Marvelous care is shown in the pro- 

 vision for the awakening from its long 

 slumber. The threads are woven so 

 loosely near the place of opening that 

 they are easily broken, even in his first 

 feebleness. The old garment, rolled 

 in a heap at his feet, cannot impede or 



entangle him. He is now the imago 

 " image in full of his species," and, 

 like the fairy, Ariel, he will follow 

 summer as it flies, and swing "under 

 the blossom that hangs on the bough" 

 an airy spirit of joy! 



THE DEAD BIRD. 



NELLY HART WOODWORTH. 



Hark to the beating at the lattice! Thou shalt have rest. Rest thee, dear 

 sure bird, I pray!" 



It is some winged creature asks for 

 room 



And as the bird's throat trembles when 

 Within my walls. Shall I deny its the song 



ques't, 



Throbbing for wings pours to the gen- 



Refuse a welcome to the homeless 



guest? 

 Who could the rigor of such night 



erous air, 



So my heart throbbed with pity and my 

 hand 



Went quivering as I held the stranger 

 there. 



endure? 

 Nay, open wide the window. Come, 



The velvet wings dropped heavy. O'er 

 And share my shelter! All the air was the eyes 



stirred 

 By the mysterious pulsing of the wings 



There came a mist, like hoary mists 

 that roll 



In useless haste, until their murmur- Far up the mountain, blotting out the 



ings skies 



Grew faint and fainter; now they pulse- And leaving scars upon the lonely 



less lay. soul; 



Again they found the light my eyes The stars were blurred, the hilltops 



were blurred canopied, 



With tears of pity. "Here upon my The valleys lost, the little bird was 



breast dead. 



THE FIELD DAISY. 



JENNY T. RUPRECHT. 



Xomadic queen with softly petaled 



face, 

 Thine is a beauteous throne where'er 



thou art, 

 And thine a reign triumphant from 



the start; 



And though thy throne were in half- 

 desert place, 



Or where thou may'st behold the brook 

 lets race, 

 Or just above the sleepy valley's 



heart, 



Or higher up the grasses tall to 

 part 



Queen of the fields! thou reign'st with 



witching grace. 

 If shine, 'tis well; if shade, thou mur- 



mur'st not, 

 For thou hast learned of nature 



patient trust 

 Glad of the cloudless light all golden 



wrought, 

 Nor sad if shadows fall, as shadows 



must 

 All these shall flee before thy floral 



reign. 

 And leave fresh charms throughout 



thy wide domain. 



