Robin's Come!

Ah, no such piercing sorrow mars
The pewee's life of cheerful ease!

He sings, or leaves his song to seize
An insect sporting in the bars

Of mild bright light that gild the trees.
A very poet he! For him
All pleasant places still and dim:

His heart, a spark of heavenly fire,
Burns with undying, sweet desire:
And so he sings; and so his song,

Though heard not by the hurrying throng,
Is solace to the pensive ear:
"Pewee! pewee! peer!"

John Townsend Trowbridge [1827

ROBIN'S COME!

FROM 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 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!

1513

Then, as thou wert wont of yore,
Build thy nest and rear thy young,
Close beside our cottage door,

In the woodbine leaves among;
Hurt or harm thou need'st not fear,
Nothing rude shall venture near:
Robin's come!

Swinging still o'er yonder lane
Robin answers merrily;
Ravished by the sweet refrain,
Alice claps her hands in glee,
Calling from the open door,

With her soft voice, o'er and o'er,

Robin's come!

William Warner Caldwell [1823

ROBIN'S SECRET

'Tis the blithest, bonniest weather for a bird to flirt a feather,

For a bird to trill and warble, all his wee red breast a-swell. I've a secret. You may listen till your blue eyes dance and glisten,

Little maiden, but I'll never, never, never, never tell.

You'll find no more wary piper, till the strawberries wax riper

In December than in June-aha! all up and down the

dell,

Where my nest is set, for certain, with a pink and snowy curtain

East or west, but which I'll never, never, never, never tell.

You may prick me with a thistle, if you ever hear me whistle How my brooding mate, whose weariness my carols sweet dispel,

All between the clouds and clover, apple-blossoms drooping

over,

Twitters low that I must never, never, never, never tell.

Robin Redbreast

1515

Oh, I swear no closer fellow stains his bill in cherries mellow. Tra la la! and tirra lirra! I'm the jauntiest sentinel, Perched beside my jewel-casket, where lie hidden-don't you ask it,

For of those three eggs I'll never, never, never, never tell.

Chirp! chirp! chirp! alack! for pity! Who hath marred my merry ditty?

Who hath stirred the scented petals, peeping in where robins dwell?

Oh, my mate! May Heaven defend her! Little maidens' hearts are tender,

And I never, never, never, never, never, meant to tell.

Katharine Lee Bates [1859

ROBIN REDBREAST

SWEET Robin, I have heard them say
That thou wert there upon the day
The Christ was crowned in cruel scorn
And bore away one bleeding thorn,-
That so the blush upon thy breast,
In shameful sorrow, was impressed;
And thence thy genial sympathy
With our redeemed humanity.

Sweet Robin, would that I might be
Bathed in my Saviour's blood, like thee;
Bear in my breast, whate'er the loss,
The bleeding blazon of the cross;
Live ever, with thy loving mind,
In fellowship with human-kind;
And take my pattern still from thee,
In gentleness and constancy.

George Washington Doane [1799-1859]

ROBIN REDBREAST

GOOD-BY, good-by to Summer!

For Summer's nearly done;
The garden smiling faintly,

Cool breezes in the sun;

Our thrushes now are silent,

Our swallows flown away,-
But Robin's here in coat of brown,
And scarlet breast-knot gay.
Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

Robin sings so sweetly

In the falling of the year.

Bright yellow, red, and orange,
The leaves come down in hosts;
The trees are Indian princes,

But soon they'll turn to ghosts;
The scanty pears and apples

Hang russet on the bough;

It's Autumn, Autumn, Autumn late, 'Twill soon be Winter now.

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And what will this poor Robin do?
For pinching days are near.

The fireside for the cricket,

The wheat-stack for the mouse, When trembling night-winds whistle And moan all round the house.

The frosty ways like iron,

The branches plumed with snow,

Alas! in Winter dead and dark,

Where can poor Robin go?

Robin, Robin Redbreast,

O Robin dear!

And a crumb of bread for Robin,

His little heart to cheer!

William Allingham [1824-1889]

THE SANDPIPER

ACROSS the narrow beach we flit,

One little sandpiper and I,

And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry.

The Sea-Mew

The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,—
One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds

Scud black and swift across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach

I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach,One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,
Uttering his sweet and mournful cry.
He starts not at my fitful song,
Or flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong;

He scans me with a fearless eye:
Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky:
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

1517

Celia Thaxter [1835-1894]

THE SEA-MEW

How joyously the young sea-mew
Lay dreaming on the waters blue,
Whereon our little bark had thrown
A little shade, the only one,-
But shadows ever man pursue.