Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1879-07-11
Ny Blind Canary.

dwell upon the hquld note
That fills thy little breast and throat,
And comes forth piping, full and airy,
Reaching far and tar away,
To some dreamy, twilight day,
Whose virgin star with softness beams
On fairy dell and fairy.
When night Sneels down before the west
In silent prayer,
That, till the morn unveils her eye,
In tranquil sleep the world shall lie,
And serf and king like blessings share;
'Tis then thy voice in music falls
Along my hearts deserted halls,
Whose mold'ring rafters find their guest
Too sweet to bear. ."
Who made thy song SO oil divine, .-
My blind canary7
Who taught thy little tongue to singl
Who gave thy voice heavenly ring?
How learned thee thus to sweetly vary
The long vibrations of thy muse,
And DER high angels to diffuse
lay too fine for hearts like mine,
So sad and weary?
What dark-wing'd fate close-sealed thine
eyes,
My souls enchanter?
A fate, may be, of high decree
ordained this world thou should st not sec
Or that our life's cheat and banter.
The hearts deep wrong, the maiden's tear;
The pain, the strife, suspense and fear;
Our woes to know thou art too wise,
Sweet heaven haunter.
Dost sing the joys of warmer climes,
My little stranger7
Those changeless green Canary isles,
Where ever long the summer smiles
On tamarin and forest ranger?
On those green isles, lapt by the sea,
Perennial blooms thy parent tree,
Far from mans sins, far from his crimes,
And far from danger.
How came thee from thy sunny isles,
In cold to wander
As poets from the heavens are flung
Poor mortals of this earth among,
For bread to sing, and starve, and pander
Thou minstrel OF the stately palms,
In frosty climes now sing for aims,
Where man beguiles with heartless wiles,
Deceit and SANDER.
The yucca and the citron tree
Thou knowest no more.
The guavas sweet and mangosteen
Will never more by thee be seen,
Thy treble note no more will poul
Der mango palm and asphodel
And pomegranatc, and aureate bell;
No more, my bird, thy visions free
TO see thy native shore.
There is a more of brighton haams
Thine eyes beneath,
Than ever shone to mortal view,
Or fancy's painting ever drew.
Thy downy form is but the sheath;
And music, flashing on its throne
OF paradise and diamond zone,
Thy world illumes, and incense teens
On thy laurel wreath.
When low the plumes OF awful death
In dusk descends
Upon the couch where lite is run,
And cold oblivions night begun,
Ere yet the soul its easement rends,
The lights of heaven pass in review,
And waning hopes their pulse renew:
Such scenes are thine, to which thy breath
Its sweetness lends.
Oh! minstrel OF the mystic trill,
And rhyme elastic!
There is a singer in my breast
That rises to thy vocal crest,
Though long her Lutte has lain monastc
Thy dulcet notes with thee she'd share;
But since thy songs untinged with care,
She stoops, and droops, and wanders still
Amid her dreams dynastic.
dwell in space and nothingness.
With thee I'd soar.
live in echoes of the past
Which from the grave are to me cast,
Like phantoms on the midnight shore.
When hope would come, a weight is here,
Which crushes pride and scatters fear;
For hopes misgivings bring distress
None can explore.
TO thy far heights with thee I'd rise,
With soul unchained
To that domain beyond the sky,
Beyond the clouds that on me lie,
Beyond what thought has e'er attained
OH there falls sheen of golden light,
Chasing away the pensive night;
1t blends with rays of milder glow
And bears me from this world below,
Till faiths maintained.
Hugh +. Nc DermoH.