Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1857-03-07
From the Louisville Journal
THE NIOCKlNG-BIRD.

hfs bIhDs
INSCRIBED TO 3. A. $. ny t. rEMrsrrAp.
The morn comes tripping up the sky,
And dancing o'cr the dmdal earth,
Whose woods and streams beneath her eve,
Leap upward to glorious birth,
A second youth of life and song
As rich and fair as when along
Creations morning hills peal'd out
The rolling hymn, the boundless shout,
Pour'd from the lips of spotless ones
Jehovah's crown'd and radiant Sons.
From out the alder chirps the wren,
The partridge whistles from the glen,
Up floats gush Of laughter gay,
From children ut their early play,
Where the thick woodbine's odorous torch
Cleans through the planters shaded porch,
And the bold king-bird's angry cry
Jars, like battle trumpet, by;
But who is he that all night long
Has pour'd his silvery music-storm,
And with the glory of his song
Made the dead heart Of silence warm,
Nor yet, though mornings gilded rays
On roof and field and woodland blaze,
Forgets against the dawn to pour
The wealth of his exhaustlcss lore?
Far in the deep and holy night,
Great, solemn mother Of the stars,
Whilst DER the wall, in haunted light,
The sad moon slants her pallid bars;
Oh, then wild and sudden strain
Comes like cloud Of golden rain
So strangely sweet and wild tone
Steals on the midnight dim and lone,
So sweetly clear its accents come
Across the still nights drowsy gloom,
| deem some angel form hath stray'd
Earthward from courts that shine on high
H. 4. N. Al a..
And link again the earth and sky.
Thou, from whose alternating hand,
On lifeless space each rushing world,
To roll amidst the shining band,
Upon creations morn, was hurl'd,
And whose mysterious tender sway
Still guides it on its radiant way,
Give me to fear that plastic skill,
Which grants TO earth's most lowly things,
The glorious garb, the potent skill,
Unbought by all the pomp of kings
Which gives to one the wreath and crown,
To one, Disasters iron frown,
And with n wld-bird's gushing bill,
The boast Of human heart can still,
And drown the Tyre and shame the Lutte,
And make the billowy organ mute.
Perched on yon topmost, glittering thorn,
Bright leader Of the choiring throng,
His heart against the check Of morn.
Exults the hero Of my song;
His dark eye flashing in the sun,
From swelling throat and amorous bill,
The music-tides leap up and run
In clarion wave and lsping ril-
o, not a lovc-chant c'cr was sung,
And not lay was ever rung
From roof or bough, by airy tongue
0, not n trembling note or strain
Along the summer gale is roll'd,
But, tangled in that wondrous brain,
Is stored like sands of native gold,
To be, from his green, dewy throne,
In rppling mirth or anthem tone,
Pour'd forth 10 quiyer, burn, and die
AlGrU,tsn 1erHlN ,iint"rie 7, sfSI I" - 80,
And children clap theiI hands to hear
Such wild, imperial melodies
As well migb, -ut sinlcss sphere
Exulting with an airy bound,
As tired Of earth's familiar ground,
Like some sweet thought, on fin-like wings,
He toward the glittering welkin springs,
There hangs like n meodious cloud,
The shower and music's pearly shroud,
Then backward to his perch, that bends
Beneath his regal feet, desccnds
As if, with joys deep vintage drunk,
He to his earthly bower had sunk.
Thus rcwly pcrch'd, he sings and sings,
ANA round MS breezy challenge nlnSs,
And forth his tuneful discord rings
From quick to slow, from gay to grave,
With wave succeeding golden wave;
Now from the tall oaks topmost bough
He pours his silver rain, aud now
From soping roof or garden pale,
With sweetness falls the lingering gale,
| Now DER the furrowcd fields afar,
Curves downward like shooting star,
That from its pathway backward pours
! An anthem towards the heavenly shores;
Now on the lowly cotton crest
His broad and cleaning pinions rest,
/ And shaking with his daprled plumes
The gold-dust from its yellow blooms,
With rosy storm and diamond shower,
| To silence charms the monday hour
All spirits Of sweet sound that dwell
| In the soft flutes melodious cell,
And all the lute-like tones that sleep
Far in the wildwood, dark and deep,
The blue-hird's chirp, the noisy wren,
The partridge piping from the glen,
The martin calling from the caves,
The rcd-bird from his bower of leaves,
The lark that toward his nestlings pours
A greeting, as he sunward scars
All breathe and burn within thy lay,
Wild warbler on the Southern spray;
And crown thee first of tuneful throngs,
Bird of the thousand silver songs!
MINDEN, LA.