Here haply too, at vernal dawn,
Some musing bard may stray,
And eye the smoking dewy lawn,
And misty mountain gray;
Or by the reaper's nightly beam,
Mild-checkering through the trees,
Rave to my darkly dashing stream,
Hoarse swelling on the breeze.
Let lofty firs, and ashes cool,
My lowly banks o'erspread,
And view, deep bending in the pool,
Their shadows' watery bed!
Let fragrant birks in woodbine drest
My craggy cliffs adorn;
And, for the little songster's nest,
The close-embowering thorn.
FROM the elm-tree's topmost bough,
Hark! the robin's early song!
Telling one and all that now
Merry springtime hastes along; Welcome tidings dost thou bring, Little harbinger of spring:
Ring it out o'er hill and plain,
Through the garden's lonely bowers,
Till the green leaves dance again,
Till the air is sweet with flowers!
Wake the cowslips by the rill,
Wake the yellow daffodil :
Then, as thou wert wont of yore,
Build thy nest and rear thy young
Close beside our cottage door,
In the woodbine leaves among;
Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear,
Nothing rude shall venture near :
Robin's come.
Singing still in yonder lane,
Robin answers merrily;
Ravished by the sweet refrain,
Alice clasps her hands in glee,
Calling from the open door,
With her soft voice o'er and o'er,
Robin's come.
WILLIAM W. CALDWELL.
O LITTLE bird! sing sweet among the leaves,
Safe hid from sight, beside thy downy nest;
The rain falls, murmuring to the drooping eaves
A low refrain, that suits thy music best.
Sing sweet, O bird! thy recompense draws nigh,—
Four callow nestlings 'neath the mother's wing.
So many flashing wings that by and by
Will cleave the sunny air. Oh, sing, bird, sing!
(Sing, O my heart! Thy callow nestlings sleep,
Safe hidden 'neath a gracious folding wing,
Until the time when from their slumbers deep
They wake, and soar in beauty.
O little bird, sing sweet! Though rain may fall,
And though thy callow brood thy care require,
Behind the rain-cloud, with its trailing pall,
Shineth, undimmed, the gracious, golden fire.
Sing on, O bird! nor of the cloud take heed;
For thou art heritor of glorious spring;
And every field is sacred to thy need-
The wealth, the beauty thine. Oh, sing, bird, sing!
(Sing, O my heart! sing on, though rain may pour; Sing on, for unawares the winds will bring
A drift of sunshine to thy cottage door,
And arch the clouds with rainbows. Sing, heart, sing!)
O bird! sing sweet. What though the time be near
When thou shalt sit upon the swaying bough,
With no sweet mate, no nestling by, to hear
The bubbling song thou sing'st to glad them now!
Thy task was done, fulfilled in sweet spring days —
In golden summer, when thy brood take wing,
Shalt thou not still have left a hymn of praise
Because thy work is over? Sing, bird, sing!
(Sing, O my heart! What if thy birds have flown? Thou hadst the joy of their awakening,
A thousand memories left thee for thine own;
Sing thou for task accomplished. Sing, heart, sing!)
A DAINTY, delicate swallow-feather
Is all that we now in. the chimney trace
Of something that days and days together
With twittering bird-notes filled the place.
Where are you flying now, swallow, swallow?
Where are you waking the spaces blue?
How many little ones follow, follow,
Whose wings to strength in the chimney grew
Deep and narrow, and dark and lonely,
The sooty place that you nested in ;
Over you one blue glimmer only,
Say, were there many to make the din?
This is certain, that somewhere or other
Up in the chimney is loosely hung
A queer-shaped nest, where a patient mother
Brooded a brood of tender young.
That here, as in many deserted places,
Brimming with life for hours and hours,
We miss with the hum a thousand graces,
Valued the more since no more ours.
Ah! why do we shut our eyes half blindly,
And close our hearts to some wee things near,
Till he who granted them kindly, kindly
Gathers them back, that we see and hear,
And know, by loss of the same grown dearer,
Nought is so small of his works and ways,
But, holding it tenderly when 't was nearer,
Has added a joy to our vanished days?
So, little, delicate swallow-feather,
Fashioned with care by the Master's hand,
I'll hold you close for your message, whether
Or not the whole I may understand.
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