SUNDRIES. 



Then, where more balmy winters smile, 

 Speed thee to blest Hesperian isle, 

 Libya's warm shores, or palmy Nile, 



On wings of wind : 



Taught by His voice, who bids thee know 

 Thy season, when to come and go, 

 To seek our genial skies, or throw 



Our storms behind. 



Farewell, sweet bird ! thou still hast been 

 Companion of our summer scene, , 



Lov'd inmate of our meadows green, 



And rural home : 

 The twitter of thy cheerful song 

 We've lov'd to hear ; and all day long 

 See thee on pinion fleet and strong, 



About us roam. 



And dost thou no wise lore impart 1 

 Yes, still thou bid'st us act our part 

 With body prompt and willing heart, 



While summer lasts : 

 Prepar'd the course to take, which He 

 For us appoints, who summons thee 

 To climes of grateful warmth to flee 



From wintry blasts. 



O may that warning voice be heard, 

 Howe'er reveal'd ! To thee, sweet bird, 

 The tongue that speaks the instructive word, 



Within thee dwells : 

 To us, where'er around we look, 

 Each passing wing, the field, the brook, 

 But most his own unerring book 



God's wisdom tells. 



That book directs our mental sight, 



To mark thy migratory flight, 



With pow'r, surpassing human might, 



On thee imprest : 



And trains, by thy observant kind, 

 Man's wilful and reluctant mind, 

 Its refuge in God's laws to find, 



And there to rest. 



RURICOLA. 



Holywood, Ireland, 

 4<A Jwn,1833. 



