Poetics :: :: University of Virginia Library

Clara and I, the other day,
Walk'd out: the birds were blithe and gay,
As striving all to please their loves:
So great a stir the warblers made,
In their orchestras over head,
There seem'd a concert of the groves.

Clara and I sat down together,
Like two young birds of the same feather,
Yet grave as two old Quaker-preachers.
Quoth I, “Clara, you have read Gay,
“And well know what these warblers say,
“For they have often been your teachers.

“Of all these birds that seem so blest,
“Pray, tell me which you like the best,
“And why by you they are preferr'd?”
Quoth Clara, “That I'll freely do,
“But after, I must hear from you
“As freely, what's your fav'rite bird.

“I love the bird that hails the morn;
“The linnet trilling on the thorn;
“The blackbird's clear loud song:
“But most I love the melting tale,
“That's warbled by the nightingale,
“So sweetly warbled all night long.

“That lark has taught me when to rise;
“Those other warblers, how to prize
“The cheerful song of day:
“I love to soothe affliction's pain,
“And I have learn'd the soothing strain,
“From Philomela's ev'ning lay.”

Then I: “Clara, you oft have seen
“A little bird on yonder green,
“In varied colours gaily drest;
“To me it pours a pensive song,
“Yet sweet—and neither loud nor long;
“That is my bird, Robin Redbreast.

“It sings no better than it teaches,
“And thus, methinks, the warbler preaches,
“Clara, it surely speaks to you;
“One day I listen'd at the door,
“And heard you sing an hour or more,
“A song, I thought, to nature true.”

“Those birds which there so gaily sing,
“They do but hail the flaunting spring,
“And gaudy summer's golden hours:

“I sing, when sombre autumn comes;
“I love to cheer the winter glooms;
“And may my song, sweet girl, be yours!

“They droop at the departing year;
“While I still all the village cheer:
“May you your spring-time gaily fill!
“But cheer, when spring-time shall decay,
“Your friends with your autumnal lay,
“And be their winter-warbler still!”