6

Soon as the little ones chip the shell,
Six wide mouths are open for food;
Robert of Lincoln bestirs him well,
Gathering seeds for the hungry brood.
"Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

This new life is likely to be
Hard for gay young fellow like me.
Chee, chee, chee!"

Robert of Lincoln at length is made
Sober with work, and silent with care,

Off 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!"

8

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!"

Historical:

HELPS TO STUDY.

The male bob-o'-link moults in midsummer, taking on

a "plain brown” plumage like that of his "Quaker wife.” In the

spring he regains his black and buff colors without moulting any feathers. He sings only in the spring.

10

15

THE BIRDS' ORCHESTRA.

CELIA THAXTER.

Bobolink shall play the violin,

Great applause to win;

Lonely, sweet, and sad, the meadow-lark
Plays the oboe. Hark!
Yellow-bird the clarionet shall play,

Blithe, and clear, and gay.

Purple-finch what instrument will suit?

He can play the flute.

Fire-winged blackbirds sound the merry fife,

Soldiers without strife;

And the robins wind the mellow horn

Loudly, eve and morn.

Who shall clash the cymbals? Jay and crow,

That is all they know;

And, to roll the deep melodious drum,

Lo! the bull-frogs come.

2

Loved-one of my youth thou wast,
Of my merry youth,
And I see,

Tearfully,

All the fair and sunny past,
All its openness and truth,
Ever fresh and green in thee
As the moss is in the sea.

3

Thy little heart, that hath with love
Grown colored like the sky above,
On which thou lookest ever,

Can it know

All the woe

Of hope for what returneth never,
All the sorrow and the longing
To these hearts of ours belonging?

4

Out on it! no foolish pining

For the sky

Dims thine eye,

Or for the stars so calmly shining;

Like thee let this soul of mine Take hue from that wherefor I long, Self-stayed and high, serene and strong, Not satisfied with hoping - but divine. Violet! dear violet!

Thy blue eyes are only wet

With joy and love of him who sent thee,

And for the fulfilling sense

Of that glad obedience

Which made thee all that nature meant thee!

5

10

SWEET PEAS.

JOHN KEATS.

Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight;
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Linger a while upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks,
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings:
They will be found softer than ringdove's cooings.
How silent comes the water round that bend!
Not the minutest whisper does it send
To the o'erhanging sallows: blades of grass
Slowly across the chequered shadows pass.

HELPS TO STUDY.

Biographical: John Keats, 1795-1821, was the son of a London stablekeeper. He lived at the time of Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley and Leigh Hunt, from whom he gathered inspiration. He had a passion