MIGRATION OF BIRDS.
November came on, with an eye severe,
And his stormy language was hoarse to hear;
And the glittering garland of brown and red,
Which he wreathed for a while round the forest's head,
With a sudden anger he rent away,
And all was cheerless, and bare, and gray.
Then the houseless grasshopper told his woes,
And the humming-bird sent forth a wail for the rose,
And the spider, that weaver of cunning so deep,
Roll'd himself up in a ball to sleep;
And the cricket his merry horn laid by
On the shelf, with the pipe of the dragon-fly.
Soon the birds were heard, at the morning prime,
Consulting of flight to a warmer clime.
"Let us go! let us go!" said the bright-wing'd jay;
And his gay spouse sang from a rocking spray,
"I am tired to death of this hum-drum tree,
I'll go, if 'tis only the world to see."
"Will you go?" asked the robin, "my only love?"
And a tender strain from the leafless grove
Responded, "Wherever your lot is cast,
Mid summer skies or the northern blast,
I am still at your side your heart to cheer,
Though dear is our nest in the thicket here."
