172 Bird -Lore 



JUNIOR AUDUBON WORK 



For Teachers and Pupils 

 Exercise XXXVIII: Correlated with English, Reading, and Agriculture 



"The world is all before me; but I ask 



Of Nature that with which she will comply — 



It is but in her summer's sun to bask, 

 To mingle with the quiet of her sky, 



To see her gentle face without a mask, 

 And never gaze on it with apathy." 



". . . . The green hills 

 Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass. 



The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills 

 Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass; 



Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class. 

 Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes 



Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass; 

 The sweetness of the violet's deep-blue eyes, 



Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies." 



— Byron. 



Although Byron is not generally thought of as a poet of nature, in these few 

 lines he expresses much of the true nature-lover's delicate attunement to the 

 pure and quiet joy of "the green hills," the "early blossoms," "soft breeze," 

 and "summer birds" which "sing welcome" to the passer-by. Only a poet 

 could express so beautifully the appeal of the fresh spring flowers, which 

 'Hmplore the pausing step," perhaps only a poet could have phrased the wish 

 to see the gentle face of nature "without a mask and never gaze on it with 

 apathy." 



A SPRINGTIME HERMIT 



By LIZZIE THOMAS BALD'WIN. Jamestown, N. Y. 



One April morn, when skies were gray, I watched. A little king dropped down; 



And I had wished a sunny day. Upon his head a ruby crown, 



I wandered where God's acre fair His royal song rose, glad and clear. 



Calls birds to matins, men to prayer. My preening bird awoke to hear. 



He answered low; then swelled to theme — 



Within a darkling evergreen An overture to Love's sweet dream. 

 A bird did sit, and there did preen 



His wings. 'Twas he who soon goes north Dear hermit thrush! My cup runs o'er 



And there his matchless hymn pours forth With rapt'rous song ne'er heard before. 



In forests dim, on mountains high, Thou'st sung! And shall I ever say, 



As Love's full song mounts toward the sky. Ah, me! What's in a rainy day? 



