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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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!

 

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.

 

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!

 

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.