Voices for the Speechless Part 19

"Such a bit of a bride! Such a marvel of grace!

In a s.h.i.+mmer of rainbows and gossamer lace; No wonder the groom dropped his diamond-dust ring, Which a little elf-usher just caught with his wing.

"Then into a trumpet-flower glided the train, And I thought (for a dimness crept over my brain, And I tucked my head under my wing), 'Deary me!

What a sight for a plain little mother like me!'"

MARY A. LATHBURY.

THE HEN AND THE HONEY-BEE.

A lazy hen, the story goes, Loquacious, pert, and self-conceited, Espied a bee upon a rose, And thus the busy insect greeted:

"I've marked you well for many a day, In garden blooms and meadow clover; Now here, now there, in wanton play, From morn till night an idle rover.

"While I discreetly bide at home, A faithful wife, the best of mothers, About the fields you idly roam, Without the least regard for others.

"While I lay eggs and hatch them out, You seek the flowers most sweet and fragrant; And, sipping honey, stroll about, At best a good for nothing vagrant."

"Nay," said the bee, "you do me wrong: I'm useful, too,--perhaps you doubt it: Because, though toiling all day long, I scorn to make a fuss about it.

"Come now with me and see my hive, And note how folks may work in quiet; To useful arts much more alive Than you with all your cackling riot!"

JOHN G. SAXE.

SONG OF THE ROBIN.

When the willows gleam along the brooks, And the gra.s.s grows green in sunny nooks, In the suns.h.i.+ne and the rain I hear the robin in the lane Singing "Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up."

But the snow is still Along the walls and on the hill.

The days are cold, the nights forlorn, For one is here and one is gone.

"Tut, tut. Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up."

When spring hopes seem to wane, I hear the joyful strain-- A song at night, a song at morn, A lesson deep to me is borne, Hearing, "Cheerily, Cheer up, cheer up; Cheerily, cheerily, Cheer up."

_Masque of Poets._

SIR ROBIN.

Rollicking Robin is here again.

What does he care for the April rain?

Care for it? Glad of it. Doesn't he know That the April rain carries off the snow, And coaxes out leaves to shadow his nest, And washes his pretty red Easter vest, And makes the juice of the cherry sweet, For his hungry little robins to eat?

"Ha! ha! ha!" hear the jolly bird laugh.

"That isn't the best of the story, by half!"

Gentleman Robin, he walks up and down, Dressed in orange-tawney and black and brown.

Though his eye is so proud and his step so firm, He can always stoop to pick up a worm.

With a twist of his head, and a strut and a hop, To his Robin-wife, in the peach-tree top, Chirping her heart out, he calls: "My dear You don't earn your living! Come here! Come here!

Ha! ha! ha! Life is lovely and sweet; But what would it be if we'd nothing to eat?"

Robin, Sir Robin, gay, red-vested knight, Now you have come to us, summer's in sight.

You never dream of the wonders you bring,-- Visions that follow the flash of your wing.

How all the beautiful By-and-by Around you and after you seems to fly!

Sing on, or eat on, as pleases your mind!

Well have you earned every morsel you find.

"Aye! Ha! ha! ha!" whistles robin. "My dear, Let us all take our own choice of good cheer!"

LUCY LARCOM.

THE DEAR OLD ROBINS.

There's a call upon the housetop, an answer from the plain, There's a warble in the suns.h.i.+ne, a twitter in the rain.

And through my heart, at sound of these, There comes a nameless thrill, As sweet as odor to the rose, Or verdure to the hill; And all the joyous mornings My heart pours forth this strain: "G.o.d bless the dear old robins Who have come back again."

For they bring a thought of summer, of dreamy, precious days, Of king-cups in the summer, making a golden haze; A longing for the clover blooms, For roses all aglow, For fragrant blossoms where the bees With droning murmurs go; I dream of all the beauties Of summer's golden reign, And sing: "G.o.d keep the robins Who have come back again."

ANON.

ROBINS QUIT THE NEST.

"Now, robins, my darlings, I think it is best,"

Said old mother bird, "that you all quit the nest.

You've grown very plump, and the nest is so small That really there isn't quite room for you all.

"The day is so fair and the sun is so bright, I think I can teach you to fly before night: And, when you have learned, you can go where you please, As high as the gable,--yes! high as the trees.

"Come, d.i.c.key, hop out, and stand up here by me; The rest of you stand on the branch of the tree; Don't be frightened, my dears; there's no danger at all, For mother will not let her dear birdies fall.

"Now all spread your wings. Ah! but that is too high; Just see how _I_ do it. Now, all again try!

Ah! that is much better. Now try it once more.

Bravo! much better than ever before!

"Now flutter about, up and down, here and there: My dears, you'll be flying before you're aware.

Now carefully drop from the tree to the ground; There's nothing to fear, for there's gra.s.s all around.

"All starting but Robbie. 'Afraid you shall fall?'

Ah! don't be a craven, be bravest of all.

Now up and now down, now away to yon spire: Go on: don't be frightened: fly higher and higher."