'Twill be when I see he's not nigh her."

The Farmer strewd barley, and toled The chickens the brush to run under, And left them, while Hawk growing bold, Thus tempted, came near for his plunder.

As closer and closer he drew, With appet.i.te stronger and stronger, He found he'd but one thing to do, And plunged, to defer it no longer.

But now he had come to a pause, At once in the net-work entangled, While through it his head and his claws In hopeless vacuity dangled.

The chicks saw him hang overhead, Where they for their barley had huddled; And all in a flutter they fled, And soon through the coop holes had scuddled.

The Farmer came out to his snare, He saw the bold captive was in it; And said, "If this play be unfair, Remember, I did not begin it!"

He then put a cork on his beak, The airy a.s.sa.s.sin disarming, Unspurred him, and rendered him weak, By blunting each talent for harming.

And into the coop he was thrown: The chickens hid under their mother, For he, by his feathers was known As he, who had murdered their brother

Dame Biddy, beholding his plight, Determined to show him no quarter, In action gave vent to her spite; As motherly tenderness taught her.

She shouted, and bl.u.s.tered; and then Attacked the poor captive unfriended; And you, (who have witnessed a hen In anger,) may guess how it ended.

She made him a touching address, If pecking and scratching could do it; Till sinking in silent distress, He perished before she got through it.

We would not, however, convey A thought like approving the fury, That gave, in this summary way, Punition without judge or jury.

Whenever 'tis given, it tends To lessen the angry bestower.

The _fowl_ that inflicts it descends-- But the _featherless biped_, still lower.

=Kit With the Rose=

A Rose-tree stood in the parlor, When Kit came frolicking by; So, up went her feet on the window-seat, To a rose that had caught her eye.

She gave it a cuff, and it trembled Beneath her ominous paw; And while it shook, with a threatening look, She coveted what she saw.

Thought she, "What a beautiful toss-ball!

If I could but give it a snap, Now all are out, nor thinking about Their rose, or the least mishap!"

She twisted the stem, and she twirled it; And seizing the flower it bore, With the timely aid of her teeth, she made A leap to the parlor-floor.

Then over the carpet she tossed it, All fresh in its morning bloom, Till, shattered and rent, its leaves were sent To every side of the room.

At length, with her sport grown weary, She laid herself down to sun, Inclining to doze, forgetting the rose, And the mischief she'd slily done.

By and by her young mistress entered, And uttered a piteous cry, When she saw the fate of what had so late Delighted her watchful eye.

But, where was the one who had spoiled it Concealing his guilty face?

She had not a clue, whereby to pursue The rogue to his lurking-place!

Thought Kit, "I'll keep still till it's over; And none will suspect it was I."

For the puss awoke, when her mistress spoke; And she well understood the cry.

But, mewing at length for her dinner, Kit's mouth confessed the whole truth: It opened so wide that her mistress espied A rose-leaf pierced by her tooth!

Then, banished was Kit from the parlor, All covered with shame! And those Inclined, like her, in secret to err, Should remember Kit with the Rose.

=The Captive b.u.t.terfly=

Good morning, pretty b.u.t.terfly!

How have you pa.s.sed the night?

I hope you're gay and glad as I To see the morning light.

But, little silent one, methinks You're in a sober mood.

I wonder if you'd like to drink, And what you take for food.

I shut you in my crystal cup, To let your winglets rest.

And now I want to hold you up, To see your velvet vest.

I want to count your tiny toes.

To find your breathing-place, And touch the downy horn that grows Each side your pretty face.

I'd like to see just how you're made, With streaks and spots and rings; And wish you'd show me how you played Your shining, rainbow wings.

"'T was not," the little prisoner said, "For want of food or drink, That, while you slumbered on your bed, I could not sleep a wink.

"My wings are pained for want of flight, My lungs, for want of air.

In bitterness I've pa.s.sed the night, And meet the morning's glare.

"When looking through my prison wall, So close, and yet so clear, I see there's freedom there for all, While I'm a captive here.

"I've stood upon my feeble feet Until they're full of pain.

I know that liberty is sweet, Which I cannot regain.

"Do I deserve a fate like this, Who've ever acted well, Since first I left the chrysalis, And fluttered from my sh.e.l.l?

"I've never injured fruit, or flower, Or man, or bird, or beast; And such a one should have the power Of going free, at least.

"And now, if you will let me quit My prison-house, the cup, I'll show you how I sport and flit, And make my wings go up!"

The lid was raised; the prisoner said, "Behold my airy play!"

Then quickly on the wing he fled Away, away, away!

From flower to flower he gayly flew, To cool his aching feet, And slake his thirst with morning dew, Where liberty was sweet!