166 THE CHEONICLES OF A GARDEN. 



Nor word, nor sign, nor look of mine. 

 From under the lime-tree bough, 

 With bark and bound 

 And frolic round. 



Shall bring him now. 



But he taketh his rest, where he loved best 

 In the days of his life to be, 

 And that place will not 

 Be a common spot 

 Of earth to me. 



Caroline Souihey. 



TO MY BIRDIE. 



Here's only yon an' me. Birdie ! here's only you an' me ! 

 An' there you sit, you humdrum fowl, 

 Sae mute and mopish as an owl, — 



Sour companie ! 



Sing me a little sang, Birdie ! lilt up a little lay ! 

 AVhen folks are here f u' fain are ye 

 To stun them with yere minstrelsie 



The leeve-lang day ; 



An' now we 're only twa, Birdie ! and now we 're only twa ; 

 'Twere sure but kind and cosie, Birdie, 

 To charm wi' yere wee hurdy-gurdie 



Dull care awa. 



Ye ken, when folks are pair'd, Birdie ! ye ken, when folks are 



pair'd, 

 Life's foul an' fair an' freakish weather, 

 An' light an' lumb'rin' loads, thegither 



Maun a' be shared; 



An' shared wi' lovin' hearts, Birdie ! wi' lovin' heai'ts an' free ; 

 For fashious loads may weel be borne, 

 An' roughest roads to velvet turn, 



Trod cheerfully. 



