“Oh, what was that, sister?  The thunder? 
      Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud,
    The wind and the rain and the lightning?”
      “Little brother, the thunder roars loud.

    “Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean;
      Look! over the lighthouse it streams;
    And the lightning leaps red, and above us
      The gulls fill the air with their screams.”

    O’er the beach, o’er the rocks, running swiftly,
      The little white cottage they gain;
    And safely they watch from the window
      The dance and the rush of the rain.

    But the shag kept his place on the headland,
      And, when the brief storm had gone by,
    He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him
      Rise splendid and strong in the sky.

    Clinging fast to the gown of his sister,
      The little boy laughed as he flew: 
    “He is gone with the wind and lightning! 
      And—­I am not frightened,—­are you?”

CELIA THAXTER.

* * * * *

THE LOST BIRD.

        My bird has flown away,
    Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. 
        Look in your lawn, I pray,
        Ye maidens kind and fair,
    And see if my beloved bird be there.

        His eyes are full of light;
    The eagle of the rock has such an eye;
        And plumes, exceeding bright,
        Round his smooth temples lie,
    And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh.

        Look where the grass is gay
    With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers;
        And search, from spray to spray,
        The leafy laurel bowers,
    For well he loves the laurels and the flowers.

        Find him, but do not dwell,
    With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see,
        Nor love his song too well;
        Send him, at once, to me,
    Or leave him to the air and liberty.

        For only from my hand
    He takes the seed into his golden beak,
        And all unwiped shall stand
        The tears that wet my cheek,
    Till I have found the wanderer I seek.

        My sight is darkened o’er,
    Whene’er I miss his eyes, which are my day,
        And when I hear no more
        The music of his lay,
    My heart in utter sadness faints away.

From the Spanish of CAROLINA CORONADO DE PERRY.

Translated by W. C. BRYANT.

* * * * *

THE BIRDS MUST KNOW.

    The birds must know.  Who wisely sings
        Will sing as they;
    The common air has generous wings,
        Songs make their way. 
    No messenger to run before,
        Devising plan;
    No mention of the place or hour
        To any man;
    No waiting till some sound betrays