ROBIN'S RETURN.

Robin on the tilting bough,

Red-breast rover, tell me how

You the weary time have passed

Since we saw and heard you last.

"In a green and pleasant land,

By a summer sea-breeze fanned,

Orange-trees with fruit are bent;

There the weary time I've spent."

Robin rover, there, no doubt,

Your best music you poured out;

Piping to a stranger's ear,

You forgot your lovers here.

"Little lady, on my word,

You do wrong a true-heart bird!

Not one ditty would I sing,

'Mong the leaves or on the wing,

In the sun or in the rain;

Stranger's ear would list in vain.

If I ever tried a note,

Something rose within my throat.

'Twas because my heart was true

To the North and spring-time new;

My mind's eye a nest could see

In yon old, forked apple-tree!"

(NOTE.—It is said that the robin does not sing during its winter stay in the South.)