AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 



57 



feeble acknowledgment of a similar kind, I must insert the 

 following stanzas. 



THE APPEARANCE OF THE BLUE-BIRD. 



What sounds now fill the wintry air, 



What music floats upon the breeze, 

 Whilst all the fields are bleak and bare, 



And verdure breaks not from the trees t 



Oh! 'tis the bird with plumage blue, 



The herald of approaching spring, 

 Still to his native forests true, 



The echoing woods his welcome ring. 



No opening violet's perfume 



Now scents for thee the chilly air, 

 No lone anemonies in bloom 



A downy couch for thee prepare. 



But yet I hail thee, beauteous bird, 



For soon will come the time of flowers, 

 When thousand warblers will be heard, 



Filling with song the budding bowers. 



Say, what impelled thy venturous wings 



To bear thee here from southern skies, 

 Where never-ceasing verdure springs, 



And ever-blooming flowerets rise 1 



Oh, it was that same tireless arm 



Which holds the sun — guides every sphere, 



That Power whose influences warm 

 To life and light the opening year ! 



Yes — it was that same kindly hand, 



Which marked thy path through trackless air, 



And bid thee to this distant land, 

 Thy native home, — in haste repair ! 



Thrice welcome to those wonted haunts ! 



Endeared to thee by love and song, 

 Where erst I've listened to thy chaunts, 



Speeding the gladsome hours along. 



THE DEPARTURE OF THE BLUE-BIRD. 



I hailed thee first among the throng 

 Of warblers in the feathered choir ; 



Then tune for me a parting song, 

 And thus to milder climes retire. 



Where are thy gay companions now, 



That filled with music every dell 1 

 All lonely on the leafless bough, 



Thy plaintive voice proclaims farewell. 



Farewell ! — and haste to other lands — 

 Which brighter, kindlier suns illume — 



Where rosy Flora's liberal hands 

 Scatter around perennial bloom ! 



Haste, haste away ! — nor linger here ; 



The forest leaves are falling fast, 

 The frowns of Winter now appear, 



And soon will come the icy blast ! 



No chill December knowest thou, 



Thy year is filled with sun and song ; 

 Then fare thee well, and leave me now. 



For irost and storms to me belong. 



But should the Spring for me, once more 



Return, and breathe her rich perfume, 

 Revisit, then, thy native shore, 



Thy plaintive song again resume. 



Though the Blue-bird is occasionally seen in many of 

 our northern states, during the warm and sunny days 

 which almost always occur in our winters, the great body 

 of them migrate to the more genial regions of the south. 

 My own little experience corresponds with that of Mr. 

 Wilson. I have seen them in the beginning of the 

 autumn, passing high over head, from the north; little 

 groups of them descending from great altitudes, and set- 

 tling on the tops of the leafless trees. After pausing there 

 for a few minutes, as if resting from a weary journey, they 

 would again reascend high in the air, and speed away to- 

 wards the south. It seems to be proved that their winter 

 retreat is in Jamaica, Cuba, the Bahamas, and other neigh- 

 bouring regions. 



The whole subject of migration is exceedingly curious 

 and perplexing. One can easily comprehend why some 

 birds should pass from a colder to a milder climate; the 

 greater abundance of food, and the facilities forrearing their 

 young, might account for it. But why our little Blue- 

 bird, with many other of its migratory companions, 

 should leave the mild regions where they have passed the 

 winter, where an abundant supply of insects and other 

 food is no doubt always to be procured, and subject them- 

 selves to along, fatiguing, and perilous journey to revisit 

 our apparently less congenial climate, I have never been 

 able to assign any adequate cause, except imperious in- 

 stinct, or rather the influence of that great Power which I 

 have noticed in my stanzas. One of the sacred writers has 

 said all that can be said on this subject: — "The stork in 

 the heavens knoweth her appointed times; and the turtle 

 and the crane, and the swallow, observe the time of their 

 coming." (Jer. viii. 7.) Pope's beautiful lines, in allusion 

 to the migration of the stork, deserve to be often quoted. 



Who bid the stork, Columbus-like explore, 

 Heavens not its own, and worlds unknown before ? 

 Who calls the council, states the certain day, 

 Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ! 



