BIRDS, the free tenants of land, air, and ocean,
Their forms all symmetry, their motions grace;
In plumage, delicate and beautiful,
Thick without burthen, close as fishes' scales,
Or loose as full-blown poppies to the breeze;
With wings that might have had a soul within them,
They bore their owners by such sweet enchantment;
Birds, small and great, of endless shape and colours,
Here flew and perch'd, there swam and dived at
pleasure;
Watchful and agile, uttering voices wild
And harsh, yet in accordance with the waves
Upon the beach, the winds in caverns moaning,
Or winds and waves abroad upon the water.
Some sought their food among the finny shoals,
Swift darting from the clouds, emerging soon
With slender captives glittering in their beaks;
These, in recesses of steep crags, constructed
Their eyries inaccessible, and train'd
Their hardy broods to forage in all weathers;
Others, more gorgeously apparelled, dwelt
Among the woods, on Nature's dainties feeding,
Herbs, seeds, and roots; or, ever on the wing,
Pursuing insects through the boundless air:
In hollow trees or thickets, these conceal'd
Their exquisitely woven nests, where lay
Their callow offspring, quiet as the down
On their own breasts, till from her search the dam
With laden bill return'd, and shared the meal
Among her clamorous suppliants, all agape;
Then, cowering o'er them with expanded wings,
She felt how sweet it is to be a mother.
Of these, a few, with melody untaught,
Turn'd all the air to music within hearing,
Themselves unseen, while bolder quiristers
On loftiest branches strain'd their clarion-pipes,
And made the forest echo to their screams
Discordant; yet there was no discord there,
But temper'd harmony; all tones combining,
In the rich confluence of ten thousand tongues,
To tell of joy, and to inspire it. Who
Could hear such concert, and not join in chorus?
Not I. Sometimes entranced, I seem'd to float
Upon a buoyant sea of sounds: again,
With curious ear, I tried to disentangle
The maze of voices, and, with eye as nice,
To single out each minstrel, and pursue
His little song through all its labyrinth,
Till my soul enter'd into him, and felt
Every vibration of his thrilling throat,
Pulse of his heart, and flutter of his pinions.
Often, as one among the multitude,
I sang from very fulness of delight;
Now like a winged fisher of the sea,
Now a recluse among the woods, enjoying
The bliss of all at once, or each in turn.
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Flitting about in each leafy tree;
In the leafy trees so broad and tall,
Like a green and beautiful palace-hall,
With its airy chambers, light and boon,
That open to sun, and stars, and moon;
That open unto the bright blue sky,
And the frolicsome winds, as they wander by!
They have left their nests in the forest bough,
Those homes of delight they need not now;
And the young and the old they wander out,
And traverse their green world round about;
And, hark! at the top of this leafy hall,
How, one to the other, they lovingly call:-
"Come up, come up!" they seem to say,
"Where the topmost twigs in the breezes play!"
Come up, come up, for the world is fair, Where the merry leaves dance in the summer air!" And the birds below give back the cry,
"We come, we come, to the branches high!" How pleasant the life of the birds must be,
Living in love in a leafy tree,
And away through the air what joy to go,
And to look on the green, bright earth below!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Skimming about on the breezy sea,
Cresting the billows like silvery foam,
And then wheeling away to its cliff-built home!
What joy it must be to sail, upborne
By a strong free wing, through the rosy morn,
To meet the young sun, face to face,
And pierce, like a shaft, the boundless space!
To pass through the bowers of the silver cloud,
And to sing in the thunder-halls aloud;
To spread out the wings for a wild free flight
With the upper cloud-winds,—oh! what delight!
Oh! what would I give, like a bird, to go
Right on through the arch of the sun-lit bow,
And to see how the water-drops are kiss'd
Into green, and yellow, and amethyst!
How pleasant the life of a bird must be,
Wherever it listeth there to flee:
To go, when a joyful fancy calls,
Dashing adown 'mong the waterfalls;
Then wheeling about, with its mates at play,
Above, and below, and among the spray,
Hither and thither, with screams as wild
As the laughing mirth of a rosy child!
What a joy it must be, like a living breeze,
To flutter about 'mong the flowering trees;
Lightly to soar, and to see beneath
The wastes of the blossoming purple heath,
And the yellow furze, like fields of gold,
That gladden some fairy region old.
On mountain tops, on the billowy sea,
On the leafy stems of the forest tree,
How pleasant the life of a bird must be!
SERAPHIC warbler! the invisible tongue
Of Nature's struggling soul, in earth or air;
Eden's first eve with thy sweet music rung,
Ere Sin had darken'd human hearts with care;
And now the joy of heaven is in thy voice,
Hived in the heart's core, and in song set free,
That makes old Silence leap up and rejoice
In a full burst of jocund gaiety:
While the swathed Night opens her starry eyes, And, all entranced, walks forth beneath the kindling skies!
To thee the cavern'd darkness of each cave Strains its charm'd ears; hoar rocks and wizard woods
Ring with thy voice; the soft, translucent wave, Where drowsy moonlight sleeps upon the floods, The quivering branches, and the fluttering leaves, Stirr'd softly by the vernal ecstasy;
E'en the frail gossamer the spider weaves,
To float in films beneath night's pageantry,
Vibrate and thrill with an emotion strong,
Like chords responsive struck by thy impassion'd
song!
What is the minstrelsy of crowded halls?
The harp, the viol, or the plaintive flute?
The gay carouse of fashion's carnivals?
The merry twangings of the gladsome lute?
What the full clash of martial trump and drum,
Stirring the heart to deeds of high emprise?
The syren songs, that like bright spirits come,
To move the soul to tender sympathies?
Oh! what can all these fascinations be
To one lone hour, sweet bird! with solitude and thee?
The heavenly harmonies that meekly fall
From thy full-gushing font; oh! sweetly glide
Over our bosoms when there storms appal,
Like gay young halcyons on the swelling tide;
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