Thou Linnet! in thy green array,
Presiding spirit here to-day,
Dost lead the revels of the May,
And this is thy dominion.
While birds, and butterflies, and flowers
Make all one band of paramours,
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment;
A life, a presence like the air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too blest with any one to pair,
Thyself thy own enjoyment.
Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perch'd in ecstacies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.
My sight he dazzles, half deceives,
A bird so like the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes;
As if by that exulting strain,
He mock'd and treated with disdain
The voiceless form he chose to feign,
While fluttering in the bushes.
AND, where of Indian hills the daylight takes
His leave, oft might you the Flamingo see,
Disporting, like a meteor, on the lakes.-
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree;
And every sound of life was full of glee,
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men;
While heark'ning, fearing nought, their revelry,
The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades,
and then,
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness
WHILE moonlight, silvering all the walls,
Through every mouldering crevice falls,
(Tipping with white his powdery plume,
As shades or shifts the changing gloom,)
The Owl that, watching in the barn,
Sees the mouse creeping in the corn,
As if he slept,-until he spies
The little beast within his stretch,-
Then starts,
and seizes on the wretch.
Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care,
Thy tuneful notes will hush despair;
Thy plaintive warblings, void of art,
Thrill sweetly through my aching heart.
Now choose thy mate, and fondly love,
And all the thrilling transport prove,
While I a love-lorn exile live,
Nor transport, nor receive nor give.
For thee is laughing Nature gay,
For thee she pours the vernal day;
For me in vain is Nature drest,
While joy is stranger to my breast!
These sweet emotions all enjoy;
Let love and song thy hours employ!
Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care,
Thy tuneful notes will hush despair.
A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:
The sails are scatter'd abroad, like weeds,
The strong masts shake, like quivering reeds,
The mighty cables, and iron chains,
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,
They strain, and they crack, and hearts like stone,
Their natural hard, proud strength disown.
Up and down! up and down!
From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,
And, amidst the flashing and feathery foam,
The Stormy Petrel finds a home ;—
A home, if such a place may be,
For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air;
And only seeketh her rocky lair
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