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TO A REDBREAST THAT FLEW IN AT MY
From snowy plains, and icy sprays,
That note, that summer note, I know :
No more now, at my lonely meal, While thou art by, alone. I'll feel : For soon, devoid of all distrust, Thou ’lt nibbling share my
humble crust; Or on my finger, pert and spruce, Thou 'lt learn to sip the sparkling juice, And when (our short collation o'er) Some favourite volume I explore, Be't work of poet, or of sage, Safe thou shalt hop across the page ; Uncheck'd shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves, Or Autter 'mid Tibullus' loves. Thus, heedless of the raving blast, Thou ’lt dwell with me till winter 's past; And when the primrose tells 't is spring, And when the thrush begins to sing, Soon as I hear the woodland song, Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.
Beneath these fruit-tree boughs, that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread
Of spring's unclouded weather ; In this sequester'd nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard-seat, And birds and flowers once more to greet,
My last year's friends together.
One have I mark’d, the happiest guest
In joy of voice and pinion,
Thou Linnet ! in thy green array,
And this is thy dominion.
While birds, and butterflies, and flowers
Art sole in thy employment;
Thyself thy own enjoyment.
Upon yon tuft of hazel trees,
Yet seeming still to hover ;
That cover him all over.
My sight he dazzles, half deceives,
Pours forth his song in gushes ;
As if by that exulting strain,
While fluttering in the bushes.
And, where of Indian hills the daylight takes
merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men; While heark’ning, fearing nought, their revelry, The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades,
and then, Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness