THE BLUEBIRD 



A wiSTPuii note from out the sky, 

 " Pure, pure, pure," in plaintive tone. 

 As if the wand'rer were alone, 



And hardly knew to sing or cry. 



But now a flash of eager wing, 

 Flitting, twinkling by the wall, 

 And pleadings sweet and am'rous call, - 



Ah, now I know his heart doth sing I 



bluebird, welcome back again, 

 Thy azure coat and ruddy vest 

 Are hues that April loveth best, — • 



Warm skies above the furrowed plain. 



The farm boy hears thy tender voice, 

 And visions come of crystal days. 

 With sugar-camps in maple ways. 



And scenes that make his heart rejoice. 



The lucid smoke drifts on the breeze. 

 The steaming pans are mantling white. 

 And thy blue wing's a joyous sight. 



Among the brown and leafless trees. 



