06 November 2013

Season of Birds Conveyed in 1805 Poem

Selected Poetry. From the Providence Gazette.

As the season is now rapidly approaching, when the sportsmen will begin his depredations, you are requested to publish the following lines; and their object will be answered, if the life of a single robin should be preserved.

The birds had sung a morning psalm,
The music of the grove was mute,
All was silent, all was calm
As is the passing shadow's foot.
"The poet's eye, in frenzy," now
Roll'd giddily from tree to tree,
And caught from ev'ry tranquil bough
A deep and solemn reverie.
A strain of music soft and low,
And destitute of art,
Fell in a gentle lapse, lie snow,
And melted on his heart.
The poet turn'd, transported now,
And gaz'd upon the wood;
He look'd, and on a dancing bough
The sweet musician stood.
Her little nest was her beside,
Suspended in the air;
The Robin watch'd her callow pride
With all a mother's care.
Her plumage glitter'd in the sun;
While gazing on her nest,
The poet heard the sportman's gun.
And saw her bleeding breast.
Fain would he sing in numbers meet;
He faulters on the strings :
Ill-fated bird ! he saw the beat
The ground with bloody wings.
But still thy young remain'd alive:
He climb'd the nest to spy;
He counted, and he found them five,
And left them there to die.
May 1, 1805. Norwich Courier 9(24): 4.