ARBOR DA Y MANUAL. 
39 
ROBIN ’S COME. 
F ROM the elm-tree’s topmost bough. 
Hark ! the robin’s early song ! 
Telling one and all that now 
Merry spring-time hastes along. 
Welcome tidings dost thou bring, 
Little harbinger of Spring : 
Robin’s come. 
Of the Winter we are weary, 
Weary of the frost and snow; 
Longing for the sunshine cheery, 
And the brooklet’s gurgling flow. 
Gladly then we hear thee sing 
The joyful reveille of Spring: 
Robin’s come. 
Ring it out o’er hill and plain, 
Through the garden’s lonely bowers. 
Till the green leaves dance again, 
Till the air is sweet with flowers ! 
Wake the cowslips by the rill; 
Wake the yellow daffodil: 
Robin’s come. 
Singing still in yonder lane, 
Robin answers merrily; 
Ravished by the sweet refrain, 
Alice clasps her hands in glee, 
Calling from the open door, 
With her soft voice, o’er and o’er, 
“ Robin’s come.” 
* * * The hills. 
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun ; the vales, 
Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
The venerable woods; rivers that move 
In majesty, and the complaining brooks, 
That make the meadows green; and poured round all. 
Old ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,— 
Are but the solemn decorations all 
Of the great tomb of man. * * 
Bryant’s Thanatopsis. 
