Oн, herald of the Spring! while yet
No harebell scents the woodland lane,
Nor starwort fair, nor violet,
Braves the bleak gust, and driving rain,
"Tis thine, as through the copses rude
Some pensive wanderer sighs along,
To tell of hope and fortitude,
And soothe him with thy lonely song.
For thee, then, may the hawthorn bush, The elder, and the spindle tree,
With all their various berries, blush,
And the blue sloe abound for thee! For thee the coral holly glow
Its armed and glossy leaves among ; And the pellucid mistletoe
O'er many a branched oak be hung!
Still may thy nest, with soft moss lined,
Be hidden from the invading jay;
Nor truant boy its covert find,
To bear thy callow young away.
So thou, precursor still of good,
Shalt to the pensive wanderer sing
Thy song of hope and fortitude,
Oh! herald of approaching spring.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That opens to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds, as they wander by!
They have left their nests in the forest bough, Those homes of delight they need not now; And the young and the old they wander out, And traverse their green world round about; And hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How, one to the other, they lovingly call :"Come up, come up!" they seem to say,
Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"
"Come up, come up, for the world is fair,
Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!"
And the birds below give back the cry,
"We come, we come, to the branches high!
How pleasant the lives of the birds must be,
Living in love, in a leafy tree,-
And away through the air, what joy to go,
And to look on the green, bright earth below!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about in the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What a joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong, free wing, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun face to face,
And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space!
To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud,
And to sing in the thunder-halls aloud;
To spread out the wings for a wild free flight
With the upper cloud-winds,-oh, what delight!
Oh, what would I give, like a bird, to go
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And to see how the water-drops are kissed
Into green, and yellow, and amethyst!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee;
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;
Then wheeling about, with its mates at play,
Above, and below, and among the spray;
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
What a joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mong the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming, purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladden some fairy region old.
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest-tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be !
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