BIRD SONGS AND VERNAL SOUNDS. 
By Isaac McLELLan. 
- O’er Nature’s realm what mellow tones salute 
The listening ear in field and wood and sky! 
Sit thou on mossy k-ank, by rippling stream, 
And note the varied melodies that rise. 
The brook itself hath harmonies of its own, 
Whispering o’er sands or hoarse o’er pebbly bed. 
Enjoy the solitude that Nature holds 
And view all pictures of the natural world ! 
See on yon rock a speckled turtle basks, 
Or slips with sluggish motion to the wave ; 
The birds swing merrily on the bending spray, 
Or to their fledglings speed on fluttering wings ; 
The water snakes glide leisurely o’er the stream, 
The grasshopper springs snappingly o’er the grass, 
The cricket chirps its never-ending cry, 
The marsh frogs pipe their shrill, perpetual chime; 
Listening we catch the distant sound of bells, 
And in deep woods the sharp report of gun, 
The blast of horn, the cracking of the whip, 
As the keen riders hunt the deer or fox, 
The cattles’ bellow in the upland fields, 
The bark of dog, the crowing of the cock, 
While the soft rustles of the billowy grain 
Melt on the ear in tenderest cadence. 
Sweeter than all these rural, pleasant sounds, 
Are songs of tuneful birds in liquid choir ; 
Of all created things those minstrel tribes 
Are blithest, happiest children of the air! 
Whether in circlings high, in airy flight, 
Or poising on the topmost twig of tree, 
Trilling their clarion song in morning air, 
It seems embodiment of boundless joy ; 
Freed from all stern calamity and care, 
Perpetual youth its birthright seems to be. 
- Age may not stiffen those elastic wings, 
Nor change the joyous, overflowing song, 
To melancholy plaint or mournful note ! 
Blithest of birds, yet not sweet birds of song, 
Are swallow tribes, glad harbingers of spring, 
Yet have they many chirpings in their flight, 
Darting o’er farmer’s roof or harvest field ; 
Prospects of spring time, they enjoy a life 
Of merriment ’midst Nature’s fairest scenes; 
Winter to them is all an unbroken time, - 
For they forsake in autumn our brown fields 
To seek the myrtle and wide orange groves 
Of some fair region of far Florida ; 
With the spring flowers they haste to us on wing, 
And with the early frosts their farewell take. 
