At first, flushed, angrily, and proud, He answered thee with laughter loud And brief retort. But thou didst speak So mild, so earnestly did seek To change his mood, in wonder first He eyed thee; then no longer durst Raise his bold glances to thy face, But, looking down, began to trace, With little, naked foot and hand, Thoughtful devices in the sand; And when at last thou didst relate The sad affliction of the mate, When to the well-known spot she came, He hung his head for very shame; His penitential tears to hide, His face averted while he cried; "Here, take them all, I've no more pride In climbing up to rob a nest-- I've better feelings in my breast." Then thanking him with heart and eyes, Thou tookest from his grasp the prize, And bid the little freedmen rise. But when thou sawest how too weak Their pinions were, the nest didst seek, And called thy client. Down he flew Instant, and with him Cherry too; And fluttering after, not a few Of the minuter feathered race Filled with their warbling all the place. From hedge and pendent branch and vine, Recounted still that deed of thine; Still sang thy praises o'er and o'er, Gladly--more heartily, be sure, Were praises never sung before. Beholding thee, they understand (These Minne-singers of the land) How thou apart from all dost stand, Full of great love and tenderness For all God's creatures--these express Thy hazel eyes. With life instinct All things that are, to thee are linked By subtle ties; and none so mean Or loathsome hast thou ever seen, But wonderous in make hath been. Compassionate, thou seest none Of insect tribes beneath the sun That thou canst set thy heel upon. A sympathy thou hast with wings In groves, and with all living things. Unmindful if they walk or crawl, The same arm shelters each and all; The shadow of the Curse and Fall Alike impends. Ah! truly great, Who strivest earnestly and late, A single atom to abate, Of helpless wo and misery. For very often thou dost see How sadly and how helplessly A pleading face looks up to thee. Therefore it is, thou canst not choose, With petty tyranny to abuse Thy higher gifts; and justly fear The feeblest worm of earth or air, In thy heart's judgment to condemn, Since God made thee, and God made them. DEATH:--AN INVOCATION. BY THOMAS DUNN ENGLISH. Thou art no king of terrors--sweet Death! But a maiden young and fair; Thine eyes are bright as the spring starlight, And golden is thy hair; While the smile that flickers thy lips upon Has a light beyond compare.