51

Saddled and briddled

and booted rade he;

Toom hame cam' the saddle

but never cam' he.

THE ORPHAN'S SONG

I HAD a little bird,

I took it from the nest;

I prest it, and blest it,

And nurst it in my breast.

I set it on the ground,
I danced round and round,
And sang about it so cheerly,

With "Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird,
And ho but I love thee dearly!"

I make a little feast

Of food soft and sweet,
I hold it in my breast,

And coax it to eat;

I pit, and I pat,

I call it this and that,

And sing about it so cheerly,

With "Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird,

And ho but I love thee dearly!"

I may kiss, I may sing,

But I can't make it feed,

It taketh no heed

Of any pleasant thing.

I scolded and I socked,

But it minded not a whit,
Its little mouth was locked,
And I could not open it.

Tho' with pit, and with pat,

And with this, and with that,

I sang about it so cheerly,

With "Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird,

And ho but I love thee dearly!"

But when the day was done,

And the room was at rest,
And I sat all alone

With my birdie in my breast,

And the light had fled,

And not a sound was heard,
Then my little bird

Lifted up its head,

And the little mouth
Loosened its sullen pride,

And it opened, it opened,

With a yearning strong and wide.

Swifter than I speak

I brought it food once more,

But the poor little beak

Was locked as before.

I sat down again,

And not a creature stirred;

I laid the little bird

Again where it had laid;

And again when nothing stirred,

And not a word I said,

Then my little bird

Lifted up its head,

And the little beak

Loosed its stubborn pride,

And it opened, it opened,

With a yearning strong and wide.

It lay in my breast,

It uttered no cry,

'Twas famished, 'twas famished, And I couldn't tell why.

I couldn't tell why,

But I saw that it would die,

For all that I kept dancing round and round,
And singing about it so cheerly,

With "Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird,
And ho but I love thee dearly!"

I never look sad,

I hear what people say,
I laugh when they are gay
And they think I am glad.

My tears never start,
I never say a word,

But I think that my heart
Is like that little bird.

Every day I read,

And I sing, and I play,
But thro' the long day

It taketh no heed.

It taketh no heed
Of any pleasant thing,
I know it doth not read,
I know it doth not sing.

With my mouth I read,
With my hands I play,
My shut heart is shut,
Coax it how you may.

You may coax it how you may
While the day is broad and bright,
But in the dead night

When the guests are gone away,

And no more the music sweet
Up the house doth pass,

Nor the dancing feet
Shake the nursery glass;

And I've heard my aunt
Along the corridor,

And my uncle gaunt

Lock his chamber door;

And upon the stair

All is hushed and still,
And the last wheel

Is silent in the square;

And the nurses snore,

And the dim sheets rise and fall,
And the lamplight's on the wall,
And the mouse is on the floor;

And the curtains of my bed
Are like a heavy cloud,

And the clock ticks loud,

And sounds are in my head;

And little Lizzie sleeps

Softly at my side,

It opens, it opens,

With a yearning strong and wide!

It yearns in my breast,

It utters no cry,

'Tis famished, 'tis famished,

And I feel that I shall die,

I feel that I shall die,

And none will know why.

Tho' the pleasant life is dancing round and round,

And singing about me so cheerly,

52

With "Hey my little bird, and ho my little bird,
And ho but I love thee dearly!"

SYDNEY DOBELL

THE FIRST GRIEF

"OH! call my brother back to me,

I cannot play alone;

The summer comes with flower and bee-
Where is my brother gone?

"The butterfly is glancing bright
Across the sunbeam's track;

I care not now to chase its flight—

Oh! call my brother back.

"The flowers run wild-the flowers we sowed

Around our garden tree;

Our vine is drooping with its load

Oh! call him back to me."

"He would not hear my voice, fair child!

He may not come to thee;

The face that once like spring-time smiled
On earth no more thou'lt see.

"A rose's brief, bright life of joy,
Such unto him was given;

Go-thou must play alone, my boy-
Thy brother is in heaven!"

"And has he left the birds and flowers,

And must I call in vain;

And through the long, long summer hours,
Will he not come again?

"And by the brook, and in the glade,

Are all our wanderings o'er?