A MEADOW SONG.
A little daisy in a meadow grew,
Kissed by the sunshine, and fed by the dew;
And gayly she sang to the passers-by,
"Was ever a daisy so happy as I?"
Then the clover, hearing the daisy's voice,
Began, in her own sweet way, to rejoice;
And softly sang, to the prettiest tune,
"What bliss to live and to grow in June!"
The violet peeped from her mossy bed,
And round her the sweetest fragrance shed,
Till far and near, on the summer air,
Floated the perfume, fresh and rare.
And the buttercup waked from a golden dream
To join in the grateful and joyous theme,
As daintily over the grass she stepped,
The fresher and sweeter from having slept.
The wild blue flag, with a laughing toss,
Spanned her color the green across;
"Ho! ho!" she cried. "Oh, how merry are we!"
Skipping along in her flowery glee.
The sweet-brier, growing beside the wall,
Quickly blossomed to hear the call,
And bent, with a gracious and royal mien,
At the jubilant cries of "Our queen! our queen!"
Then dandelion, golden head,
To follow where the others led,
Sung till the echoes, loud and long,
Resounded with her joyous song.
The cowslip rose, with a pleased surprise,
And, donning a robe of gorgeous dyes,
Sang in a voice so rich and sweet
The concert now was quite complete.
The meadow-lark, as he heard the song,
Sprung from his nest to greet the throng;
And, thrilled to his heart by the joyous lay,
Flew, singing, aloft, in the merriest way.
So, in the dewy meadow-grass,
Where all may listen as they pass,
Both bird and flower, in sweet attune,
Make happier all the days of June.
ELIZABETH A. DAVIS.
A mocking-bird made his home in a honeysuckle in front of our cosey house. In Arkansas, where we live, this sweet shrub is evergreen. Last year the honeysuckle died, and the bird lost his home; but he liked the place, and he went with his family to the lattice-room, in the rear of the house.
In this apartment he found an old travelling-bag, or gripsack, hanging on a nail. Inside of it was an old soft hat. This seemed to be what the bird wanted, and he made his nest in it. This was his home all winter, and he was happy there. When the cold weather, which we sometimes have in Arkansas, came, he went to the water bucket to drink, and we fed him with crumbs from the porch.
We started the honeysuckle anew, and when it had climbed to the top of the cedar pole it spread out its foliage like an umbrella. The mocking-bird liked his old home, and he moved back to its branches in the spring. He has a nice family in his nest, and they give us music at all times, night and day.
The father bird was as brave as a soldier. His special aversion is a large Newfoundland dog, who is one of our pets. The bird will dart down upon the dog's back, and make war upon him with a peculiar noise, until he drives him away. He does this because he thinks the dog will hurt the young in the nest. When there are no little ones he takes no notice of the dog.
We think this is a great deal better than keeping the birds in a cage. They are tame, and stay with us all the time; but they will not allow themselves to be caught.
VAN BUREN.
