WHEN icicles hang by the wall,

And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,

And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail. When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring Owl, Tu-whit, tu-whoo, a merry note, While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all aloud the wind doth blow,

And coughing drowns the parson's saw,

And birds sit brooding in the snow,

And Marian's nose looks red and raw :
Then roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,

And nightly sings the staring Owl,
Tu-whit, tu-whoo, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

THE WHITE STORK.

Minstrelsy of the Woods.

THE flames are on the city wall,
Temple, and tower, and palace fall;
Danger and death are hovering near,
And shrieks of terror wound the ear.
Look upward at that feeble bird,
From her no cry of woe is heard;
With all a mother's love possest,
She hovers fondly o'er her nest,
And ev'ry tender art she tries,

To bear her children through the skies.

Poor bird! in vain is all thy care!
Thy cherish'd ones must perish there :
Their doom is seal'd, they can but die;
But thou may'st spread thy wings and fly.
Thy children soon must breathe their last,
Their death-pang will be quickly past.
All that maternal love can do

Has proved thee faithful, fond, and true;
Oh! linger not a moment more,
Thy chance of life will soon be o'er.
Think ye maternal love will cease,
When danger and distress increase?
Believe it not-stronger than death
It braves the fierce volcano's breath;
Undaunted faces every ill,
And bids the tempest work its will;
Lifts to the last its guardian shield,
And cannot fly, and will not yield.
That faithful bird heeds not your cry,
She will not spread her wings and fly;
Think not maternal love can tire;
That nest will be her funeral pyre.
More closely still she spreads her wings
Above those feeble, trembling things.

66

Fly, faithful bird, there still is space, Nor perish with thy helpless race!"

She heeds us not-the flames ascend,

And all in one wide ruin blend ;

And since their lives she cannot save,

She shares with them one common grave.
Firm courage, that will never quail,
Still strongest in the stormiest gale,
Undaunted zeal, wouldst thou behold?
Oh! go not to the stern and cold;
But where the warm affections dwell,
There look thou for its mightiest spell;
For love, e'en in its lowest form,
Hath power the coward heart to warm,
And in its highest, calleth down

The strength that wins the martyr's crown.*

"The affection which the Stork manifests for her young has been proverbial from antiquity. She feeds them for a long period, nor quits them till they can defend and provide for themselves. She bears them on her wings, and protects them from danger, and has been known to perish rather than abandon them, an instance of which was exhibited in the town of Delft, in 1636, when a fire broke out in a building that had a Stork's nest on it, containing young unable to fly. The old Stork made several attempts to save them, but, finding allin vain, she at last spread her wings over them, and in that endearing attitude expired with them in the flames."-Brit. Cyclop.

THE GOLDFINCH'S NEST.

Graham.

SOMETIMES, suspended at the limber end

Of plane-tree spray, among the broad-leaved

shoots,

The tiny hammock swings to every gale;

Sometimes in closest thickets 'tis conceal'd;
Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the brier,
The bramble, and the crooked plum-tree branch,
Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the
flowers

Of climbing vetch, and honeysuckle wild,
All undefaced by Art's deforming hand.

But mark the pretty bird himself! how light
And quick his every motion, every note!

How beautiful his plumes! his red-tinged head;
His breast of brown: and see him stretch his

wing;

A fairy fan of golden spokes it seems.