No rational man ever heard a bird sing, without feeling that that bird was happy; and, if so, his common sense ought to tell him that if God made that bird, He made it to be happy; He intended it to be happy, and He takes pleasure in its happiness, though no human ear should ever hear its song, no human heart should ever share in its joy.

The roaring river fills all the arching way with impressively loud reverberating music, which is sweetened at times by the ouzel, a bird that is not afraid to go wherever a stream may go, and to sing wherever a stream sings.

Now her Complexion, A lovely brown; here tis; Eyes black and rolling, The Body neatly built; she strikes a Lute well, Sings most enticingly: These Helps consider'd, Her Maidenhead will amount to some three hundred, Or three hundred and fifty Crowns, twill bear it handsomly.

Then there were no cascades of real water, nor London docks, nor offensively rich furniture, with hotel lifts down which some one will certainly be thrown, but one scene representing a street; a man comes onnot, mind you, in a real smock-frock, but in something that suggests oneand sings of how he came up to London, and was "cleaned out" by thieves.

Betwixt yond dales the Eccho daily sings.

the Blackbird cried, "I, from the happy Wren, Linnet and Blackcap, Woodlark, Thrush, Perched all upon a sweetbrier bush, Have come at cold of midnight-tide To ask thee, Why and when Grief smote thy heart so thou dost sing In solemn hush of evening, So sorrowfully, lovelorn Thing Nay, nay, not sing, but rave, but wail, Most melancholic Nightingale?

" Lay me nigh to whah hit meks a little pool, An' de watah stan's so quiet lak an' cool, Whah de little birds in spring, Ust to come an' drink an' sing, An' de chillen waded on dey way to school.

If I would fain sing of love, it turned to pain; or if I would sing of pain, it turned to love.

The cuckoo, moreover, gives warning with sorrowful note, Summer's harbinger sings, and forebodes to the heart bitter sorrow.

But safe in the narrow cage it hated The captive sings on its perch to-day.

So lovely and so strange a thing Each is to each to look upon, They dare not hearken a bird sing, Or from the other one Take eyeslest they be gone.

You must know every one sings here, the servants go singing about the house like nightingales, or sweeter than nightingales to my mind, like our dear "Kanarien Vogel.

'ITTLE TOUZLE HEAD (To R. V.P.) Cum, listen w'ile yore Unkel sings Erbout how low sweet chariot swings, Truint Angel, wifout wings, Mah 'ittle Touzle Head.

Dey wa'n't 'lowed ter sing, ner dance, ner play de banjo w'en Mars Jeems wuz roun' de place; fer Mars Jeems say he would n' hab no sech gwines-on,said he bought his han's ter wuk, en not ter play, en w'en night come dey mus' sleep en res', so dey 'd be ready ter git up soon in de mawnin' en go ter dey wuk fresh en strong.

I. Within our heaven of love, the new-born star We long devoutly watched, like shepherd kings, Steals into light, and, floating from afar, Methinks some bright transcendent seraph sings, Waving with flashing light her radiant wings, Immortal welcome to the stranger fair: To us a child is born.

Upon the terrace where I play A little fountain sings all day A tiny tune: It leaps and prances in the air I saw a little fairy there This afternoon.

Better I resumed and read, Better, Nisida, thou shouldst sing, This disdain so strange and strong, This delusion little heeding. NISIDA.

"But mother, God's blessed angels There, rejoicing sing to Him!" Forth from the sunset's rosy fires Now cometh the midnight dim.

Forgive me, Sweet, andau revoir!Perhaps thy heart will relent beforebefore the nightingale sings.

The spring days now are lengthening out their light; The plants and trees are dressed in living green; The orioles resting sing, or wing their flight; Our wives amid the southern-wood are seen, Which white they bring, to feed their silkworms keen.

"If youse have yer year to ring, sho sing of death.

But not to speakto sing.

The earth to thee her incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings,

Crowne ye god Bacchus with a coronall, And Hymen also crowne with wreaths of vine; And let the Graces daunce unto the rest, For they can doo it best: The whiles the maydens doe theyr carroll sing, To which the woods shall answer, and theyr eccho ring.

There is true poetry in these lines: Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They lean soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing.