Cherries UNDER the tree the farmer said, Smiling and shaking his wise old head: But when the sun shines we must make our hay; Up on the tree a robin said, Perking and cocking his saucy head, We'll gather them while you make the hay; THE CUCKOO I. The Cuckoo's Habits IN April, Come he will; In May, He sings all day; F. E. Weatherley. In June, He changes his tune; He makes ready to fly; In August, Go he must. Old Rhyme. II. The Cuckoo's Voice IN N April the koo-coo can sing her note by rote, At first koo-koo, koo-coo, sing shrill can she do; At last, kooke, kooke, kooke, six cookes to one koo. IV. The Cuckoo's Wit A Cornish Folk-Song OW, of all the birds that keep the tree, Now, Which is the wittiest fowl? Oh, the Cuckoo-the Cuckoo's the one !—for he Is wiser than the owl! He dresses his wife in her Sunday's best, And they never have rent to pay; For she folds her feathers in a neighbour's nest, And thither she goes to lay! He winked with his eye, and he buttoned his purse, When the breeding time began ; For he'd put his children out to nurse In the house of another man! Then his child, though born in a stranger's bed, Is his own true father's son ; For he gobbles the lawful children's bread, And he starves them one by one! So, of all the birds that keep the tree, This is the wittiest fowl! Oh, the Cuckoo-the Cuckoo's the one !-for he Is wiser than the owl! R. S. Hawker. Eagles (From Introduction to Songs of the Voices of Birds) MARTIN, the Boatman. Look you now, This vessel's off the stocks, a tidy craft. Child. A schooner, Martin? Martin. No, boy, no; a brig, Only she's schooner-rigged-a lovely craft. Child. Is she for me? O, thank you, Martin dear. What shall I call her? Martin. Well, sir, what you please. Child. Then write on her "The Eagle." Bless the child! Eagle! Why, you know nought of eagles, you. Child. Tell me about them. Martin. O, Martin dear, Tell! there's nought to tell, Only they snored o' nights and frighted us. Child. Snored? Martin. Ay, I tell you, snored; they slept upright In the great oaks by scores; as true as time, If I'd had aught upon my mind just then, I wouldn't have walked that wood for unknown gold; I've seen them fish at night, in the middle watch, When she got low. I've seen them plunge like stones, And come up fighting with a fish as long, Ay, longer than my arm; and they would sail— When they had struck its life out-they would sail— Over the deck, and show their fell, fierce eyes, She must be called "The Eagle" after these. Jean Ingelow. The Burial of the Linnet FOUND OUND in the garden dead in his beauty- Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty, Muffle the dinner-bell, solemnly ring. Bury him kindly, up in the corner; Bird, beast, and goldfish are sepulchred there. Bury him nobly-next to the donkey; Bury him softly-white wool around him, Kiss his poor feathers-the first kiss and last; Tell his poor widow kind friends have found him : Plant his poor grave with whatever grows fast. Farewell, sweet singer! dead in thy beauty, Silent through summer, though other birds sing. Bury him, comrades, in pitiful duty, Muffle the dinner-bell, mournfully ring. Mrs. Ewing. |