THE SONG OF BIRDS. 



And still, when winter spreads around 



The chilly covering of the snow, 

 And woods in dreary silence bound 

 No more with sounds of joy o'erflow, 

 Beside my hearth I sit, and hear 

 The same sweet music ringing clear, 

 And summer-time within I know. 



For look ! where at the wandow swings 



Yon blithe canary, full of glee ; 

 And answers to my call, and sings 

 All day his varied melody, 

 So that I seem to hear again 

 The skylark's song across the main, 

 Or nightingale in Thessaly. 



Newburyport, Jan. 14, 1875. 



