Volume I Part 36 (1/2)

Emma Huntington Nason [1845-1921]

THE SINGING-LESSON

A nightingale made a mistake; She sang a few notes out of tune; Her heart was ready to break, And she hid away from the moon.

She wrung her claws, poor thing!

But was far too proud to weep; She tucked her head under her wing, And pretended to be asleep.

A lark, arm in arm with a thrush, Came sauntering up to the place; The nightingale felt herself blush, Though feathers hid her face.

She knew they had heard her song, She felt them snicker and sneer; She thought that life was too long, And wished she could skip a year.

”Oh, Nightingale,” cooed a dove-- ”Oh, Nightingale, what's the use?

You bird of beauty and love, Why behave like a goose?

Don't skulk away from our sight, Like a common, contemptible fowl; You bird of joy and delight, Why behave like an owl?

”Only think of all you have done, Only think of all you can do; A false note is really fun From such a bird as you!

Lift up your proud little crest, Open your musical beak; Other birds have to do their best-- You need only to speak.”

The nightingale shyly took Her head from under her wing, And, giving the dove a look, Straightway began to sing.

There was never a bird could pa.s.s; The night was divinely calm, And the people stood on the gra.s.s To hear that wonderful psalm.

The nightingale did not care; She only sang to the skies; Her song ascended there, And there she fixed her eyes.

The people that stood below She knew but little about; And this tale has a moral, I know, If you'll try to find it out.

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

CHANTICLEER

Of all the birds from East to West That tuneful are and dear, I love that farmyard bird the best, They call him Chanticleer.

Gold plume and copper plume, Comb of scarlet gay; 'Tis he that scatters night and gloom, And whistles back the day!

He is the sun's brave herald That, ringing his blithe horn, Calls round a world dew-pearled The heavenly airs of morn.

O clear gold, shrill and bold!

He calls through creeping mist The mountains from the night and cold To rose and amethyst.

He sets the birds to singing, And calls the flowers to rise; The morning cometh, bringing Sweet sleep to heavy eyes.

Gold plume and silver plume, Comb of coral gay; 'Tis he packs off the night and gloom, And summons home the day!

Black fear he sends it flying, Black care he drives afar; And creeping shadows sighing Before the morning star.