 | Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney |  |
51
THE THRUSH.
“I'll pay my rent in music,” said a thrush
Who took his lodging 'neath my eaves in spring,
Where the thick foliage droop'd. And well he kept
His simple contract. Not for quarter-day
He coldly waited, nor a draft required
To stir his memory, nor my patience tried
With changeful currencies, but every morn
Brought me good notes at par, and broke my sleep
With his sweet-ringing coin.
Who took his lodging 'neath my eaves in spring,
Where the thick foliage droop'd. And well he kept
His simple contract. Not for quarter-day
He coldly waited, nor a draft required
To stir his memory, nor my patience tried
With changeful currencies, but every morn
Brought me good notes at par, and broke my sleep
With his sweet-ringing coin.
Sometimes, a song,
All wildly trilling through his dulcet pipes,
Falling, and caught again, and still prolong'd,
Betray'd in what green nook the warbler sat,
Each feather quivering with excess of joy,
While from his opening beak and brightening eye
There seem'd to breathe a cadence, “This is meant
For your especial benefit.” The lay
With overruling shrillness more than once
Did summon me to lay my book aside
And wait its close; nor was that pause a loss,
But seem'd to tune and shape the inward ear
To wisdom's key-tone.
All wildly trilling through his dulcet pipes,
Falling, and caught again, and still prolong'd,
Betray'd in what green nook the warbler sat,
Each feather quivering with excess of joy,
While from his opening beak and brightening eye
There seem'd to breathe a cadence, “This is meant
For your especial benefit.” The lay
With overruling shrillness more than once
Did summon me to lay my book aside
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But seem'd to tune and shape the inward ear
To wisdom's key-tone.
Then I had a share
In softer songs, that cheer'd his brooding mate,
Who, in the patience of good hope, did keep
Her lengthen'd vigil; and the voice of love
That flow'd so fondly from his trusting soul
Made glad mine own.
In softer songs, that cheer'd his brooding mate,
Who, in the patience of good hope, did keep
Her lengthen'd vigil; and the voice of love
That flow'd so fondly from his trusting soul
Made glad mine own.
Then, too, there was a strain
From blended throats, that to their callow young
Breathed tenderness untold; and the weak chirp
Of new-born choristers, so deftly train'd,
Each in the sweet way that he ought to go,
Mix'd with that breath of household charities
Which makes the spirit strong.
From blended throats, that to their callow young
Breathed tenderness untold; and the weak chirp
Of new-born choristers, so deftly train'd,
Each in the sweet way that he ought to go,
Mix'd with that breath of household charities
Which makes the spirit strong.
And so I felt
My rent was fully paid, and thought myself
Quite fortunate, in these our times, to find
Such honest tenant.
My rent was fully paid, and thought myself
Quite fortunate, in these our times, to find
Such honest tenant.
But when autumn bade
The northern birds to spread their parting wing,
And that small house was vacant, and o'er hedge
And russet grove and forest hoar with years
The hush of silence settled, I grew sad
To miss my kind musicians, and was fain
To patronize with a more fervent zeal
Such fireside music as makes winter short,
And storms unheard.
The northern birds to spread their parting wing,
And that small house was vacant, and o'er hedge
And russet grove and forest hoar with years
The hush of silence settled, I grew sad
To miss my kind musicians, and was fain
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Such fireside music as makes winter short,
And storms unheard.
Yet leave within our hearts,
Dear melodists, the spirit of your praise,
Until ye come again; and the brown nest,
That now its downy lining to the winds
Turns desolate, shall thrill at your return
With the loud welcome home.
Dear melodists, the spirit of your praise,
Until ye come again; and the brown nest,
That now its downy lining to the winds
Turns desolate, shall thrill at your return
With the loud welcome home.
For He who touch'd
Your breasts with minstrelsy, and every flower
With beauty, hath a lesson for his sons,
In all the varied garniture that decks
Life's banquet-board; and he's the wisest guest
Who taketh gladly what his God doth send,
Keeping each instrument of joy in tune
That helps to fit him for the choir of Heaven.
Your breasts with minstrelsy, and every flower
With beauty, hath a lesson for his sons,
In all the varied garniture that decks
Life's banquet-board; and he's the wisest guest
Who taketh gladly what his God doth send,
Keeping each instrument of joy in tune
That helps to fit him for the choir of Heaven.
| Illustrated poems by Mrs. L. H. Sigourney | |