210 Twelve Months With 



And thou, dear nest, whence joy and praise 

 The thankful oriole used to pour, 



Swing'st empty while the north winds chase 

 Their snowy swarms from Labrador : 



But, loyal to the happy past, 



I love thee still for what thou wast." 



In the same spirit Joseph Howe writes of the 

 old deserted nest, as attractive to the poet's eye: 



"Deserted nest, that on the leafless tree 



Waves to and fro with every dreary blast, 

 With none to shelter, none to care for thee, 

 Thy day of pride and cheerfulness is past. 



Thy tiny walls are falling to decay, 



Thy cell is tenantless and tuneless now, 



The winter winds have rent the leaves away, 

 And left thee hanging on the naked bough. 



But yet, deserted nest, there is a spell, 



E'en in thy loneliness, to touch the heart, 



For holy things within thee once did dwell, 

 The type of joys departed now thou art. 



Then though thy walls be rent, and cold thy cell, 

 And thoughtless crowds may hourly pass thee by, 



Where love and truth and tenderness did dwell, 

 There's still attraction for the poet's eye." 



In addition to this appeal to the imagination 

 which the abandoned nest always brings, with 

 speculations as to the home life which has glori- 



