BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH.
Merrily sings the fluttering Bob-o-link,
Whose trilling song above the meadow floats;
The eager air speeds tremulous to drink
The bubbling sweetness of the liquid notes,
Whose silver cadences arise and sink,
Shift, glide and shiver, like the trembling motes
In the full gush of sunset. One might think
Some potent charm had turned the auroral flame
Of the night-kindling north to melody,
That in one gurgling rush of sweetness came
Mocking the ear, as once it mocked the eye,
With varying beauties twinkling fitfully;
Low hovering in the air, his song he sings
As if he shook it from his trembling wings.