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We've a charming new neighbor moved in the next door;
He is hardly new either, he's lived there before;
I should think he had come here two summers or more;
His winters he spends far away.
He is handsome and stylish, most fine to behold,
In his glossy black coat and his vest of bright gold;
He is "proud of his feathers," so I have been told,
And I half believe what people say.
His wife is a beauty, he's fond of her, too;
He calls her his "Judy;" I like it, don't you?
And he sings every day all the long summer through,
Yet he is not a bit of a bore.
For he's a musician of wonderful power;
I could list to his beautiful voice by the hour,
As he sings to his wife in their green, shady bower
In the elm tree that shadows my door.
He's a sociable neighbor, we like him full well,
Although we've not called yet, and cannot quite tell
All he says, tho' his voice is as clear as a bell,
And as sweet as the notes of a psalm.
Do you ask what his name is? Our dear little Sue
Was anxious to know it, and asked him it, too,
And this was his answer, I'll tell it to you--
"My name is Sir Oriole, ma'am."
--_L. A. P., in Our Dumb Animals._
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