LITTLE MAY

Have you heard the waters singing, Little May,

Where the willows green are bending

Do

you

O'er their way?

know how low and sweet,

O'er the pebbles at their feet,

Are the words the waves repeat,
Night and day?

Have you heard the robins singing,
Little one,

When the rosy dawn is breaking,
When 'tis done?

Have

you heard the wooing breeze, In the blossomed orchard trees, And the drowsy hum of bees In the sun?

All the earth is full of music,
Little May,

Bird, and bee, and water singing

On its way.

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FREDDIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE.

Let their silver voices fall

On thy heart with happy call:

"Praise the Lord, who loveth all,"

Night and day,

Little May.

MRS. MILLER.

FREDDIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE.

REDDIE saw some fine ripe cherries

Hanging on a cherry-tree,

And he said, "You pretty cherries. you not come down to me?"

Will

"Thank you, kindly," said a cherry; "We would rather stay up here; If we ventured down this morning, You would eat us up, I fear."

One, the finest of the cherries,
Dangled from a slender twig.

"You are beautiful," said Freddie,

"Red and ripe, and oh, how big!"

"Catch me," said the cherry, "catch me,
Little master, if you can."-

"I would catch you soon," said Freddie,
"If I were a grown-up man."

Freddie jumped, and tried to reach it,
Standing high upon his toes;

But the cherry bobbed about,

And laughed, and tickled Freddie's nose.

"Never mind," said little Freddie,
"I shall have them when it's right."

But a blackbird whistled boldly,

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"I shall eat them all to-night."

AUNT EFFIE'S RHYMES.

THE TREE.

The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown: "Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down.

"No, leave them alone

Till the blossoms have grown,"

Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown

98 DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN.

The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung: Shall I take them away?" said the wind, as he swung. "No, leave them alone

Till the berries have grown,"

Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.

The Tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow: Said the girl, "May I gather thy berries now?”. "Yes, all thou canst see:

Take them; all are for thee,"

Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low.

BJÖRNSON.

THE DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN.

'Twas a cold autumn morning when Jenny Wren died Cock Robin sat by for to see,

And when all was over he bitterly cried,
So kind and so loving was he.

He buried her under the little moss-neap

That lies at the foot of the yew,

And by day and by night he sat near her to weep,

Till his feathers were wet with the dew.

DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN.

"O Jenny, I am tired of lingering here,

Through the dreary, dark days of November, And I'm thinking of nothing but you, Jenny dear, And your loving, fond ways I remember.

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"I think how you looked in your little brown suit,
When you said that you'd always be mine;
With your fan in your hand, how you glanced at the fruit,
And said you liked cherries and wine!

"I think of the sweet, merry days of the spring,
Of the nest that we built both together,

Of the dear little brood nestled under your wing,
And the joys of the warm summer weather."

And as he lamented, the rain did down pour
Till his body was wet through and through;
And he sang,
"Dearest Jenny, my sorrows are o'er,
And I'm coming, my true love, to you."

So he gathered some brown leaves to lay by her side,
And to pillow his poor, weary head,

And sang, "Jenny, my lost one, my fond one, my bride,'
Till the gallant Cock Robin fell dead.

GERDA FAY.

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