318 
BLUE-BIRD. 
do justice to his name, and endear him to us still more by the 
tenderness of verse, as has been done to his representative in 
Britain, the Robin Red-breast. A small acknowledgment of 
this kind I have to offer, which the reader I hope will excuse 
as a tribute to rural innocence. 
when winter’s cold tempests and snows are no more, 
Green meadows and brown furrow’d fields re-appearing, 
The fishermen hauling them 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 hekaid of sphiitg! 
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season. 
Then loud piping frogs make the marshes to ring; 
Then warm glows tlie sunshine, and fine is the weather; 
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring. 
And, spicewood and sassafras budding together: 
O then to your gardens ye housewives repair? 
Your walks border up; sow and plant at yom’ leisure; 
The Blue-bu’d will chant fi'om his box such an am. 
That all your hai’d toils will seem truly a pleasure. 
He flits through the orchard, he visits each tree. 
The red flowering peach and tlie apple’s sweet blossoms: 
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be. 
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms; 
He drags the vile grub from the corn he devours; 
The worms from their webs where they riot and welter; 
His song and his services freely are ours. 
And all that he asks is, in summer a shelter. 
The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his ti-ain. 
Now searching the furrows — now mounting to cheer him; 
The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain. 
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him; 
The slow ling’iing schoolboys forget they’ll be chid. 
While gazing intent as he warbles before ’em 
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red. 
That each little loiterer seems to adore him. 
