A ground nest by him of grasses is made,
Distant his dream of fear,
Till the spotted white eggs his mate has laid,
Begin to disappear.
“Tsev—tseer!”
“Tsev—tseer!”
The thieves of sad fate are mice of the mead,
Or else some reptile rare,
Again he builds stronger, with greater heed,
Then guards his home with care.
“Tseer” dire deed!
“Tseer” dire deed!
’Tis golden sheaf-time and each spotted shell,
Appears to be pipping,
Alas! the tale of the binder to tell,
She come clipping, clipping.
Thru meadow-dell!
Thru meadow-dell!
The doom of the sputtering mates is sealed,
The reaper spurns his guest,
As he cuts a swath of the ripened field,
Brings havoc to the nest.
“Tseer” oprest!
“Tseer” oprest!
Still sputtering, the mates fly far a-field,
Such grief was theirs that day,
And here is to hoping their fate may be sealed,
Next year a diff’rent way.
“Tseer” sad lay!
“Tseer” sad lay!
NATURE’S GAME
The gusts of wind that frisk about,
With the winter sprites at play,
And pile them high like football fiends,
In a most fantastic way,
Are stragglers from the woodland dell,
Just assuming to be fay.
The birds cheer with chirps, squirrels with chats,
A clouded lining of sun-beam slats,
Curtains Sol of cunning eye;
Crows “Caw! caw!” as tho at play,
A golden bomb bursts the glow’ring sky,
And frightens the elfins away.