The Birds of April - A May 1854 Poem

Original Poetry written for the Sunbury American.

Gloomily the dawn is breaking

Through the clouds of misty sleet,

Angry winds, the casement shaking

'Gainst the windows rudely best;

Earth Reeks with the chilling shower,

Fields are patch-worked o'er with snow,

Trees are leafless, scarce a flower

Or a blossom dares to blow.

 

Hark! from ice barked branches ringing,

Comes sweet music to the ear,

Birds with joyous notes are singing

Mating praises loud and clear;

Mingling with the tempest's rushing

Through the boughs so cold and bare,

Softly as though it were gushing

Through a rose-perfumed air.

 

Joyfully when northward winging

From a mild and sunny chase,

Where rich odors wide are flinging

Every mange tree and home.

They thought not of snow flakes sending

Dampness through their plumage bright,

Not of wintry rain descending

On them shelterless by night.

 

Trees with blossoms whitened over,

Leafy canopies of green.

Violets gemming fields of clover

Where bright waters flow between,

Warmest sunshine softly beaming

Over valley, hill and bourne

Scarlet bowers with beauty teeming,

Oft had welcomed their return.

 

Though the scene has changed so sadly,

Bly tho these birdlings are and gay,

Each his wild note carols gladly,

As at dawn of summer's day'

Not a plaintive sound revealing

Discontent on fear, or pain

All these sufferings concealing

In that sweetly swelling strain.

 

Soulless warbling little creatures,

Seeming made for sunny hours,

Ye are truly solemn teachers

To these wayward hearts of ours,

That oft faint with timid weakness

When misfortune's darts are hurled,

And refuse to bear with meekness

All the trials of this world.

Sunbury, Penna.

May 27, 1854. Sunbury American 7(9): 1, new series.