By Mrs. Clara Doty Bates.
What a silly bobolink,
Down in the meadow grasses!
What can the noisy fellow think,
When, to everyone who passes,
He calls out cheerily,
"Here, here is my nest! See! see!"
He could hide the summer through
In the thick, sweet-smelling clover,
Nor could anyone from dawn to dew,
His little house discover,
Did he not make so free
With the secret—"Here! see! see!"
Little Ted has ears and eyes,
And how can he keep from knowing
Just where the cosy treasure lies,
When bobolink, coming, going,
Shouts, plain as plain can be,
"Here, here is a nest! See! see!"
And Teddy would like to creep
Tip-toe across the meadow,
And for just one minute stoop and peep
Under the clover shadow.
He would do no harm—not he!
But would only see, see, see!
And what would he find below
The sheltering grass, you wonder?
Why, a nest, of course, and an egg or so,
A mother's dark wings under.
But bobolink—he would flee
In a fright—"A boy! see! see!"
So Teddy, whose heart is kind,
Though he longs to venture near him,
Sighs to himself, "Ah, never mind!"
And listens, glad to hear him
Shouting, in tireless glee,
"Here, here is my nest! See! see!"