Come Hither, Bright Bird
By H.F.C. Selected for the Watchman.
- Come hither bright bird, from thy wild native bower,
- While high in the hill tops the sun rises clear,
- Come, sing a sweet song to the new opened flower,
- And drink off the dew drop; it looks like a tear.
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- It cannot be true, that, so stainless and young,
- The heart of my flower has been clouded by grief,
- I would not then see on it outwardly hung
- The semblance of sorrow to burden a leaf.
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- Be quick! for it has but a morning to live
- So fresh in its odor, its beauty so fair.
- To pay for thy music, for thee it will give
- The first spring breathing it throws upon air.
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- Make basic, little vagrant! 'tis waiting for thee,
- Its perfume to take on they delicate plume,
- Come, say, if a brighter or sweeter can be
- Concealed in thy desert home, lonely to bloom.
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- It has not yet looked in the stream of the fount
- To see how itself to another may shine,
- It has not been taught its attractiveness to count,
- A study too sure to begin their decline!
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- For well do I know in this light world of ours
- Where loveliness withers and beauty is vain,
- It chances too oft with the fairest of flowers,
- That after the mirror, few charms will remain.
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- Of praising her then, pretty minstrel beware
- Whatever they wonder her glory to hail,
- If told for but once, she is winning and rare,
- 'Twill follow too soon she is simple and frail!
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- Yet come, and thy rapture in melody pour,
- While flitting delighted around my sunflower,
- But let her believe thou has left many more,
- Her rivals, that bloom in the far away bower!
May 30, 1845. Vermont Watchman and State Journal 39(29): 1. Front-page poetry feature.