He chirps no song at dawn or eve, He makes no merry din; But this one cannot wonder at, For Peepsy's made of tin.

MAY SONG.

On a certain First of May, So they say, Came two merry little maids Out to play.

Brown-haired Jeanie, sweet and wise, Fair-haired Norah, with her eyes Blue as are the morning skies.

Each in cap and kirtle gay, Pretty little maids were they; Light of heart and well content, Through the fields they singing went, On a merry First of May, So they say.

On this merry First of May, So they say, Came two st.u.r.dy little lads By that way.

Miller's Robin from the mill, Shepherd's Johnnie from the hill; Bonny little lads, I trow, Sunny eyes and open brow, Ruddy cheeks and curly hair, St.u.r.dy legs all brown and bare, Through the fields they marched along, Whistling each his cheery song, On a merry First of May, So they say.

On this merry First of May, So they say, Lads and la.s.ses, there they met On their way.

Said the lads, "We'll choose a queen!

May Day comes but once, I ween.

Search we all the country round, Sweeter maids could not be found."

Laughed the la.s.ses merrily, "Ay! but which one shall it be?

John and Robin, tell us true, Which is fairer of the two, On this merry First of May?

Quickly say!"

On this merry First of May, So they say, Shepherd Johnnie hushed his whistle Blithe and gay; "Brown eyes are more fair," said he, "For they shine so winsomely!"

"Nay!" quoth Robin, "'tis confessed Blue eyes _always_ are the best!

Fair-haired Norah wins the prize!"

"That she does not!" Johnnie cries; "Norah's well enough, but Jean, Brown and sweet, shall be the queen On this merry First of May!

Choose _my_ way!"

On this merry First of May, So they say, Soon to earnest turned their play.

Well-a-day!

Loud and angry words arose, Angry words soon turned to blows; John and Robin o'er the ground Chase each other round and round, Kicking, cuffing, here and there, Shouting through the sweet May air: "Jeanie!" "Norah!--is more fair!"

While the little maids aside, Blue eyes, brown eyes, open wide On this stormy First of May, Well-a-day!

On this merry First of May, So they say, Jean and Norah stole away From the fray.

"Silly lads!" they laughing cried, "Let them as they will decide; Shall we while they quarrel, pray, Lose our pretty holiday?

Come away, and we may find Other lads, who know their mind.

Or if not, why then, I ween, Each will be the other's queen, On this merry First of May.

Come away!"

TWO LITTLE VALENTINES.

[_For two little girls._]

I.

Young Rosalind, she is my rose!

I care not who the secret knows; So deep within my heart she grows, Her constant bloom no winter knows; Sweet Rosalind, she is my rose.

Alas! this rose hath yet a thorn, Whereon my heart is daily torn.

The love I proffer her each morn, That love she flings me back in scorn.

But shall I therefore idly mourn?

She'd be no rose _without_ the thorn.

II.

When the ivory lily darkens, When the jealous rose turns pale, Then I say, "My Julia's coming!

'Tis a sign will never fail."

When the bobolink is silent, When the linnet stays her trill, Then I say, "My Julia's singing!

At her voice the birds are still."

When I feel two velvet rose-leaves Touch my eyes on either lid, Then I say, "My Julia kissed me!"

And she answers, "Yes, me did!"

A HOWL ABOUT AN OWL.

It was an owl lived in an oak, Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!

He often smiled, but he seldom spoke, And he wore a wig and a camlet cloak.

Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!

Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

He fell in love with the chickadee, Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!

He asked her, would she marry he, And they'd go and live in Crim Tartaree.

Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!

Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

"'Tis true," says he, "you are far from big."

Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!

"But you'll look twice as well when I've bought you a wig, And I'll teach you the Lancers and the Chorus Jig."

Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!

Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

"I'll feed you with honey when the moon grows pale."

Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!

"I'll hum you a hymn, and I'll sing you a scale, Till you quiver with delight to the tip of your tail!"

Sing heigh ho! the howly fowl!

Tu-whit! tu-whit! tu-whoo!

So he went for to marry of the chickadee, Sing heigh ho! the prowly owl!