THE CALL OF THE PARTRIDGE.

The fields are wet, the fields are green, All things are glad and growing, And fresh and cool across the pool The gentle wind is blowing. Tho’ humid clouds yet fill the sky, The rain has ceased its falling, And from his rail across the swale, I hear the partridge calling, The spotted partridge calling.

Through the silence not a note His listening ear is greeting. But hear! O hear—how loud and clear His call he is repeating, What pleading lingers in his tone, What tenderness revealing. O, soft and sweet across the wheat, A timid answer’s stealing, The timid answer’s stealing. —Belle Hitchcock.