THE SCARECROW

AIL Goodman-gossip of the corn !
When. boughs are green and furrows
sprout
And blossom muffles every thorn,
Poor soul! the farmer boards him out.

Men think, grim wight, his rags affright

The wingéd thieves from root and ear;
But on his hat pert sparrows light —

Crows have been friends too long to fear!

The schoolboy’s sling he heedeth not ;
No rancour nerves those palsied hands ;
In shocking hat and ancient coat,
A crazed and patient wretch he stands.
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