ROBIN RED-BREAST.

Why so late at your nest
Little Robin Red-Breast!
The summer is passing away,
The autumn's cold blast
Is approaching full fast,
Then why this delinquent delay.

Thy dear little young
Should in summer have sung
Their hymns to the Author of day,
Then Robin Red-Breast
Why so late at your nest,
Pray, what has occasioned delay?

Chide me not, chide me not,
Little man of the cot,
Already I sorrow and grieve,
The smart of the dart
That is piercing my heart
You little folks cannot conceive.

But later in life
When suffering and strife
Your sunshine and hopes shall obscure,
You may get an impress
Of my grievous distress
And realize what I endure.

In the Spring I was blest
For I built me a nest,
And three little eggs I had lain
When a very rude boy
Stole them all for a toy
And burdened my bosom with pain.

With sticks and with dirt
I again went to work,
And constructed another complete,
But the same cruel boy,
All ecstatic with joy,
Soon found out my secret retreat.

I flew at his eyes,
But in spite of my cries,
He tore it away from the tree,
And, laughing, he ran
With nest in his hand,
Nor heeded the pain it gave me.

I, a poor little bird,
Am now building my third,
So, kind little man, good night.
Then from her sweet throat
She warbled a note,
And darted away from my sight.

In the month of September,
Quite well I remember,
I strayed by a thicket along,
When there by her nest
Sat Robin Red-Breast,
All merrily singing her song.

I slyly did creep
To get just a peep
At her dear little family there,
When all in a fright
They flew from my sight
And darted—I cannot tell where.

Dear Robin Red-Breast,
Come in springtime and nest
In the tree by my own cabin door,
And I will attend you,
Watch, guard and defend you,
And give you a part of my store.
Doc Geo. Smith,