The Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1837-1867, 1846-03-21
Poetry.
The Messenger Bird.

| Some of the native BTazilians pay great veneer
alton 10 certain bird that sings mournnlly
in tho nighttime. They say il is q messen-
ger which their deceased friends have sent,
and that Il brings news from the other world
Thou art come from the Spirits land thou bird!
Thou art come from the Spirits land
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be
heard,
And tell Of the shadowy land.
| We know that the bowers are green and fair
In the light of that summer shore,
| And we know that the friends we have lost
are there,
They are there--and they weep no more!
And We know they have quenched their few
o's thirst
FROM the Fountain of Youth ere now
For there must the stream in it's freshness burst,
Which none may find below !
And we know that they win not be lured to
earth
From the land of deathlcss flowers,
By the feast, or the dance or the song Of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with oursj
Though they sat with us by the night-irc's
blaze,
And bent with MS the bow,
And heard the tales of our fathers days,
Which are told to others now!
But tell us, thou bird ofthc solemn strain
Can those who have loved, forget
We call--and they answer not again
Do they lovc-do they love us yeti
Doth the warrior think of his brother there
And the father of his child
And the chief of those that were wont 10 share
His wanderings through the wild'
We call them far through the silent night
And they speak not from cave or hill;
We know, thou bird, that their land is bright,
But say, do they tore there stdtf
1--WE find the following reply to the above
beautiful poem, in the Philadelphia Courier
by Edward Young, ESQ. The Two are not sur
passed by anything in the English language
in our humble opinion.-EdS, .Nebo Haren
Register.
Song of the Messenger Bird.
I've come, I've come from the spirit land,
And a treasured song is minej
bear for the wounded heart a balm,
And Joy for those that pine.
The friends that We bid on earth "good bye"
With checks so pale and wan,
They are there in the light of cloudless sky,
And there all of grief is done.
The chieftain that left his bow unstrung--
And the sage with his locks of snow
And the maid VIII ose voice like the night-brd's
rang,
In its piaintveness ofwoci
And the youth with the laughing eye 10 there
And the mother who left her babe
Swinging TO and fro in the summer air,
Beneath the sycamore shade.
They sit on the banks where the bright flowers
CLEAN,
And they dream not OF toll or pain,
For they We drank of the fount of the golden
stream,
They We drank--and are young again
And they bade me speed with my glittering
wing
From the realms of the nightless day,
To the dim old groves where they loved To
And thus TO the mourning say:
We tune our harps by the bright blue streams,
That lave on the gem-clad shore;
And our lives are sweet as an infants dream,
And we sigh not, nor weep we more.
We are changed from the sick and the sad of
earth,
To band that know not care;
But our hearts still yearn towards our native
hearth,
And the friends we loved while there;
We watch ye, friends, when the night winds
breath
Lies hushed DER moor and hill;
For love extends past the bourne of death
We have loved and we love ye still.
We are there unseen, by the house fire blaze,
AS our tales We repeat again
When We sing the song ofother days,
We are there, and we bless We then.
And we hover DER, when the hour ofprayer
Comes at the close of even
Midst the hallowed family band, we'er there,
Ind ,cc bear those prayers to HeaUen