The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/The Bluebird
THE BLUEBIRD.
ON ITS FIRST APPEARANCE IN THE SPRING OF 1810.
ail! warbling harbinger of Spring!
How soft thy wild notes fill the breeze!
Raptured, I hear thy fluttering wing,
Low murmuring ’mong the leafless trees.
Now when all lone and drear
Bleak Winter holds her gloomy reign,
And spreads afar her wide domain,
O’er brake and dell, and lawn and plain,
With joy thy notes we hear;
Their simple strains a charm impart,
Dear to the languid, aching heart.
Say, hast thou left yon mountains mild,
Where southern gales ambrosial blow?
To cheer our fields now lone and wild,
And ice-chained valleys clad in snow,
The opening spring to hail?
To bring the rosy charms of May,
The feathered choir of warblers gay,
And clothe in Nature’s green array,
The mountain and the vale?
Then welcome to our groves once more,
Thou token sure that winter’s o’er.
Sweet Bird! the grateful muse shall pay
Her homage and her love to thee;
To thee attune her earliest lay,
And wake the lyre’s soft harmony;
While each exulting mind
Shall join, accordant with her lays,
And every hand unite to raise
A wreath of honorary bays,
Around thy plumes to bind;
To crown thee first of all the train
Whose sportive warblings glad the plain.
Ye wintry clouds! that o’er the heart
A shade of sable honor threw!
Ye shadowy sorrows! hence! depart—
Ye heart-corroding thoughts—adieu!
With all your gloomy train,
On wings of stormy tempests fly
To Zembla’s coasts or Scythia’s sky;
Then deep in trackless deserts lie,
And ne’er return again.
Let life a cheerful prospect wear,
Uncurtained by thy clouds’ despair!
The mournful grove, in weeds forlorn,
Bewails her festive summer bower:
No warblers now to wake the morn,
Or charm the lonely evening hour!
The warblers all are gone.
Wild is the dreary prospect round,
Hushed is the murmuring torrents’ sound,
And solemn silence reigns profound,
Terrific and alone!
Wild the deserted groves appear,
Untuneful, desolate, and drear!
But ah! yon songster’s glad return
Proclaims thy reign will soon be o’er;
And bids the heart no longer mourn,
The Spring will soon return once more,
And Nature smile serene.
Her smiles shall dissipate the gloom,
Again the fairest flowers shall bloom,
And Summer soon her seat resume,
Her robes of brightest green;
Again the groves in state shall rise,
And purest azure gild the skies.
Hail! grateful songster, tuneful bird!
Thou earliest pledge of spring, all hail!
How sweet thy plaintive notes are heard
Floating adorn the balmy gale!
How sweet thy morning song!
As wildly trembling—soft and slow,
Its wood-notes fill yon vale below,
Or, on resounding echoes, flow
The distant hills along.
Then welcome, lovely warbler, here
Thy lay announcing, “Spring is near!”