At daybreak in June we hear
His melody, strong and clear: 
“Cheer up, be merry,
I’ve found a cherry;
’Tis a glorious time of the year!”
Garrett Newkirk. 
From “Bird-Lore,” by permission of The Macmillan Company.

TO A SKYLARK.  (EXTRACT.)

Hail to thee, blithe spirit! 
Bird thou never wert,
That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

  Higher still and higher
    From the earth thou springest,
  Like a cloud of fire,
    The blue deep thou wingest,
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow
The world should listen then, as I am listening now! 
Percy Bysshe Shelley.

FRIGHTENED BIRDS.

“Hush, hush!” said a little brown thrush
To his mate on the nest in the elder-bush. 
“Keep still!  Don’t open your bill! 
There’s a boy coming bird-nesting over the hill! 
Let your wings out, so
That not an egg or the nest shall show. 
Chee!  Chee!  It seems to me
I’m as frightened as ever a bird can be!”

Then, still, with a quivering bill,
He watched the boy out of sight o’er the hill. 
Ah, then in the branches again,
His glad song ran over vale and glen. 
Oh, oh! if that boy could know
How glad they were when they saw him go,
Say, say, do you think next day
He could possibly steal those eggs away? 

          
                                  Anon.

DON’T ROB THE BIRDS, BOYS.

Don’t rob the birds of their eggs, boys,
  ’Tis cruel and heartless and wrong;
And remember, by breaking an egg, boys,
  We may lose a bird with a song.

When careworn, weary, and lonely,
  Some day as you’re passing along,
You’ll rejoice that the egg wasn’t broken
  That gave you the bird with its song. 
                         Anon.

A GOOD SHOT

There was once a boy whose eye was so true, and whose hand was so steady, that he became a very good marksman.  If he threw a stone, or fired at anything with his air-gun, he usually hit what he aimed at.  He took such pride and pleasure in his skill that he was always looking for good shots.

Near his house lived a bird.  Five young ones were in her nest.  So many mouths, always wide open for food, kept the little mother busy.  From morning till night she flew over fields and woods, getting worms and bugs and seeds for her babies to eat.  Every day she flew off chirping gayly, and came back as soon as she could with a bit of food.  The smallest bird had been hurt in some way and could not cry so loudly as the others.  The mother always gave him his breakfast first.