Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

Have all burst forth in choral minstrelsy,
As if some sudden gale had swept at once
A hundred airy harps! And she hath watch'd
Many a nightingale perch'd giddily

On blossomy twig still swinging from the breeze,
And to that motion tune his wanton song,
Like tipsy Joy that reels with tossing head.

Farewell, O warbler! till to-morrow eve; And you, my friends, farewell1-a short farewell! We have been loitering long and pleasantly, And now for our dear homes. That strain again? Full fain it would delay me! My dear babe, Who, capable of no articulate sound,

Mars all things with his imitative lisp,

How he would place his hand beside his ear,
His little hand, the small fore-finger up,

And bid us listen! And I deem it wise

To make him Nature's playmate. He knows well
The evening star; and once, when he awoke
In most distressful mood (some inward pain
Had made up that strange thing-an infant's
dream),

I hurried with him to our orchard's plot,

And he beheld the moon; and, hush'd at once, Suspends his sobs, and laughs most silently, While his fair eyes, that swam with undropp'd tears,

Did glitter in the yellow moonbeam! Well!-
It is a father's tale; but if that Heaven

Should give me life, his childhood shall grow up Familiar with these songs, that with the night He may associate joy! Once more farewell, Sweet Nightingale!

Once more, my friends,

farewell!

THE BIRD'S NEST.

BUT most of all it wins my admiration,
To view the structure of this little work,
A bird's nest. Mark it well, within, without.
No tool had he that wrought, no knife to cut,
No nail to fix, no bodkin to insert,

No glue to join: his little beak was all,
And yet how neatly finish'd. What nice hand,
With every implement and means of art,
And twenty years' apprenticeship to boot,
Could make me such another! Fondly then
We boast of excellence, whose noblest skill
Instinctive genius foils.

WELCOME, BAT, AND OWLET GREY.

Baillie.

O WELCOME, Bat, and Owlet grey,
Thus winging lone your airy way;
And welcome, moth, and drowsy fly,
That to mine ear come humming by ;
And welcome, shadows long and deep,
And stars that from the pale sky peep!
O welcome all! to me ye say,
My woodland love is on her way.

Upon the soft wind floats her hair,
Her breath is in the dewy air,
Her steps are in the whisper'd sound
That steals along the stilly ground.
O dawn of day, in rosy bower,
What art thou in this witching hour!
O noon of day, in sunshine bright,
What art thou in the fall of night!

THE DOVE.

Moore.

THE Dove let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,

Ne'er stoops to earth her wings, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam.

But high she shoots through air and light, Above all low delay,

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, Nor shadow dims her way.

So grant me, Lord! from every stain
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft, through virtue's purest air,
To steer my course to thee!

No sin to cloud, no line to stay
My soul, as home she springs;
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,

Thy freedom on her wings.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.

Alex. Wilson.

WHEN the morning dawns, and the blest sun again
Lifts his red glories from the eastern main,
Then through our woodbines, wet with glittering
dews,

The flower-fed Humming-bird his round pursues;
Sips, with inserted tube, the honey'd blooms,
And chirps his gratitude as round he roams;
While richest roses, though in crimson drest,
Shrink from the splendour of his gorgeous breast.
What heavenly tints in mingling radiance fly!
Each rapid movement gives a different dye;
Like scales of burnish'd gold they dazzling show,
Now sink to shade, now like a furnace glow!

« AnkstesnisTęsti »