 BOAT-SONG


[Illustration: THOMAS MOORE]

    Faintly as tolls the evening chime,
    Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time.
    Soon as the woods on shore look dim,
    We’ll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn.
    Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
    The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!

    Why should we yet our sail unfurl?
    There is not a breath the blue wave to curl!
    But when the wind blows off the shore,
    Oh! sweetly we’ll rest our weary oar.
    Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
    The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!

    Utawas’ tide! this trembling moon
    Shall see us float over thy surges soon.
    Saint of this green Isle! hear our prayers;
    Oh! grant us cool heavens and favoring airs.
    Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,
    The Rapids are near, and the daylight’s past!
         --THOMAS MOORE.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Attempt the end and never stand in doubt;
    Nothing’s so hard but search will find it out.




        THE SONG SPARROW


    There is a bird I know so well,
      It seems as if he must have sung
      Beside my crib when I was young;
    Before I knew the way to spell
      The name of even the smallest bird,
      His gentle, joyful song I heard.
    Now see if you can tell, my dear,
    What bird it is, that every year,
    Sings “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.”

    He comes in March, when winds are strong,
      And snow returns to hide the earth;
      But still he warms his head with mirth,
    And waits for May. He lingers long
      While flowers fade, and every day
      Repeats his sweet, contented lay;
    As if to say we need not fear
    The seasons’ change, if love is here,
    With “Sweet--sweet--sweet--very merry cheer.”

    He does not wear a Joseph’s coat
      Of many colors, smart and gay;
      His suit is Quaker brown and gray,
    With darker patches at his throat.
      And yet of all the well-dressed throng,
      Not one can sing