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Up, up with thy praise-breathing anthem! alone The drowsy-head, man, on his bed slumbers prone; The stars may go down, and the sun from the deep Burst forth, still his hands they are folded in sleep. Let the least in creation the greatest despiseThen up to heaven's threshold, blithe Skylark, arise!
THE BIRD'S NEST.
ALL blind and unfledged, see the children of song, Just broke from their egg-shell, and herding
To the red-breasted minstrel the strangers be
To robin, the herald of winterly weather.
Wide and distant she travels to look out for food, Her piercing eye darting on this, that, and
On the spread-wings of fondness returns to her brood,
Sweeet robin, their guardian, protector, and mother.
O, let no rude hand, while that mother 's away, Either take or destroy the beloved ones she's feeding!
And gratitude's carol will joyful repay
The heart that could not set their parent's a bleeding.
The time is near come when their clothes will
And then, tho' the world and its creatures may
The notes of the nestlings may break on the ear, And the song of young robin be heard to delight ye.
TO A ROBIN.
COME, Sweetest of the feather'd throng!
No prowling cat, with whisker'd face,
With crumblets of the nicest bread :
Hop o'er my cheering hearth, and be
Then soothe me with thy plaintive song,
Thou sweetest of the feather'd throng.
BIRD of the wilderness,
Blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place—
O, to abide in the desert with thee!
Wild is thy lay, and loud,
For, in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth,
Where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.
O'er fell and fountain sheen,
O'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamers that herald the day, Over the cloudlet dim,
Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing, away.
Then when the gloaming comes,
Low in the heather blooms
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness,
Blest is thy dwelling-place
O to abide in the desert with thee!
O BLITHE new-comer! I have heard
I hear thee and rejoice ;
O Cuckoo! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering voice?
While I am lying on the grass,
The twofold shout I hear,
That seems to fill the whole air's space, As loud far off as near.
Though babbling only to the vale,
Thou bringest unto me a tale