THE ROBIN’S “GOOD BYE” TO LITTLE ARAMINTA.
ROBIN.
Good bye, good bye! I’m going away!
I’ll come again next spring, clear!
I scarce can find one leafy spray,
On which to plume my wing, dear.
ARAMINTA.
Dear Robin, are you going south,
To pass the coming season?
This chill air don’t agree with you—
You’re ill?—Is that the reason?
Your doctor thinks you cannot stay
With safety in this climate?
Advises you to travel? hey?
(That word—how shall I rhyme it?)
ROBIN.
I have no doctor. I’m as well
As you are, Araminta;
But I’ve relations at the south,
With whom I pass the winter.
We birds, that have no clothes or fire,
Must fly this stormy weather;
Good bye!—my friends are setting out;
We always go together.