LINES TO A REDBREAST. 



Close didst thou sit ; but we might spy 

 The sparkle of thy quick dark eye, 

 As if some reckless foe were by, 



That mischief stirr'd : — » 

 Sit on ! away we would not bear 

 Those freckled balls, thy anxious care ; 

 Nor of thy plumes a feather mar, 



Thou social bird ! 



Sit on, and keep thy leafy bed, 



Secure in thy secluded shed, 



Till forth thy spotted brood be led 



Yon shrubs among : 

 When autumn chills the silent day, 

 Perch'd on the hawthorn's leafless spray, 

 They shall their guardian's care repay 



With a sweet song. 



Sweet is thy song from vernal tree, 

 Though noticed less amid the glee, 

 Which swells in general harmony 



Each tuneful throat : 

 More valued, when its warbles cheer 

 The gloom of the departing year, 

 And pour into the pensive ear 



Their lonely note. 



That lonely note may wisdom preach ! — 

 To the 'lorn mourner it may teach, 

 'Mid saddest scenes within our reach 



Some joys remain ; 

 A pledge no less, though winter's wing 

 Obscure our path, another spring 

 Shall come, and all things laugh and sing 



With mirth again. 



Then welcome to my window-sill, 

 Garden, or roothouse, as thy will 

 May lead thee, social warbler, still 



By man belov'd ! 

 Home in my homestead mayst thou find ; 

 And give in turn thy greeting kind, 

 Sweet to the ear, and by the mind 



Not unimprov'd ! 



Holy wood, Ireland, May 11, 1833. 



