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next chestnut tree,?O'erjoyed and panting with delight,?The great, grand world to see.
Oh! what a bright, glad scene, they cried,?And what a wond'rous sky!?What joy 'twould be to kiss the Sun,?And be with him on high.
And I, said Downy, I should like?To sail on yonder sea,?And with that pretty milk-white bird,?Skim o'er the waters free.
Said Twitter, you talk very large,?And do not seem to know?Our little wings have not yet power?Beyond these trees to go.
Besides, said Chirrup, mother said?We must not go beyond,?But only hop and fly about?The trees that skirt the pond.
But mother's gone to get us food,?And she will never know,?Said Downy, so upon the pond?I am resolved to go.
O fie! exclaimed the birdies both,?To think of such a thing,?You might get harm, and on us all?Sorrow and trouble bring.
Oh, I am not a bit afraid,?I feel so strong and free,?And will not homeward go until?I float on yonder sea.
Ah, well, said both the other two,?We will not go with you,?Good-bye, we will not disobey?Our mother kind and true.
Off went the two obedient birds,?And safely reached their nest,?The little birdies' happy home?Of sweet delight and rest.
Meanwhile, poor naughty Downy flew?From off the chestnut tree,?Away towards the milk-white bird?That skimmed the waters free.
But ah! his wings were much too weak?To bear him all the way,?And Downy fell imploring aid?From loved ones far away.
But no help came. The mother bird?Was far off gathering food,?From perfumed clover meadows round,?For her beloved brood.
And when she reached her nest and found?But two birds there alone,?And heard that Downy to the pond?So wilfully had flown,
Her heart, so lately full of joy,?Was rent with grief and pain,?For fear lest she should never see?Her darling bird again.
Calling upon his name she flew,?In terror, far and near,?From tree to pond, from pond to tree,?Seeking her birdie dear.
She called; alas, no answer came?To that poor mother's cry,?She searched among the sweet, wild flowers,?And chestnut branches high.
At length she spied a tiny speck?Beside the waters clear,?It was, alas, the lifeless form?Of her lost Downy dear.
She drew him on the soft green grass,?And chafed his lifeless form,?Opened his glassy eyes and mouth,?And tried his limbs to warm.
But all in vain, her darling bird?Was dead, and nevermore?Would he into that mother's ear,?His pretty warblings pour.
Then in despair she buried him?Beside the chestnut tree,?And covered him with twigs and leaves,?While weeping bitterly.
And then, with torn and sorrowing heart,?She flew back to her home,?Where Twit and Chirrup trembling staid,?Disconsolate and lone.
My little birdie dears, she said,?In bitterness and pain,?Our darling Downy to his nest?Will never come again.
His wilful disobedience?To my direct commands,?Has brought its own dire punishment,?Such as all sin demands.
I thought I could have trusted him,?For he, as you well know,?Promised me very faithfully?Not from these trees to go.
I want you both, my birdies dear,?To learn from this to see?How lying disobedience?Will ever punished be.
So take a lesson from it, dears,?And be resolved that you?Will never disobey or lie,?Whatever else you do.
O yes, we'll try our very best,?Your orders to obey,?And always strive to tell the truth,?Whether at work or play.
Dear children who may hear this tale,?You, too, should also try?To do whatever you are told,?And never tell a lie.

THE ANGEL ON WAR.
An angel spirit winging?Through aerial space her flight,?O'er peaceful, sleep-bound nature?Thus sang one autumn night:?What are those hosts advancing?In legions o'er the plain,?Through orchards heavy laden?And fields of full-eared grain?
Eastward and westward come they?Shining like gems of light,?Beneath soft, silvery moonbeams?Of peaceful, silent night.?Surely assembled nations?Are gathering for a f��te?Of tournament, sham fight or joist,?In pride of strength elate.
Or, may be, some grand meeting?On field of cloth of gold,?Attracts those swarming legions?A peaceful tryst to hold;?For see, the steeds caparisoned?In trappings rich and bright,?With noble, high-bred men astride,?In transports of delight!
The flower of German fatherland,?In manhood's strength and pride,?Press on in measured marching,?By grey-haired veterans' side,?And westward press the youth of France,?Whose ardour none can stay,?Thirsting for laurels in the tilts?And contests of the day.
Emperors, with marshals, generals,?And stalwart men, are there;?Flushed with excitement swift they come?The splendid sports to share,?Doubtless each wears the colours?Of some loved lady fair?Whom they predict shall one day?Their heart and fortunes share.
Now sable night droops kindly?Into the arms of morn,?Who comes to herald in the day?And nature's face adorn??Heaven's soft grey eastern portals?For her wide open fly,?As the grand sun's golden chariot?Wheels proudly through the sky.
Night's gentle Queen and star gems?Withdraw their gracious sway,?As the sun in rose-hued splendour?Kisses to life the day.?Waters like polished silver?Dotting the plain like shields,?Babble their morning greeting?From golden, grain-crowned fields.
Then the glad light of morning?Trips joyful o'er the plain,?As the angel horror stricken?Takes up her strain again,?Alas! those hosts advancing?In hot haste from afar,?But yesternight so joyous,?Now close in bloody war.
And, as ferocious tigers,?On tasting human blood,?Revel in greedy madness?Amid the crimson flood,?So these fierce hostile warriors,?Now stained with