AMEPdCAN OnyiTIIOLOGY. 29 



THE BIRDS ARE GONE. 



Chill are the winds of Autumn, 



Sadly the dead leaves fall 

 To fade and be forgotten; 



The common fate of all. 



Dusky is all the landscape, 



Dreary and gray the dawn, 

 No music greets the morning 



For all the birds are gone. 



Gone is each pretty songster 



To some far distant clime, 

 Gone with Nature's robes of green 



And joys of summer time. 



My dear friends; are they all gone? 



The birds I loved so well. 

 Shall I hear their songs no more 



O'er meadow, wood and dell? 



It seems but yesterday eve 



I heard the Robin sing, 

 Watched the Kingbird's wayward flight 



The Swallows tireless wing. 



Heard the Thrushes melody 



Within the pleasant wood 

 While I, 'neath the screening leaves 



In silent rapture stood. 



O'er the grassland decked with flowers 



The Meadow-lark's clear call 

 I heard, like a fond farewell 



In sweetest cadence fall. 



The Song Sparrow's merry lay, 



The Warbler's lisping notes, 

 And all the woodland music 



From countless tiny throats. 



All joyless now is Nature, 



Her choir no longer sings. 

 Gloomy and unresponsive, 



A harp with broken strings. 



Hatta Washburn. 



