TO MY ROBIN REDBREAST.

Now keenly blows the northern blast; Like winter hail the leaves fall fast, And my pet Robin's come at last To our old thorn; With warbling throat and eye upcast He greets the morn; Like some true friend you come to cheer, When all around is dark and drear. And oh! what friend to me more dear Than your sweet sel'? Your mellow voice falls on my ear Like some sweet spell. Oft at the gloaming's pensive hour, When clouds above me darkly lower, I've sought a seat in some lone bower, With heart opprest; You soothed me with your magic power, And calmed my breast. When Morning dons her sober gray To usher in the coming day, And Phœbus shines with sickly ray On all around, No warblers greet him from the spray With joyous sound. But you, sweet bird, unlike the throng, Salute him with a joyous song. When heavy rains and sleet prolong The dreary day, You chant to him your evening song Upon the spray. No blackbird whistles in the grove, Where late in chorus sweet they strove; No warbler's tongue is heard to move, But all is sad; No cushat woos his amorous love In hazel glade.