306 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
TO THE BLUE BIRD. 
When winter^s cold tempests and snows are no more, 
Green meadows and brown furrow'd fields re-appear- 
ing? 
The fisherman hauling their shad to the shore, 
And cloud-cleaving geese to the lakes are a-steering ; 
When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing ; 
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing ; 
O then comes the blue bird, the herald of spring, 
And hails, with his warblings, the charms of the 
season. 
Then loud piping frogs make the marshes to ring ; 
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the wea- 
ther. 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring, 
And spice wood and sassafras budding together ; 
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair. 
Your walks border up ; sow and plant at your lei- 
sure, 
The blue bird will chant from his box such an air. 
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure. 
