 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
273
ROBIN RED-BREAST.
“Call for the robin red-breast and the wren,
Since o'ver shady groves they hover,
And with leaves of flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.”
Webster.
Since o'ver shady groves they hover,
And with leaves of flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.”
Webster.
Thy clear familiar notes recall
The inmates of my father's hall;
The mother on whose breast I lay
Ere known was one unhappy day;
My blushing sisters, in the pride
Of beauty springing side by side,
And playful brothers, fair of face,
My chubby rivals in the race.
The inmates of my father's hall;
The mother on whose breast I lay
Ere known was one unhappy day;
My blushing sisters, in the pride
Of beauty springing side by side,
And playful brothers, fair of face,
My chubby rivals in the race.
The past its portal open flings,
And memory expands her wings:
Again a rosy, laughing child,
I thread the mazes of the wild,
And mark the rounding out thy nest,
Ruffling the feathers on thy breast,
Or listen to thy mellow lay
When mourning the decline of day.
And memory expands her wings:
Again a rosy, laughing child,
I thread the mazes of the wild,
And mark the rounding out thy nest,
Ruffling the feathers on thy breast,
Or listen to thy mellow lay
When mourning the decline of day.
I hear thy softly-warbled strain,
And olden dreams come back again:
While airy shapes are drawing near,
The voices of the dead I hear;
I stand in thought beneath the shade
Of trees by my own planting made,
And, on the river's willowed shore,
Stroll with my rod and line once more
And olden dreams come back again:
While airy shapes are drawing near,
The voices of the dead I hear;
I stand in thought beneath the shade
Of trees by my own planting made,
And, on the river's willowed shore,
Stroll with my rod and line once more
274
Tradition tells a tale of thee
Forever dear to memory:
When the lost children, side by side,
In the dark wood lay down and died,
Arm locked in arm, a heavenly pair,
For earth too sweet, for life too fair,
Dropping bright leaves, their forms to cover,
Above them thou didst gently hover.
Forever dear to memory:
When the lost children, side by side,
In the dark wood lay down and died,
Arm locked in arm, a heavenly pair,
For earth too sweet, for life too fair,
Dropping bright leaves, their forms to cover,
Above them thou didst gently hover.
Bird of my choice! a boon I crave:
Go seek my little daughter's grave,
And warble on the oak that grows
Near the green couch of her repose;
When living, with delighted ear
She listened oft thy song to hear,
And clapped her tiny hands when spring
Brought thee from far on fluttering wing.
Go seek my little daughter's grave,
And warble on the oak that grows
Near the green couch of her repose;
When living, with delighted ear
She listened oft thy song to hear,
And clapped her tiny hands when spring
Brought thee from far on fluttering wing.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |