SONG OF THE BIRDS.
THE year was young, and from the balmy air,
Mild spring her genial influence lent, to tear
Winter's cold robe away. The streams released
From icy bands, by mountain brooks increased,
Sang their wild song, as o'er, the mossy stones
They dash'd in pleased luxuriance . The moans
Of winter's winds were o'er and the calm breath
Of zephyrs lived, where vegetation's death
So lately reign'd. Each to its native tree
Return'd of birds the various kinds, and glee
And song and minstrelsy were heard, where'er
Was spray or bush or grove. The balmy air
Rang with loud triumph and sweet vernal songs;
And thus the chorus still the strain prolongs.
Brightly the stream
The sun is adorning ,
Wake, wake from your dream,
Ye birds of the morning !
The spring's fairest flowers
Are opening their buds,
To feel the first showers
And drink the first floods.
Raise the loud song,
The spring gale is coming ;
And the balm banks along,
The wild bee is humming.
The moist showery cloud
Flies over the mountain ;
Let the stork cry aloud
By the salt water fountain.
Brightly the stream
The sun is adorning,
Wake, wake from yourdeeam
Ye birds of the morning !
The first blush of dawn,
Let the redbreast be hailing ,
While over the lawn
The morn's dews are sailing.
Let the lark strike his note,
As the loved sun advances ;
While the insect tribe float
In their wild airy dances.
The earth's smell is soft,
And over the meadow,
While he soars up aloft,
The crow flings his shadow.
Let the duck in the lake
Herwhite breast be dashing,
While far in her wake,
The gay foam is splashing.
In the sun's brightest blaze,
Let the eagle be screaming,
As in its warm rays,
His bright eyes are beaming ;
As ye hear his loud scream
The hunter's aim scorning ;
Wake, wake, from your dream,
Ye birds of the morning!
