Poems on Birds. THE GREEN LINNET. ENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed In this fequeftered nook how sweet And flowers and birds once more to greet, One have I marked, the happieft guest In all this covert of the bleft: Hail to thee, far above the reft In joy of voice and pinion! Thou, Linnet, in thy green array, Prefiding spirit here to-day, Doft lead the revels of the May, And this is thy dominion. A A While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, A life, a prefence like the air, Scattering thy gladness without care, Upon yen tuft of hazel trees, There! where the flutter of his wings While thus before my eyes he gleams, A brother of the leaves he seems; When in a moment forth he teems His little fong in gushes : As if it pleased him to disdain And mock the form which he did feign While he was dancing with the train Of leaves among the bushes. TO A SKY-LARK. Up with me! up with me into the clouds! For thy fong, Lark, is strong; Up with me, up with me into the clouds ! With all the heavens about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! Had I now the wings of a faery, There is madness about thee, and joy divine Up with me, up with me, high and high, Thou art laughing and scorning : Thou haft a neft for thy love and thy rest : And, though little troubled with floth, Drunken Lark! thou would't be loth To be fuch a traveller as I. Happy, happy liver! With a foul as strong as a mountain river, Pouring out praise to the Almighty giver, Joy and jollity be with us both! I on the earth will go plodding on, By myself, cheerfully, till the day is done. TO THE CUCKOO. O blithe new-comer! I have heard, I hear thee and rejoice: While I am lying on the grass, I hear thee babbling to the vale Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring! Even yet thou art to me No bird, but an invifible thing, A voice, a mystery; The fame whom in my school-boy days Which made me look a thousand ways To seek thee did I often rove Through woods and on the green; And thou wert ftill a hope, a love; Still longed for, never seen! And I can liften to thee yet; That golden time again. O bleffed bird! the earth we pace An unsubstantial, faery place; That is fit home for thee! TO A NIGHTINGALE. O Nightingale! thou surely art A creature of a fiery heart : These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce; Tumultuous harmony and fierce! |