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.