THE BLUEBIRD. 



Soft warbling note 



From azure throat, 

 Float on the g-entle air of spring; 



To my quick ear 



It doth appear 

 The sweetest of the birds'that sing. 



C. C. M. 



A bit of heaven itself. — Spofford. 



The bluebird carries the sky on his 

 back. — Thoreau. 



Winged lute that we call a bluebird. 

 — Rexford. 



The bluebird is the color-bearer of 

 the spring brigade. — Wright. 



A wise bluebird 



Puts in his little heavenly word. 



— Lanier. 



The bluebird, shifting his light > load of 



song 

 From post to post along the cheerless fence. 



— Lowell. 



It is his gentle, high-bred manner 

 and not his azure coat which makes the 

 bluebird. — Torrev. 



How can we fail to regard its azure 

 except as a fragment from the blue of 

 the summer noonday arch? — Silloway. 



The bluebird always bears the na- 

 tional colors — red, white, and blue — 

 and in its habits is a model of civilized 

 bird- life. — Dr. Cooper. 



At the first flash of vernal sun among 

 the bare boughs of his old home he 

 hies northward to greet it with his song, 

 and seems, unlike the oriole, to help 

 nature make the spring. — Baskett. 



As he sits on a branch lifting his 

 wings there is an elusive charm about 

 his sad, quivering tru-al-ly, trii-al-ly. 

 Ignoring our presence, he seems pre- 

 occupied with unfathomable thoughts 

 of field and sky. — Merriam. 



And yonder bluebird, with the earth 

 tinge on his breast and the sky tinge 

 on his back, did he come down out of 

 heaven on that bright March morning 

 when he told us so softly and plaint- 

 ively that if we pleased, spring had 

 come ? — Burroughs. 



He is "true blue," which is as rare a 

 color among birds as it is among flowers. 

 He is the banner-bearer of bird-land 

 also, and loyally floats the tricolor from 

 our trees and telegraph wires; for, be- 

 sides being blue, is he not also red and 

 white? — Cones. 



THE FIRST BLUEBIRD. 



Jest rain and snow I and rain again I 



And dribblel drip! and blow! 

 Then snow! and thaw! and slush! and then 



Some more rain and snow! 



This morning I was 'most afeared 



To wake up — when, I jing! 

 I seen the sun shine out and heerd 



The first bluebird of spring! 



Mother she'd raised the winder some; 

 And in acrost the orchard come, 



Soft as an angel's wing, 

 A breezy, treesy, beesy hum, 



Too sweet fer anything! 



The winter's shroud was rent apart — 



The sun burst forth in glee— 

 And when that dluedird sung, my heart 



Hopped out o' bed with me! 



— Riley. 



