodes they seek An opportune recess, The hermit has no finer eye For shadowy quietness. The Wren's Nest. These find, 'mid ivied abbey walls, There to the brooding bird her mate Or in sequestered lanes they build, Like relics in an urn. But still, where general choice is good, This, one of those small builders proved The leafy antlers sprout; For she who planned the mossy lodge, Mistrusting her evasive skill, IIad to a primrose looked for aid, Her wishes to fulfil. High on the trunk's projecting brow, The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest, 251 |