“As I sat all a-tremble, my heart in my bill—­
    ‘I will stay by the nest,’ thought I, ‘happen what will;’
    So I saw with these eyes by that trumpet-vine fair,
    A whole fairy bridal train poised in the air.

    “Such a bit of a bride!  Such a marvel of grace! 
    In a shimmer of rainbows and gossamer lace;
    No wonder the groom dropped his diamond-dust ring,
    Which a little elf-usher just caught with his wing.

    “Then into a trumpet-flower glided the train,
    And I thought (for a dimness crept over my brain,
    And I tucked my head under my wing), ’Deary me! 
    What a sight for a plain little mother like me!’”

MARY A. LATHBURY.

* * * * *

THE HEN AND THE HONEY-BEE.

    A lazy hen, the story goes,
    Loquacious, pert, and self-conceited,
    Espied a bee upon a rose,
    And thus the busy insect greeted: 

    “I’ve marked you well for many a day,
    In garden blooms and meadow clover;
    Now here, now there, in wanton play,
    From morn till night an idle rover.

    “While I discreetly bide at home,
    A faithful wife, the best of mothers,
    About the fields you idly roam,
    Without the least regard for others.

    “While I lay eggs and hatch them out,
    You seek the flowers most sweet and fragrant;
    And, sipping honey, stroll about,
    At best a good for nothing vagrant.”

    “Nay,” said the bee, “you do me wrong: 
    I’m useful, too,—­perhaps you doubt it: 
    Because, though toiling all day long,
    I scorn to make a fuss about it.

    “Come now with me and see my hive,
    And note how folks may work in quiet;
    To useful arts much more alive
    Than you with all your cackling riot!”

JOHN G. SAXE.

* * * * *

SONG OF THE ROBIN.

    When the willows gleam along the brooks,
    And the grass grows green in sunny nooks,
    In the sunshine and the rain
    I hear the robin in the lane
      Singing “Cheerily,
      Cheer up, cheer up;
      Cheerily, cheerily,
        Cheer up.”

    But the snow is still
    Along the walls and on the hill. 
    The days are cold, the nights forlorn,
    For one is here and one is gone. 
      “Tut, tut.  Cheerily,
      Cheer up, cheer up;
      Cheerily, cheerily,
        Cheer up.”

    When spring hopes seem to wane,
    I hear the joyful strain—­
    A song at night, a song at morn,
    A lesson deep to me is borne,
      Hearing, “Cheerily,
      Cheer up, cheer up;
      Cheerily, cheerily,
        Cheer up.”

Masque of Poets.

* * * * *

SIR ROBIN.