THE WOODPECKER. 193 
Let us go to the haunt of the woodpecker green, 
In those depths of the wood there is much 
to be seen. 
There the wild-rose and woodbine weave 
fairy-land bowers, 
And the moth-mullein grows with its pale 
yellow flowers ; 
There the hum of the bees through the noon- 
day is heard, 
And the chirp, and the cry, and the song of 
the bird ; 
There up the tree-trunk, like a fly on the wall, 
To pick the grey moss, runs the tree-creeper 
small ; 
There the wren golden-crested, so lovely to see, 
Hangs its delicate nest from the twigs of the tree ; 
And there coos the ring-dove—oh, who would not 
80, 
That voice of the wood to hear, dreamy and low! 
Yes, come to the wood—to the woodpecker's 
tree, 
There is joy ’mong the green leaves for thee 
and for me! 
mM 
