The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1867-06-01
ON MEANING A HooKINa Bird SING.

ON HEARING A M0CKING BIRD SING.
For the Bolivar Bulletin.
BY J. EsfoRY MILLER OF N c.
Oh the vea11some march CT the long lonesome be1-
Who never has felt its heart teasing poYysrl
Who never has felt when the breeze wanderd bv
That its tome brsathed the warmth Of syupathyg
Who never has felt when the souI-stiring song,
Of the pluuaged bird tn forests among
Stole deep in the heart, that the happy one saw.
And pitied the gloom that hung on his brswi
And now sweet carol is borne to my ear.
It's struck the tune Of one I hold dear
OF one. that I often in childhood have heard,
3IeIiauous, roll from the breast Of e bird
That when the spring dawn bushed pure in the skies
Ger the Piao-eovered land 80 dear to my eyes
That far distant Iand-to my window sill crept
And warbled its songs Ger the bosom that slept
Can't thou be the same, nalsdious birdg
10, No.-Iong ago the zephyrs have stirred
LameHtingly through the roses that wave
O'er that spot Of my yOuththe m9oing birds grave
But, casting the eye down thy family line,
A progenitOr dear. perchance you May ind,
In tue little bird that sung at the pane
That. perhaps viii protect again.
How ven I remember clear. sunny day,
When all Of US children happy at play
Ny sweet sister Annie, my brother and Il
Heart, give to the winds that burdensome sigh)-
Down sweet through the leaves thrilling song came,
That to my heart ripping from thee,
Sweet bird. charming bird of fair Tennessee.
And now, little friend, thou gifted with wings,
And never hast troubie-thy loving one sings
AS sweetly, as softly, when thou art away,
AS when thou close to her bosom, dost stay;
The forest viii miss thy heart-thrilling song,
And my bosom will think thou tarriest too long,
But, beautifuI bird of fair Tennessee,
Wilt thou accomplish errand for me9
Ia Js,va +5sa 70 90 20 +ta 60 ,.A..--.
That. hapy. viii echo my footsteps DO more,
And perch on the sapling that towers close by,
And wagble these words if my mother is nigh:
Oh! mother, all the power.
I feel distinctly now.
OF that preserving kiss,
You pressed upon my brow
When parted
An amulet it is
Along my path way grim,
To shield mid the storms,
From the sad fate of him
Who's brok'n hearted.
Yet, fr your wandring son,
Oh mother to the skies
OF send an earnest prayer,
That storms may not arise
Too fierce to bear.
Oh press it up to Heaven.
With but half the love
My bosom bears for thee,
My dear, maternal dove,
And God wi hear.
And then to my sister I'd have thee TO go,
And pour out the song that enIivens me so
And from the old spring, where the bright creep
Through the moss-covered rocks and laughingy leap
Down the blossoming vale. convey a note,
In the jubilant realms Of thy musical throat;
Catch, too. the song of the little red bird,
That hops in the alder, where the heard
Then go to rest, in a forest of pines,
Fly softly along-ny father reclines
Up there o. the hill. Alight in the tree
That waves lust above him, and kindly for
Marble up to the skies beautiful prayer
know Heavens must surely be there,
Above the cold bed Of him who has rode
Undsunted through storms to his happy abode.
To the cottage return and into the door,
When twilight and labor is Ger,
TrH your softest adiew-Pass through the vale,
And catch every note that's ahoat the gale,
Of breeze or Of bird or the dear little rill
That frolics along at the base Of the hill
Then haste to the bosom that's waiting for thee,
Sweet bird, charming bird Ct fair Ten nessee.
RosEDALEMay 18th, 1867