THE BLUE BIRD. 



Welcome back from your southern trip 



Little friend of the dark blue coat, 

 I hear your song in orchard trees 



And long have waited for its note. 



The snow has piled my window pane 



And winds of winter fiercely blown, 

 Since you forsook the bosky dell 



You claimed for one sweet summer home. 



Did others in that distant land 



So love to hear your morning song? 

 Did no fair maiden try to steal 



The score that you have sung so long? 



You may have friends that love as well 



Your sweetly trembling song of praise. 

 But none that welcome more than we 



Your coming in the springtime days. 



All hail, sweet songster of the glen 



No prince that comes from o'er the sea 

 Can claim the freedom of our fields 



Such as we gladly yield to thee. 



H. G, Leslie. 



