“My bird is gone,”
Said Fanny Ray;
“My bird has flown,
I can not play.
“He sung so sweetly,
Every day;
He sings no more,
I can not play.
“Go, put his cage
Far, far away,
I do not love,
His cage to-day.”
She wiped her eyes,
Poor Fanny Ray;
And sat and sighed,
But could not play.
THE BIRD’S ANSWER.
“I am sorry, my dear,
But I’d rather live here;
The skies they are fair,
And I love the fresh air,
The trees they are green,
And I sit like a queen,
On a branch as it goes,
While the pleasant wind blows
I have more on my table
To eat than I’m able,
For the very large field
My dessert does yield;
But come from your book,
With a good humored look,
When with care you have read
And your lesson is said,
Sit under the tree,
With your sewing by me,
And this afternoon,
I will sing you a tune.”
THE KITE.
Oh look at my kite,
In its airy flight,
How pretty it flies,
Right up to the skies,
With its white breast stirr’d,
Just like a bird!