Sketches in verse :: :: University of Virginia Library

Sweet bird, whose melting lay
Deceives the wintry day,
Come to my cot, while now the orient beams!
O'er hills of purpled snow
See faint the radiance glow,
And fleeting shadows brush yon iced streams.

Approach, devoid of fear;
No cruel heart is here:
On thee shall Pity lift her glistening eye—
Amid yon leafless grove,
Dejected dost thou rove,
And shiver with a solitary sigh?

O fly the dreary shade,
Which fatal snares invade—
There, there the truant school-boy bends his way:
No sympathy he feels,
But death around him deals,
Wild as the hawk that pounces on his prey.

Yes—tho' the morning rise
Oe'r azure-vaulted skies,
With a pale lustre shines the frosty sun:
For thee my cheerful fire
Shall genial warmth inspire;
Here lurks no springe, nor roars the murderous gun.

My hospitable board
Shall grateful food afford—
Lo, cold and hunger at a distance dwell—

Then listen to my strain,
Come, peck this scatter'd grain,
These dainty crumbs, nor dread my sylvan cell.

What time, to greet the year,
As vernal blooms appear,
Thy brother warblers wake their choral lays—
Go, pour thy little throat,
Go, mix thy tender note
With each sweet song of tributary praise!