Her grandson, playing at marbles, stopped, And cruel in sport, as boys will be, Tossed a stone at the bird, who hopped From bough to bough in the apple-tree. "Nay!" said the grandmother; "have you not heard, My poor bad boy! of the fiery pit, Carries the water that quenches it? "He brings cool dew in his little bill, And lets it fall on the souls of sin; "My poor Bron rhuddyn ! my breast-burned bird, Is he who pities the lost, like him!" "Amen!" I said to the beautiful myth; “Sing, bird of God, in my heart as well; Each good thought is a drop wherewith To cool and lessen the fires of hell. "Prayers of love like rain-drops fall, Tears of pity are cooling dew, And dear to the heart of our Lord are all Who suffer like him in the good they do!" JOHN G. WHITTIER. THE BOBOLINK. BOBOLINK! that in the meadow, When the ides of May are past, Filling youths' and maidens' dreams Thou dost fill each heart with pleasure By thy glad ecstatic measure. A single note, so sweet and low, Gayest songster of the spring! Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree, Startled by his rival's song, quickened by his raillery, Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curveting in the air, Swinging low on a slender limb, And, balancing on a blackberry-brier, And merrily he turns about, and warns him to Do it, do it! You coward, you! beware! “'T is you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O! But wait a week, till flowers are cheery,—wait a week, and, ere you marry, Be sure of a house wherein to tarry! Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!" Every one's a funny fellow; every one's a little mellow; Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow! Merrily, merrily, there they hie; now they rise and now they fly; - They cross and turn, and in and out, and down in the middle, and wheel about, With a 66 'Phew, shew, Wadolincon! listen to me, Bobolincon! Kiss her! Kiss, kiss her! Who will see? Under garlands of drooping vines, Past wide meadow-fields, lately mowed, Entered a low-roofed bridge that lay, Shaded by graceful elms that spread Alders loved it, and seemed to keep Happy's the wooing that 's speedily doing, that's Mirroring clearly the trees and sky And the flitting form of the dragon-fly, Save where the swift-winged swallow played Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, And darting and circling in merry chase, With radiant faces and hearts in tune, Two fond lovers in dreaming mood Wholly happy, they only knew That light and beauty and joy and song And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, chink?" Queried the curious bobolink, Pausing and peering with sidelong head, As saucily questioning all they said; While the ox-eye danced on its slender And all glad nature rejoiced with them. And rosy billows of clover bloom Dipped, and dimpled its clear dark face. Fluttering lightly from brink to brink Rallying loudly, with mirthful din, Again beside them the tempter went, Keeping the thread of his argument · "Kiss her! kiss her! chink-a-chee-chee! I'll not mention it! Don't mind me! I'll be sentinel - I can see All around from this tall birch-tree!" "Do it! do it!" with might and main ROBERT OF LINCOLN. ANONYMOUS. MERRILY Swinging on brier and weed, Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes; the children are grown ; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone ; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. THE HEATH-COCK. Good morrow to thy sable beak A maid there is in yonder tower, Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree, Startled by his rival's song, quickened by his raillery, Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curveting in the air, Swinging low on a slender limb, And, balancing on a blackberry-brier, And merrily he turns about, and warns him to Do it, do it! You coward, you! beware! "T is you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O! But wait a week, till flowers are cheery, -wait a week, and, ere you marry, Be sure of a house wherein to tarry! Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!" Every one's a funny fellow; every one's a little mellow; Kiss her! Kiss, kiss her! Who will see? Under garlands of drooping vines, Entered a low-roofed bridge that lay, Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and Under its arch a smooth, brown stream in the hollow! Merrily, merrily, there they hie; now they rise and now they fly; They cross and turn, and in and out, and down The stream so narrow, the boughs so wide, me, Bobolincon! Happy 's the wooing that 's speedily doing, that's Mirroring clearly the trees and sky speedily doing, That's merry and over with the bloom of the clover! And the flitting form of the dragon-fly, Save where the swift-winged swallow played Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, And darting and circling in merry chase, With radiant faces and hearts in tune, Two fond lovers in dreaming mood Wholly happy, they only knew That the earth was bright and the sky was blue, That light and beauty and joy and song Charmed the way as they passed along : The air was fragrant with woodland seents; The squirrel frisked on the roadside fence; And hovering near them, "Chee, chee, chink?" Queried the curious bobolink, Pausing and peering with sidelong head, As saucily questioning all they said; While the ox-eye danced on its slender And all glad nature rejoiced with them. And rosy billows of clover bloom fume. Dipped, and dimpled its clear dark face. Fluttering lightly from brink to brink Rallying loudly, with mirthful din, Again beside them the tempter went, Keeping the thread of his argument -"Kiss her! kiss her! chink-a-chee-chee! I'll not mention it! Don't mind me! All around from this tall birch-tree!" But ah! they noted - nor deemed it strangeIn his rollicking chorus a trifling change: "Do it! do it!" with might and main Warbled the telltale "Do it again!" ROBERT OF LINCOLN. ANONYMOUS. MERRILY Swinging on brier and weed, Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed, Spink, spank, spink; Look, what a nice new coat is mine, Sure there was never a bird so fine. Chee, chee, chee. Robert of Lincoln's Quaker wife, Pretty and quiet, with plain brown wings, Passing at home a patient life, Broods in the grass while her husband sings: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Brood, kind creature; you need not fear Thieves and robbers while I am here. Chee, chee, chee. Modest and shy as a nun is she, One weak chirp is her only note, Braggart and prince of braggarts is he, Pouring boasts from his little throat : Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Never was I afraid of man ; Catch me, cowardly knaves, if you can. Chee, chee, chee. Six white eggs on a bed of hay, Flecked with purple, a pretty sight! There as the mother sits all day, Robert is singing with all his might: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Nice good wife, that never goes out, Keeping house while I frolic about. Chee, chee, chee. Soon as the little ones chip the shell Gathering seed for the hungry brood. This new life is likely to be Robert of Lincoln at length is made Sober with work, and silent with care; Off is his holiday garment laid, Half forgotten that merry air, Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink ; Nobody knows but my mate and I Where our nest and our nestlings lie. Chee, chee, chee. Summer wanes; the children are grown; Fun and frolic no more he knows; Robert of Lincoln 's a humdrum crone; Off he flies, and we sing as he goes: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; When you can pipe that merry old strain, Robert of Lincoln, come back again. Chee, chee, chee. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. THE HEATH-COCK. Good morrow to thy sable beak A maid there is in yonder tower, A fleeting moment of delight I sunned me in her cheering sight; PERSEVERANCE. A SWALLOW in the spring JOANNA BAILlie, Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring Wet earth and straw and leaves. Day after day she toiled With patient art, but ere her work was crowned, Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, And dashed it to the ground. |