The Robin's Good-by

By Frank J. Ottarson.

"'Tis Autumn, Robin-Redbreast said;

"I may not longer tarry here;

The sky is gray, the flower are dead,

And nature mourns the flying year.

When Spring returns, my mate and I

Will come again to rear our young,

And vocalize a melody

That never poet wrote nor sung.

 

"'Tis Autumn, and the sun is dim,

As if his fire was merely gone;

The breeze wails out a mournful hymn,

And all the land is sad and lone.

'Tis Autumn, and the falling leaves

Sail slowly down upon the wind,

Leaving, like Death, when he bereaves

The living germ of Hope behind.

 

"'Tis Autumn: over land and main

A veil of azure haze is thrown,

As if the parent Heaven again

Had claimed our planet for its own,

And the blue vestments of the sky

For dim, uncertain boundaries given,

Till scarcely can the straining eye

Tell which is earth or which is heaven.

 

"'Tis autumn : even Greenwood's green,

Wherein we built out little nest —

For danger sure is never seen

Where loved ones lie in sacred rest —

Her green is faded: winter's snow

Thick o'er the ground will so soon be teased,

To shield the graves we use below

From bitter wind and biting frost.

 

"'Tis Autumn : we must hie away.

Nor fold a wing by day or night

Until we hear the Gulf waves say,

'Come, welcome Robin, here alight;

Here, where the roses blush and glow

All through the warm and drowsy year,

And rich magnolia perfumes flow

In floods upon the atmosphere.

 

"'Tis Autumn : Bobolink has come;

The mocking-bird your welcome sings;

Bob tells about his northern home,

And pleasant news of Robin brings, '"

And Robin said , "The Southern wind

Is whispering, 'Birdie, do not wait:

Tell sparrow sweet your nest to mind,

And hasten — it is getting late.'

Harper's Bazaar.

September 25, 1873. Woodstock Spirit of the Age 33(49): 4.>