" Hush ! 'T is he ! 



My oriole, my glance of summer fire, 

 Is come at last, and, ever on the watch, 

 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 

 About the bough to help his housekeeping, 

 Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 

 Yet fearing one who laid it in his way, 

 Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 

 Divines the providence that hides and helps." 



LOWELL. 



