"I've waited one hour, right here on the tree: Not one of my robins has come back to me.

How soon they forget all the trouble they bring!

Never mind: I'll fly up on the tree-top and sing."

MRS. C. F. BERRY.

LOST--THREE LITTLE ROBIN'S.

Oh, where is the boy, dressed in jacket of gray, Who climbed up a tree in the orchard to-day, And carried my three little birdies away?

They hardly were dressed, When he took from the nest My three little robins, and left me bereft.

O wrens! have you seen, in your travels to-day, A very small boy, dressed in jacket of gray, Who carried my three little robins away?

He had light-colored hair, And his feet were both bare.

Ah me! he was cruel and mean, I declare.

O b.u.t.terfly! stop just one moment, I pray: Have you seen a boy dressed in jacket of gray, Who carried my three little birdies away?

He had pretty blue eyes, And was small of his size.

Ah! he must be wicked, and not very wise.

O bees! with your bags of sweet nectarine, stay; Have you seen a boy dressed in jacket of gray, And carrying three little birdies away?

Did he go through the town, Or go sneaking aroun'

Through hedges and byways, with head hanging down?

O boy with blue eyes, dressed in jacket of gray!

If you will bring back my three robins to-day, With sweetest of music the gift I'll repay; I'll sing all day long My merriest song, And I will forgive you this terrible wrong.

Bobolinks! did you see my birdies and me-- How happy we were on the old apple-tree?

Until I was robbed of my young, as you see?

Oh, how can I sing, Unless he will bring My three robins back, to sleep under my wing?

MRS. C. F. BERRY: _Songs for Our Darlings_.

THE TERRIBLE SCARECROW AND ROBINS.

The farmer looked at his cherry-tree, With thick buds cl.u.s.tered on every bough.

"I wish I could cheat the robins," said he.

"If somebody only would show me how!

"I'll make a terrible scarecrow grim, With threatening arms and with bristling head; And up in the tree I'll fasten him, To frighten them half to death," he said.

He fashioned a scarecrow all tattered and torn,-- Oh, 'twas a horrible thing to see!

And very early, one summer morn, He set it up in his cherry-tree.

The blossoms were white as the light sea-foam, The beautiful tree was a lovely sight; But the scarecrow stood there so much at home That the birds flew screaming away in fright.

But the robins, watching him day after day, With heads on one side and eyes so bright, Surveying the monster, began to say, "Why should this fellow our prospects blight?

"He never moves round for the roughest weather, He's a harmless, comical, tough old fellow.

Let's all go into the tree together, For he won't budge till the fruit is mellow!"

So up they flew; and the sauciest pair 'Mid the shady branches peered and perked, Selected a spot with the utmost care, And all day merrily sang and worked.

And where do you think they built their nest?

In the scarecrow's pocket, if you please, That, half-concealed on his ragged breast, Made a charming covert of safety and ease!

By the time the cherries were ruby-red, A thriving family hungry and brisk, The whole long day on the ripe food fed.

'Twas so convenient! they saw no risk!

Until the children were ready to fly, All undisturbed they lived in the tree; For n.o.body thought to look at the guy For a robin's flourishing family!

CELIA THAXTER.

THE SONG SPARROW.

A little gray bird with a speckled breast, Under my window has built his nest; He sits on at twig and singeth clear A song that overfloweth with cheer: "Love! Love! Love!

Let us be happy, my love.

Sing of cheer."

Sweet and true are the notes of his song; Sweet--and yet always full and strong, True--and yet they are never sad, Serene with that peace that maketh glad: "Life! Life! Life!

Oh, what a blessing is life; Life is glad!"

Of all the birds, I love thee best, Dear Sparrow, singing of joy and rest; Rest--but life and hope increase, Joy--whose spring is deepest peace: "Joy! Life! Love!

Oh, to love and live is joy,-- Joy and peace."

MISS HARRIET E. PAINE: _Bird Songs of New England._

THE FIELD SPARROW.

A bubble of music floats The slope of the hillside over-- A little wandering sparrow's notes-- On the bloom of yarrow and clover.

And the smell of sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaf On his ripple of song are stealing; For he is a chartered thief, The wealth of the fields revealing.

One syllable, clear and soft As a raindrop's silvery patter, Or a tinkling fairy-bell, heard aloft, In the midst of the merry chatter Of robin and linnet and wren and jay, One syllable, oft-repeated: He has but a word to say, And of that he will not be cheated.

The singer I have not seen; But the song I arise and follow The brown hills over, the pastures green, And into the sunlit hollow.

With the joy of a lowly heart's content I can feel my glad eyes glisten, Though he hides in his happy tent, While I stand outside and listen.

This way would I also sing, My dear little hillside neighbor!

A tender carol of peace to bring To the sunburnt fields of labor, Is better than making a loud ado.

Trill on, amid clover and yarrow: There's a heart-beat echoing you, And blessing you, blithe little sparrow!

LUCY LARCOM.