Morning Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE SONG BIRD.

There's a music sweet and low,
From a song-bird in the west;
And the sweet notes gently flow,
From her little, leafy nest.
'Tis a song I've often heard,
But I cannot catch the words,
While the cadence sweetly echoes pure and blest.

When the sun sinks in the west,
At the closing of the day,
And the golden beams aglow,
I can hear her, far away;
I can hear her warble sweet,
I can catch each note complete,
While I listen to that sweet and gentle lay.

Oft in melancholy mood,
Blindly I the future brood,
O'er some destination hidden from my view,
Oft my heart is cheered like spring,
When her warble sweetly ring,
Through the haze of fading twilight and the dew.

There's a sweeter music still,
From a song-bird 'mong the hills,
In a quiet country dwelling far away;
And her music thrilled with love,
Calm and gentle as a dove,
Lingering ever in my memory day by day.

'Tis a sable damsel fair,
Jet black curled, her raven hair,
And her beauty never changing stays the same.
And her winsome, dusky face,
Marks her with divinest grace,
She's my sweet-heart;
But I will not tell her name.