THE BOBOLINK. 



BOBOLINK ! that in the meadow, 

 Or beneath the orchard's shadow. 

 Keepest up a constant rattle 

 Joyous as my children's prattle, 

 Welcome to the north again ! 

 Welcome to mine ear thy strain, 

 Welcome to mine eye the siglit 

 Of thy buff, thy black, and white. 

 Brighter plumes may greet the sun 

 By the banks of Amazon ; 

 Sweeter tones may weave the spell 

 Of enchanting Philomel ; 

 But the tropic bird would fail, 

 And the English nightingale. 

 If we should compare their worth 

 With thine endless, gushing mirth. 



A single note, so sweet and low. 

 Like a full heart's overflow, 

 Forms the prelude ; but the strain 

 Gives us no such tone again. 

 For the wild and saucy song 

 Leaps and skips the notes among. 



