 | Carol and Cadence |  |
48
THE BLACKBIRD.
Whilst to the meadows and the river-reaches,
From Heaven's rim,
The setting sun his daily sermon preaches,
The blackbird warbles, on the leafing beeches,
His solemn evening hymn.
From Heaven's rim,
The setting sun his daily sermon preaches,
The blackbird warbles, on the leafing beeches,
His solemn evening hymn.
With trails of glory to his grave escorted,
The sun hath set;
The light fades fast: but from the boughs, unthwarted,
By his poetic rapture still transported,
The blackbird warbles yet.
The sun hath set;
The light fades fast: but from the boughs, unthwarted,
By his poetic rapture still transported,
The blackbird warbles yet.
No common jubilance it is that stirs him,
No mortal mirth:
None, with an understanding ear that hears him,
Can doubt that that which to such rapture spurs him
Is not of this our earth.
No mortal mirth:
None, with an understanding ear that hears him,
Can doubt that that which to such rapture spurs him
Is not of this our earth.
If any heaven for the soul's upwinging
To sense were known,
A heaven with harps angelic ever ringing,
Thou, blackbird, must have been a seraph singing
Before the Great White Throne.
To sense were known,
A heaven with harps angelic ever ringing,
Thou, blackbird, must have been a seraph singing
Before the Great White Throne.
| Carol and Cadence | |