GOOD-BY, LITTLE BIRD.

Good-by, little bird, the storm-clouds Are gathering gray and drear; At the chilly touch of the Frost-king The sunbeams have paled with fear; Wither’d, the leaves, and fallen lie; Sadly the winds of autumn sigh; Good-by, little bird, good-by, good-by; Little bird, stay not here. Good-by, little bird, I see thee Winging thy southward way To a sunny land thou knowest, Caroling as thou goest, Singing a blithesome lay. Alas, and alas, no longer Shall thy tuneful voice be heard, Till the leafless limbs be clothed again, And the blossoms gladden hill and glen. Good-by, good-by, little bird, till then; Good-by, good-by, little bird.