Captain, how you talk! we Parrots love each other-- There you shot dozens of us,--my father and my mother,-- I shall not forget it in a hurry,--what wailing and crying,-- What flying round and round there was! What comforting the dying! You, yourself, laid down your gun,--overcome by the sight, And said you would not shoot again, at least that night! Heigh-ho! I am just ready to cry! And I think I shall cry before I have done! (_She cries like a child._) There, now, I am better! but my throat is quite hot; Can’t I have a glass of water?--(_She coughs._) Bless me, what a cold I’ve got! Do, shut that window, Jenny, or we shall all die of cold; And mend the fire, can’t you, as you already have been told! And let’s have a cup of tea, for I’m just tired to death. What a shocking cold it is! and I’m so short of breath!--(_She coughs again._) (_She speaks in another voice._) Tea’s ready, if you please. Ready is it? With the water in the pot? Yes, ma’am: Well, then, I’ll go and have my tea, while the muffin’s hot! _Exit_ POLL. MORNING THOUGHTS. The summer sun is shining Upon a world so bright! The dew upon each grassy blade; The golden light, the depth of shade, All seem as they were only made To minister delight. From giant trees, strong branched, And all their veined leaves; From little birds that madly sing; From insects fluttering on the wing; Ay, from the very meanest thing My spirit joy receives. I think of angel voices When the birds’ songs I hear; Of that celestial city, bright With jacinth, gold, and chrysolite, When, with its blazing pomp of light, The morning doth appear! I think of that great River That from the Throne flows free; Of weary pilgrims on its brink, Who, thirsting, have come down to drink; Of that unfailing Stream I think, When earthly streams I see! I think of pain and dying, As that which is but nought, When glorious morning, warm and bright, With all its voices of delight, From the chill darkness of the night, Like a new life, is brought. I think of human sorrow But as of clouds that brood Upon the bosom of the day, And the next moment pass away; And with a trusting heart I say Thank God, _all things are good_! HARVEST-FIELD FLOWERS. Come down into the harvest-fields This autumn morn with me; For in the pleasant autumn-fields There’s much to hear and see; On yellow slopes of waving corn The autumn sun shines clearly; And ’t is joy to walk, on days like this, Among the bearded barley.