poems.
11
THE BIRD'S RETURN.
I hear the music-tones of spring
In the sweet song and flut'ring wing
Of faithful birds, that seek once more
Their summer home on the woodland shore.
They love, still love, the shaded spot;
Nor are the sunny hours forgot
When through the leafy boughs they sprung,
And notes of joy and rapture sung;
When from the flowers they sipp'd the dew,
And o'er their plumes the bright waves threw;—
The freshness of the morning dawns,
The social tune 'mid dewy lawns,
The noontide rest, the evening flight,
'Mid fragrant airs and soften'd light.
What though the verdure's seen no more?
Still, oh still, on the leafless shore
A beauty e'er for them appears;—
Thus mem'ry every scene endears.
O'er ev'ry flowret of the past,
Though blight o'er all their beauty's cast,
It comes from joys that bloom in vain
To sing above their graves again.
In the sweet song and flut'ring wing
Of faithful birds, that seek once more
Their summer home on the woodland shore.
They love, still love, the shaded spot;
Nor are the sunny hours forgot
When through the leafy boughs they sprung,
And notes of joy and rapture sung;
When from the flowers they sipp'd the dew,
And o'er their plumes the bright waves threw;—
The freshness of the morning dawns,
The social tune 'mid dewy lawns,
The noontide rest, the evening flight,
'Mid fragrant airs and soften'd light.
What though the verdure's seen no more?
Still, oh still, on the leafless shore
A beauty e'er for them appears;—
Thus mem'ry every scene endears.
O'er ev'ry flowret of the past,
Though blight o'er all their beauty's cast,
It comes from joys that bloom in vain
To sing above their graves again.
