THE BOY AND THE BIRD.
Boy.—Dicky-bird, dicky-bird,
whither away?
Why do you fly when I wish you to
stay?
I never would harm you if you would
come
And sing me a song while you
perch on my thumb.
Bird.—Boy, I will sing to you
here in the tree,
But pray do not come any
nearer to me;
For your open mouth and eyes big and bright
So fill my poor heart with
the wildest affright.
Boy.—I love you, dear dicky, why should you fear!
If you'll come with me, my sweet pretty dear,
You shall live in a house of silver so gay,
And feed on a lump of white sugar each day.
I love the fresh air, the sunshine so free,
My swing in the rose-bush, my home in the tree.
My birdies are calling me, so I must fly,
And sing as I leave you, Good-by, good-by.