158 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY. 



THE MYTH OF THE SONG SPARROW, 



His mother was the Brook, his sisters were the Reeds 



And they every one applauded when he sang about his deeds. 

 His vest was white, his mantle brown, as clear as they could be, 



And his songs were fairly bubbling o'er with melody and glee. 

 But an envious Neighbor splashed with mud our Brownie's coat and vest. 



And then a final handful threw that stuck upon his breast. 

 The Brook-bird's mother did her best to wash the stains away, 



But there they stuck, and, as it seems, are very like to stay. 

 And so he wears the splashes and the mud blotch as you see. 



But his songs are bubbling over still with melody and glee. 



— Ernest Thompson-vSeton, in "Bird Lore." 



THE BIRDLESS WOOD. 



I stood in woods 'mong leafless trees 

 One noisy winter's day: 

 The winds were not like summer's breeze, 

 I thought my hands and feet would freeze 

 Before I went away. 



But long I looked with eager eye 

 For some little happy bird; 

 And ne'er was heard the Blue Jay's cry, 

 Nor busy Woodpecker pounding nigh, 

 But only winds were heard. 



"O, where, my darling, friends of glee," 

 I broken hearted cried: 

 "They fly no more from tree to tree 

 To warble songs that gladden me — 

 Oh, whither, do they hide?" 



I almost wept for spring again. 



For sunshine, warm and sweet; 



For the cherry songsters' mellow strain 



That calms me in the hour of pain. 



Or makes my joy complete. 



Benj. Phillips, 

 Seiad, Calif. 



