I'd sing the fleeting hours away,
Nor silent be a minute.

But I must quit the trembling spray,
And to my duty fly away,
To pick a straw or feather;
My mate is somewhere on the wing,
I think she's gone some moss to bring,
For we must work while it is spring,
And build our nest together.

So now adieu--I've chirp'd too long,
Must leave the finish of my song
To some more learned bird's son;
Whose mellow notes can charm the ear
With no discordant chatter near;
So now, dear Sir, I'm your sincere
And humble Sparrow.

HERDSON.

[2] You will perceive the writer is a _hedge-sparrow_.

* * * * *


TO A DESTRUCTIVE INSECT ON A ROSEBUD.

IN MANNER OF BURNS.