The Poetical Works of David Gray A New and Enlarged Edition; Edited by Henry Glassford Bell |
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The Yellowhammer.
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 | The Poetical Works of David Gray |  |
154
The Yellowhammer.
In fairy glen of Woodilee,
One sunny summer morning,
I plucked a little birchen tree,
The spongy moss adorning;
And bearing it delighted home,
I planted it in garden loam,
Where, perfecting all duty,
It flowered in tassel'd beauty.
One sunny summer morning,
I plucked a little birchen tree,
The spongy moss adorning;
And bearing it delighted home,
I planted it in garden loam,
Where, perfecting all duty,
It flowered in tassel'd beauty.
When delicate April in each dell
Was silently completing
Her ministry in bud and bell,
To grace the summer's meeting;
My birchen tree of glossy rind
Determined not to be behind;
So with a subtle power
The buds began to flower.
Was silently completing
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To grace the summer's meeting;
My birchen tree of glossy rind
Determined not to be behind;
So with a subtle power
The buds began to flower.
And I could watch from out my house
The twigs with leaflets thicken;
From glossy rind to twining boughs
The milky sap 'gan quicken.
And when the fragrant form was green
No fairer tree was to be seen,
All Gartshore woods adorning,
Where doves are always mourning.
The twigs with leaflets thicken;
From glossy rind to twining boughs
The milky sap 'gan quicken.
And when the fragrant form was green
No fairer tree was to be seen,
All Gartshore woods adorning,
Where doves are always mourning.
But never dove with liquid wing,
Or neck of changeful gleaming,
Came near my garden tree to sing
Or croodle out its meaning.
But this sweet day, an hour ago,
A yellowhammer clear and low,
In love and tender pity
Thrilled out his dainty ditty.
Or neck of changeful gleaming,
Came near my garden tree to sing
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But this sweet day, an hour ago,
A yellowhammer clear and low,
In love and tender pity
Thrilled out his dainty ditty.
And I was pleased, as you may think,
And blessed the little singer:
`O fly for your mate to Luggie brink,
Dear little bird! and bring her;
And build your nest among the boughs,
A sweet and cosy little house
Where ye may well content ye,
Since true love is so plenty.
And blessed the little singer:
`O fly for your mate to Luggie brink,
Dear little bird! and bring her;
And build your nest among the boughs,
A sweet and cosy little house
Where ye may well content ye,
Since true love is so plenty.
And when she sits upon her nest,
Here are cool shades to shroud her.'
At this the singer sang his best,
O louder yet, and louder;
Until I shouted in my glee,
His song had so enchanted me.
No nightingale could pant on
In joy so wise and wanton.
Here are cool shades to shroud her.'
At this the singer sang his best,
O louder yet, and louder;
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His song had so enchanted me.
No nightingale could pant on
In joy so wise and wanton.
But at my careless noise he flew,
And if he chance to bring her
A happy bride the summer thro'
'Mong birchen boughs to linger,
I'll sing to you in numbers high
A summer song that shall not die,
But keep in memory clearly
The bird I love so dearly.
And if he chance to bring her
A happy bride the summer thro'
'Mong birchen boughs to linger,
I'll sing to you in numbers high
A summer song that shall not die,
But keep in memory clearly
The bird I love so dearly.
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