 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
267
THE SNOW-BIRD.
“Call the creatures,
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful Heaven.”
Whose naked natures live in all the spite
Of wreakful Heaven.”
A mystic thing is the gray snow-bird
That cometh when winds are cold;
When an angry roar in the wood is heard,
And the flocks are in the fold.
Though bare the trees, and a gloomy frown
Is worn by the wintry sky,
On the frosted rail he settles down,
And utters a cheering cry:
Why should a note so glad be heard?
A mystic thing is the gray snow-bird.
That cometh when winds are cold;
When an angry roar in the wood is heard,
And the flocks are in the fold.
Though bare the trees, and a gloomy frown
Is worn by the wintry sky,
On the frosted rail he settles down,
And utters a cheering cry:
Why should a note so glad be heard?
A mystic thing is the gray snow-bird.
In sullen pauses of the storm
He warbles out his lay,
Though wing he has to waft his form
From the chill north far away.
Why wandereth not the feathered sprite
Through heaven's airy halls,
To a land where the blossom knows no blight,
And the snow-flake never falls:
Why linger where the blast is heard?
A mystic thing is the gray snow-bird.
He warbles out his lay,
Though wing he has to waft his form
From the chill north far away.
Why wandereth not the feathered sprite
Through heaven's airy halls,
To a land where the blossom knows no blight,
And the snow-flake never falls:
Why linger where the blast is heard?
A mystic thing is the gray snow-bird.
Sweet offices of love belong
To the smaller tribes of earth,
From the mead-lark piping forth his song,
To the cricket on the hearth;
And the mystic bird of winter wild
His blithest note outpours
When the bleak snow-drift is highest piled
Upon our northern shores;
An envoy by our Father sent
To banish gloom and discontent.
To the smaller tribes of earth,
From the mead-lark piping forth his song,
To the cricket on the hearth;
And the mystic bird of winter wild
His blithest note outpours
When the bleak snow-drift is highest piled
268
An envoy by our Father sent
To banish gloom and discontent.
Oh! we are taught by his gladsome strain
That the sunshine will come back;
Though scud the clouds—a funeral train,
Arrayed in solemn black;
That the streams from slumber will awake,
The hoar-frost disappear,
And the golden wand of spring-time break
Grim Winter's icy spear:
Then let our hearts with joy be stirred,
For a herald glad is the gray snow-bird.
That the sunshine will come back;
Though scud the clouds—a funeral train,
Arrayed in solemn black;
That the streams from slumber will awake,
The hoar-frost disappear,
And the golden wand of spring-time break
Grim Winter's icy spear:
Then let our hearts with joy be stirred,
For a herald glad is the gray snow-bird.
When my perished flower on a creaking bier
To a sunless couch was borne,
Hope, like the snow-bird, came to cheer
My breast with anguish torn;
And I thought, in the winter of my grief,
Of a land of light and bloom,
Where the yew-tree never dropped a leaf
On love's untimely tomb;
Where knit anew are broken ties,
And tears stream not from mournful eyes.
To a sunless couch was borne,
Hope, like the snow-bird, came to cheer
My breast with anguish torn;
And I thought, in the winter of my grief,
Of a land of light and bloom,
Where the yew-tree never dropped a leaf
On love's untimely tomb;
Where knit anew are broken ties,
And tears stream not from mournful eyes.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |