Now the lonely owlet peeps
From the barn or twisted brake,
And the blue mist slowly creeps
Curling on the silver lake
As the trout in speckled pride,
Playful from its bosom springs,
To the banks a ruffled tide
Verges in successive rings.
Freshly plays the Evening air,
Sweetly fall its shadows gray;
Even man forgets his care,
Thoughtless for the coming day.
(Turning to the company present)
Gentle sisters, of the three,
Give you not the prize to me?
Adapted by the Editor from a Pastoral of J. Cunningham.
This song may be sung by three children, personating respectively Morning, Noon, and Evening; and when thus sung, each child at the end of its song may turn to the company present and make its appeal, "Sisters, tell me," &c.
54. The Bee.
Sweet lab'rer, 'mid the summer's golden hour,
Full oft I trace thy little busy flight,
With pleasure see thee perch from flow'r to flow'r,
On violets, woodbines, roses, lilies bright.
