112 Bird - Lore 



Eighth Speaker: 



"He sits on a branch of yon' blossoming bush, 



This madcap cousin of robin and thrush, 



And sings without ceasing the whole morning long! 



Now wild, now tender, the wayward song 



That flows from his soft, gray, fluttering throat, 



But often he stops in his sweetest note, 



And, shaking a flower from blossoming bough, 



Drawls out, ''Mi-ew, mi-oul" 



— From "The Catbird." Edith Thomas. 



All: "Saucy, mocking Catbird." 



— MiNOT J. Savage. 



Ninth Speaker: 



" T own the country hereabout,' says Bob White, 



'At early morn I gaily shout, I'm Bob White, 



From stubble field and stake-rail fence 



You hear me call, without offence, 



I'm Bob White! Bob White!' " 



— From "Bob White." Charles C. Marble. 



Tenth Speaker: "The whistle of the meadowlark is sweet, 



The blackbird's rapid chant fills all the vale, 



And touchingly sweet the uninclimbered song 



That the thrush warbles in the greenwood shade; 



Yet is the robin still our sweetest bird, 



And beautiful as sweet." 



—From "The Robin." William T. Bacon. 



All: "The Robin shall be our bird for the year!" 



Leader: "Swallows over the water, 



Warblers over the land. 

 Silvery, tinkling ripples 



Along the pebbly strand. 



Afar in the upper ether 



The eagle floats at rest; 



No wind now frets the forest, 



'Tis nature at her best." 



— Charles C. Abbott. 



MUSIC 



Class IV, carrying leaves or blossoms of the different kinds of trees in 

 the locality. 



