To the First Spring Bird

From the St. Augustine News.

Blue Bird ! on yon leafless tree,

Dost thou carol thus to me,

"Spring is coming! — Spring is here!"

Say'st thou so my birdling dear?

What is that in misty shroud,

Stealing from the darken'd cloud?

Snow! — my friend! — it gathers round

Deeply o'er the whiten'd ground, —

Still thou singest, blithe and clear,

"Spring is coming! — Spring is here!"

 

Strik'st thou not too bold a strain?

Winds are piping o'er the plain,

Clouds are sweeping o'er the sky

With a black and threat'ning eye;

Urchins, by the frozen rill,

Wrap their mantles closer still,

You poor man with doubtlet old,

Doth he shiver at the cold?

Hath he not the nose of blue?

Tell, me birdling, tell me true.

 

Spring's a maid of mirth and glee,

Rosy wreaths and revelry, —

Hast thou woo'd some winged love

To a nest in verdant grove?

Sung to her of greenwood bower,

Sunny skies that never lower?

Lur'd her with thy promise fair,

Of a lot that knows no care?

Prythee, bird, in coat of blue,

Though a lover — tell her true.

 

Ask her if, when storms are long,

She can sing a cheerful song —

When the rude winds rock the tree,

If she'll closer cling to thee, —

Then the blasts that sweep the sky

Unappall'd shall pass thee by. —

Tho' thy curtain'd chamber show

Siftings of untimely snow,

Warm and glad thy heart shall be,

Love shall make it Spring for thee.

L.H.S.

Hartford Conn., January 25, 1839.

April 11, 1839. Edgefield Advertiser 4(10): 5.