An Old Year Song

Ab throueh tbe ioreRt, disarrayed By chili November, late t strayed, A loiiply niJUBtrel of the wood Was pingiog to tbe solitude ; T lovedtby music, thns I Raid, When o'er thy perch the leaves wore epiead ; flweet wan tby song, but ewexter uow Thy caro! on the Iraflepsbough. Sicg, littlü bird ! thy note eiiall cheer The sadneaB of the dying year. Whcn YioMs pranked tho turf with blue And morning filled ttieir cups with dew, Thy lender volee with rippling trtll Thñ buddinjr April bowera would fil', Nor pass ils joyons touea away, When April rouuiied luto May; Thy lifo all bail no Becond dawn,- Siug, little bird I the epring ia gene. And I reroember - well-a-day ! - Thy full-blown summer roundelay, And wnen behind a broidered ecreun Borne holy maiden singa unseen ; With wering Dotea tbc woodland rung, And every tret-topfouud a toiiguo. How dcop the abadr! tbO groves how faii ! Sing, little bird! he woeds are bare. But now;the summor's chant is dono And mute the choral autipbon ; The birds have left tho sMveung pine To ñit aaioug the trellitcd vídcb, Or fan the air with. scenU'd plumeo, Amid tbe love-síck c ra Dg b] ooms, And thou art here alone,- alont;,- Sing little bird ! the rest fcave flowD . The snow has cspped yon distant blll, At morn tli running biook will still From drivtn terils tbe olonLfl that rlse Areükethe tmoke of pacrifice, Erelor.gthe frozen tod eball mock Tbe plowebare, cbanged to etubborn rock, Tne brawling etreams Bball soon be dumb, - Ring little bird ! tbe frosts have come. Fast, fast the lpngtbening shadows creep, Tbe songlese fowlsare half asleep. Tbc air grows chilJ, the setting Bun May leave thee ere thy eon ia done, Tbe pulse that warms tb breaet grow cold, Thy secret die with thee, untold : The liugeriüg puneet stili is bright,- Sing, little bird 1 twill soon be night.