58 OUn NATIVE SONGSTERS. 



swallows and martins, and we might say in the 

 words of our earliest extant ballad — 



" Summer is come in, 

 Loud sings the cuckoo." 



There is life everywhere, and insects glitter in 

 the sunbeam, and pursue their destined summer 

 work : — 



" Bird, bee, and butterfly — the favourite three 

 That meet us ever on our summer path ! 

 And what, with all her forms and hues divine, 

 Would summer be without them ? Though the skies 

 Were blue, and blue the streams, and fresh the fields, 

 And beautiful as now, the waving woods. 

 And exquisite the flowers ; and though the sun 

 Beam'd from its cloudless throne from day to day, 

 And with the breeze and shower, more loveliness 

 Shed o'er this lovely world ; yet all would want 

 A charm, if those sweet denizens of earth 

 And air, made not the great creation teem 

 With beauty, grace and motion ! Who would bless 

 The landscape, if upon his morning walk 

 He greeted not the feather}' nations, perch'd 

 For love or song, amid the dancing leaves ; 

 Or wantoning in flight from bough to bough, 

 From field to field ? Ah ! who would bless thee, June, 

 If silent, songless, were the groves, — unheard 

 The lark in heaven ? " 



And now the dwellers in the countiy can but 

 remark how busy are the birds at nest building. 

 Away they fly with the scrap of wool from the 



