Bettina.

LIKE an eagle proud and free,
Here I sit high in the tree,
Which rocks and swings with me.
The wind through autumn leaves is rattling,
The waves with the pebbly shore are battling;
Spirits of ocean,
Spirits of air,
All are in motion
Everywhere.
You on the tame ground,
Ever walking round and round,
Little know what joy ‘t is to be
Rocked in the air by a mighty tree.

A little brown bird sate on a stone,
The sun shone thereon, but he was alone,
Oh, pretty bird! do you not weary
Of this gay summer so long and dreary?
The little bird opened his bright black eyes,
And looked at me with great surprise;
Then his joyous song burst forth to say—
Weary! of what?—I can sing all day.