We mourn for him with sorrow true.
Now nevermore at dawn his music shall we hear,
Waking the world like trumpet shrill and clear.
The hens all hang their heads, the chickens sadly peep;
The boys look sober, and the girls all weep.
Good-by, dear Cocky: sleep and rest,
With grass and daisies on your faithful breast;
And when you wake, brave bird, so good and true,
Clap your white wings and crow, "Cock-a-doodle-doo."


[Illustration: The lion walked awhile to rest himself.]




VI.

ROSY'S JOURNEY.


Rosy was a nice little girl who lived with her mother in a small house in
the woods. They were very poor, for the father had gone away to dig gold,
and did not come back; so they had to work hard to get food to eat and
clothes to wear. The mother spun yarn when she was able, for she was often
sick, and Rosy did all she could to help. She milked the red cow and fed
the hens; dug the garden, and went to town to sell the yarn and the eggs.

She was very good and sweet, and every one loved her; but the neighbors
were all poor, and could do little to help the child. So, when at last the