The Blue Bird - An 1841 Poem
By David Paul Brown.
- O, do you hear the Blue Bird,
- The herald of the spring
- How cheerily he tunes his pipe,
- How blithely plumes his wing!
-
- He breathes the native note of praise
- To the great Source of Good,
- The trees are vocal with his lays,
- Instinct with gratitude.
-
- He mounts upon the downy wing,
- He cleaves the ambient air,
- Inhales the balmy breath of spring,
- And wakes the world to prayer.
-
- The fertile Earth at nature's voice,
- Unlocks her precious store,
- And mount and vale and plain rejoice,
- And greet the genial hour.
-
- The purling stream no longer bound,
- In winter's icy chain,
- Sparkles beneath the sunny ray,
- And freely flows again :
-
- Flows as life flows, in fancy,
- Pure, radiant and serene,
- Through flow'rs and fields and fragrant groves,
- That animate the scene :
-
- Flows on, till winter checks its tide,
- And robs it of its bloom,
- Like death, that in our youthful pride,
- Consigns us to the tomb.
-
- Yet man, for whom these notes are sung,
- For whom these waters flow,
- For whom this vernal wealth abounds,
- The monarch here below!
-
- Man, only man! with lofty brow,
- With stubborn heart and knee,
- Looks o'er this smiling universe,
- Ungrateful, Lord, to thee.
-
- The perils of the winter past
- Spring, like a blossoming bride,
- The summer's and the autumn's hope,
- All magnify his pride!
-
- There there he stands a rebel still,
- A recent to that Power,
- That murmurs in each limpid rill,
- And breaches in every flower.
April 13, 1841. Winyah Observer 1(8): 4.