[to be continued.]
[BLUEBIRDS.]
BY GEORGE COOPER.
A mist of green on the willows;
A flash of blue 'mid the rain;
And the brisk wind pipes,
And the brooklet stripes
With silver hill and plain.
Hark! the bluebirds, the bluebirds
Have come to us again!
The snow-drop peeps to the sunlight
Where last year's leaves have lain;
And a fluted song
Tells the heart, "Be strong:
The darkest days will wane.
And the bluebirds, the bluebirds
Will always come again!"