Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life Connecticut River reeds blown by the "Peasant Bard" |
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THE BLUE-BIRD. |
Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | ||
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THE BLUE-BIRD.
When warm rains fall and soft winds sweep
Away the wintry drift,
When swollen brooks run down the steep,
And gray with mist the lift;
When through the vale the floods out-pour
And crashing icy floes,
With swash, and dash, and wild uproar,
Trend with the melted snows;
When all the plain with snow-broth swims,
And teams, on half bare road,
With swinging heads and cordy limbs,
Drag the resistant load;—
A twitter from the tree we hear,
Some bars of music sweet,
And gloomy thoughts give place to cheer
As we the minstrel greet.
Away the wintry drift,
When swollen brooks run down the steep,
And gray with mist the lift;
When through the vale the floods out-pour
And crashing icy floes,
With swash, and dash, and wild uproar,
Trend with the melted snows;
When all the plain with snow-broth swims,
And teams, on half bare road,
With swinging heads and cordy limbs,
Drag the resistant load;—
A twitter from the tree we hear,
Some bars of music sweet,
And gloomy thoughts give place to cheer
As we the minstrel greet.
Sweet little harbinger of Spring,
Green fields, and sunbright days!
O, welcome! with thy azure wing
And softly warbled lays.
While other songsters loiter still
In regions of the sun,
I bless thy hardy little will
To tell of Winter done,
Its dark, cold days and bitter skies,
Its wild and gusty nights:—
Of spring, unfolding to our eyes
Her mantle of delights.
Green fields, and sunbright days!
O, welcome! with thy azure wing
And softly warbled lays.
While other songsters loiter still
In regions of the sun,
I bless thy hardy little will
To tell of Winter done,
Its dark, cold days and bitter skies,
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Of spring, unfolding to our eyes
Her mantle of delights.
The farmer hears thee, and he knows
Of earth's awaking life;
Tells of thy advent as he goes
Homeward, to “weans and wife;”
And eyes grow bright, and smiles steal o'er
The sober face of care,
And crowded grows the cottage door
To catch the vision rare.
The swart boy in the sugar-bush,
Who loves his gun to try,
The crow's discordant croak will hush
With “murder-aiming” eye;
But when thy liquid numbers fall
On his delighted ear,
He welcomes thee with answering call,
Nor harms thee, hovering near.
Of earth's awaking life;
Tells of thy advent as he goes
Homeward, to “weans and wife;”
And eyes grow bright, and smiles steal o'er
The sober face of care,
And crowded grows the cottage door
To catch the vision rare.
The swart boy in the sugar-bush,
Who loves his gun to try,
The crow's discordant croak will hush
With “murder-aiming” eye;
But when thy liquid numbers fall
On his delighted ear,
He welcomes thee with answering call,
Nor harms thee, hovering near.
Sweet blue-bird, type of winged Hope!
When darkness like the tomb
Begirts earth's pilgrims, and they grope
In sadness and in gloom;
Hope whispers soft a word of cheer
O'er the dismaying scene,
Till through the folds of blackness peer
Bright skies and living green.
When darkness like the tomb
Begirts earth's pilgrims, and they grope
In sadness and in gloom;
Hope whispers soft a word of cheer
O'er the dismaying scene,
Till through the folds of blackness peer
Bright skies and living green.
Poetry of the Farm and Rural Life | ||