THE ROBIN REDBREAST.
1 Poor Robin sits and sings alone
When showers of driving sleet,
By the cold winds of winter blown,
The cottage casement beat.
2 Come, let him share our chimney nook,
And dry his dripping wing;
See, little Mary shuts her book,
And cries, "Poor Robin, sing!"
3 Methinks I hear his faint reply:
When cowslips deck the plain,
The lark shall carol in the sky,
And I shall sing again.
4 But in the cold and wintry day,
To you I owe a debt,
That in the sunshine of the May
I never can forget!
THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE.
1 Methought I heard a butterfly
Say to a labouring bee,
Thou hast no colours of the sky
On painted wings, like me.
2 Poor child of vanity! those dyes,
And colours bright and rare,
With mild reproof, the bee replies,
Are all beneath my care.
3 Content I toil from morn till eve,
And, scorning idleness,
To tribes of gawdy sloth I leave
The vanities of dress.