By Albert. For the Northern Sentinel.
A few morning since, a robin perched upon a tree where hung the cage of another. They sang alternately the most touching strains. This affecting appeal to the heart gave birth to the following effusions.
- Above the cage where pin'd his mate
- The robin sung his plaintive lays,
- While she approach'd the wiry grate
- And join'd the dirge of happier days.
- An I blest art thou, sweet music's child,
- Who oft can flutter round your fair,
- And worble strains so soft and sweet
- They lead a captive, wan despair.
- But where yon lilac lifts its head
- And mingles fragrance with the gale,
- There is my Emma's turfy bed
- Where eve oft lists my hopeless tale.
- Hopeless? ah no! the healing balm
- Bland hope diffuses o'er my breast,
- Pitying, she bids my heart, "be calm,
- For soon its throbbing pulse shall rest."
- Yes, I will hope, for 'mong the shades.
- When life is o'er, I'll seek my love,
- Again I'll clasp the sainted maid,
- And claim her in the land above.