The Summer came, and all the birds were

dead;

The days were like hot coals; the very ground Was burned to ashes; in the orchards fed

Myriads of caterpillars, and around

The cultivated fields and garden beds

Hosts of devouring insects crawled, and found

No foe to check their march, till they had

made

The land a desert without leaf or shade.

Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town,

Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly

Slaughtered the Innocents.

spun down

From the trees

The canker-worms upon the passers-by, Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, Who shook them off with just a little cry; They were the terror of each favorite walk, The endless theme of all the village talk.

The farmers grew impatient, but a few

Confessed their error, and would not com

plain,

For after all, the best thing one can do

When it is raining, is to let it rain. Then they repealed the law, although they knew It would not call the dead to life again; As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate.

That year in Killingworth the Autumn came
Without the light of his majestic look,
The wonder of the falling tongues of flame,

The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame,

And drowned themselves despairing in the

brook,

While the wild wind went moaning everywhere,

Lamenting the dead children of the air!

But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen,
A sight that never yet by bard was sung,
As great a wonder as it would have been
If some dumb animal had found a tongue!
A wagon, overarched with evergreen,

Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, All full of singing birds, came down the street,

Filling the air with music wild and sweet.

From all the country round these birds were brought,

By order of the town, with anxious quest, And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought In woods and fields the places they loved

best,

Singing loud canticles, which many thought

Were satires to the authorities addressed, While others, listening in green lanes, averred Such lovely music never had been heard!

But blither still and louder carolled they Upon the morrow, for they seemed to know It was the fair Almira's wedding-day,

And everywhere, around, above, below, When the Preceptor bore his bride away,

Their songs burst forth in joyous overflow, And a new heaven bent over a new earth

Amid the sunny farms of Killingworth.

FINALE.

THE hour was late; the fire burned low,
The Landlord's eyes were closed in sleep,
And near the story's end a deep
Sonorous sound at times was heard,

As when the distant bagpipes blow.
At this all laughed; the Landlord stirred,
As one awaking from a swound,
And, gazing anxiously around,
Protested that he had not slept,
But only shut his eyes, and kept
His ears attentive to each word.

Then all arose, and said "Good Night." Alone remained the drowsy Squire