will pick np the crumbs which fall from the camper's table, and before he will 

 eat as many as one of them he will see to it that the wife on the nest in the clear- 

 ing has a satisfying share. As affection is the keynote of the Whitethroat's song, 

 so it is the keynote of his manner. Small wonder that the woodsmen love him, 

 and more wonder is it that the poets have not sought him out. 



Migrating Birds 



By Elizabeth E. Elliott 



The autumn leaves are falling 



The summer blooms are dead. 

 Migrating birds are trilling, 



And winging over head. 

 Far to the sunny southland 



From northern winds and snows, 

 Hast'ning, where on beach and strand, 



The year long flower grows. 



The blue birds' flash of azure. 



The black birds glint of night. 

 Our northern ruby treasure. 



The tanager's in flight. 

 The honey seeking hummer, 



The cat bird, with its call. 

 The birds we've loved in summer, 



Are leaving with the fall. 



Fussy, scolding Jenny Wren 



Has led her brood away, 

 Shy veery within the glen 



Is silent now all day. 

 Our birds, of song the rarest, 



Have flown to southern lea, 

 And left our northern forest. 



The blue jay and to me. 



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