de de de de de de

MAY

MAY FIRST

TH

HE sun is bright,—the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing,
And from the stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.

So blue yon winding river flows,

It seems an outlet from the sky, Where waiting till the west wind blows, The freighted clouds at anchor lie. It is not always May

MAY SECOND

All things are new;-the buds, the leaves,
That gild the elm tree's nodding crest,

And even the nest beneath the eaves;
There are no birds in last year's nest!

It is not always May

MAY THIRD

The robin and the bluebird, piping loud,

Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee, The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be;

And hungry crows assembled in a crowd,

Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: "Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!" The Birds of Killingworth

MAY FOURTH

Ill fared it with the birds, both great and small; Hardly a friend in all that crowd they found, But enemies enough, who every one

Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. The Birds of Killingworth

MAY FIFTH

When they had ended, from his place apart,
Rose the Preceptor, to redress the wrong,
And, trembling like a steed before the start,
Looked round bewildered on the expectant
throng.

The Birds of Killingworth

MAY SIXTH

You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain
Of a scant handful more or less of wheat...
Or a few cherries that are not as sweet
As are the songs these uninvited guests
Sing at their feast.

The Birds of Killingworth

MAY SEVENTH

Think, every morning when the sun peeps through

The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove,. How jubilant the happy birds renew

Their old, melodious madrigals of love! And when you think of this, remember too

'Tis always morning somewhere, and above The awakening continents, from shore to shore, Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. The Birds of Killingworth

MAY EIGHTH

You call them thieves and pillagers; but know They are the winged wardens of your farms, Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe,

And from your harvests keep a hundred harms; Even the blackest of them all, the crow, Renders good service as your man-at-arms, Crushing the beetle in his coat of mail, And crying havoc on the slug and snail. The Birds of Killingworth

MAY NINTH

How can I teach your children gentleness,
And mercy to the weak, and reverence
For Life, which, in its weakness or excess,
Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence,

Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less

The selfsame light, although averted hence, When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, You contradict the very things I teach? The Birds of Killingworth

Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" Adding then, by way of jest, "Golondrina is my guest,

"T is the wife of some deserter!"

So unharmed and unafraid

Sat the swallow still and brooded, Till the constant cannonade

Through the walls a breach had made,

And the siege was thus concluded.

MAY ELEVENTH

The Emperor's Bird's Nest

Then the army, elsewhere bent,

Struck its tents as if disbanding,

Only not the Emperor's tent,
For he ordered, ere he went,
Very curtly, "Leave it standing!"

So it stood there all alone,

Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, Till the brood was fledged and flown, Singing o'er those walls of stone

Which the cannon-shot had shattered.

MAY TWELFTH

The Emperor's Bird's Nest

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Birds and blossoms many-numbered; —
Age, that bough with snows encumbered.

Gather, then, each flower that grows,
When the young heart overflows,

To embalm that tent of snows.

Maidenhood

MAY THIRTEENTH

From the sky the sun benignant

Looked upon them through the branches,
Saying to them, "O my children,

Love is sunshine, hate is shadow,

Life is checkered shade and sunshine,

Rule by love, O Hiawatha!"

The Song of Hiawatha