 | Songs of two centuries |  |
55
THE MOCKING-BIRD.
A True Story.
Of manner shy, of gleaming eye,
And dainty bill and feather,
With kindly word, a mocking-bird
Was sent from balmy weather;
From oaks and pines, and em'rald vines,
And flow'rets gently clinging;
From grassy leas of orange-trees,
And comrades near him singing.
And dainty bill and feather,
With kindly word, a mocking-bird
Was sent from balmy weather;
From oaks and pines, and em'rald vines,
And flow'rets gently clinging;
From grassy leas of orange-trees,
And comrades near him singing.
The chill and rime of Northern clime
Hung round him like a tether;
He beat and pressed his wiry nest,
And yearned for happy weather.
The weeks were long, he gave no song,
However wiled or bidden;
Each jewelled note within his throat
Was but a treasure hidden.
Hung round him like a tether;
He beat and pressed his wiry nest,
And yearned for happy weather.
The weeks were long, he gave no song,
However wiled or bidden;
Each jewelled note within his throat
Was but a treasure hidden.
Of orange-blooms and rare perfumes
And buds and leaves together,
With kind intent, a box was sent
From out the South-land weather:
'Gainst looks of rage, into the cage
A gentle finger pressed them:
By rapture stirred, the mocking-bird
With cries of joy caressed them!
And buds and leaves together,
With kind intent, a box was sent
From out the South-land weather:
56
A gentle finger pressed them:
By rapture stirred, the mocking-bird
With cries of joy caressed them!
Then came his song, as sweet and strong
As on his native heather:
He trilled with ease the psalms and glees
That grace the loveliest weather.
None may indite what message bright
Those perfumed leaves were bringing:
We only say, that since that day,
Our exile-bird is singing!
As on his native heather:
He trilled with ease the psalms and glees
That grace the loveliest weather.
None may indite what message bright
Those perfumed leaves were bringing:
We only say, that since that day,
Our exile-bird is singing!
| Songs of two centuries | |