And there they dropped away to sleep,

With heads beneath their wings : I would have given much to keep The precious little things.

But soon the nest became too small,
They grew so big and stout;

And when it would not hold them all,
They had some fallings out.

Three of the five first went away,
To roost on the tall old tree;

But back and forth they came all day,
Their sister-kins to see.

My heart was sad to find one night,

That none came back to me;

D2

I saw them, by the dim twilight,
Flock to the tall old tree.

But still they often met together, Near that little clay-built nest; "Twas in the rainiest weather

They seemed to like it best.

Yet often, when the sun was clear,
They'd leave their winged troops,

Again to visit scenes so dear,
And swing upon the hoops.

Just as when human beings roam, The busy absent brother

Loves to revisit his old home,

Where lived his darling mother.

Months passed away, and still they came,

When stars began to rise,

And flew around our window pane,

To catch the sleepy flies.

Into our supper-room they flew,
And circled round my head:
For well the pretty creatures knew
They had no cause for dread.

But winter comes, and they are gone
After the Southern sun;

And left their human friends alone,

To wish that spring would come.

INVITATION TO THE BEE.

Child of patient industry,

Little active busy bee,

Thou art out at early morn,

Just as the opening flowers are born; Among the green and grassy meads Where the cowslips hang their heads; Or by hedge-rows, where the dew Glitters on the harebell blue.

Then on eager wing art flown

To thymy hillocks on the down;
Or to revel on the broom;

Or suck the clover's crimson bloom;

Murmuring still thou busy bee
Thy little ode to industry!

Go while summer suns are bright,
Take at large thy wandering flight;
Go and load thy tiny feet

With every rich and various sweet,
Cling around the flow'ring thorn,
Dive in the woodbine's honied horn,
Seek the wild rose that shades the dell,
Explore the foxglove's freckled bell,
Or in the heath-flower's fairy cup
Drink the fragrant spirit up.

But when the meadows shall be mown,
And summer's garlands overblown ;
Then, come, thou little busy bee,
And let thy homestead be with me,