The Robin - An 1804 Poem
By Sophia.
- Returning Spring has deck'd the glade,
- With every blooming vernal flower
- The feather'd songsters' cheerful notes,
- Salute the heaven descending power.
-
- A Robin perch'd on yonder spray,
- In sounds melodious pour'd his song;
- The pleasing note, from ev'ry branch
- Was echoed by the tuneful throng.
-
- But ah! too soon the bliss is past,
- No more will thy voice supply :
- A sportsman passing, hears the sound,
- Levels his gun, and bids the die.
-
- So bear, thou cruel, thoughtless man,
- Nor dare to wound the tender breast,
- Of that endearing, harmless bird,
- Who shares with him the downy nest.
-
- Her little heart will mourn his fate,
- Will mourn the fate of him she lov'd;
- And pity thee, whose harden'd mind,
- Could see his life depart unmov'd.
-
- Alas! sad pity pleads in vain,
- His breast ne'er felt, its softening power;
- He robs the innocent of life,
- For the short pleasure of an hour.
-
- Ye little warblers of the grove,
- Whose notes sweet harmony dispense;
- Attend around this humble shade,
- And mourn the fate of innocence.
May 16, 1804. Norwich Courier 8(26): 4. From the Boston Weekly Magazine.