Classic Poem

Early on a pleasant day,
In the poets' month of May;
Field and forest look'd so fair,
So refreshing was the air,
That, despite of morning dew,
Forth I walk'd where, tangling grew,
Many a thorn and briery bush,
Where the red-breast and the thrush,
Gaily rais'd their early lay,
Thankful for returning day;
Every thicket, bush, and tree,
Swell'd the grateful harmony.
As it sweetly swept along,
Echo seem'd to catch the song;
But the plain was wide and clear,
Echo never whisper'd there.
From a neighb'ring mocking-bird
Came the answering note I heard;
Near a murmuring streamlet's side,
Perch'd on branch extending wide.
Low, and soft, the song began;
Scarce I caught it, as it ran
Through the ring-dove's plaintive wail,
Chattering jay, and whistling quail,
Twittering sparrow, cat-bird's cry,
Red-bird's whistle, robin's sigh,
Black-bird, blue-bird, swallow, lark;
Each his native note might mark.
Oft he tried the lesson o'er,
Each time louder than before;
Burst at length the finish'd song:
Loud and clear it pour'd along.
All the choir in silence heard,
Hush'd before the wondrous bird.
All transported and amaz'd,
Scarcely breathing, long I gaz'd.
Now it reach'd the loudest swell;
Lower, lower, now it fell;
Lower, lower, lower still,
Scarce it sounded o'er the rill.
Now the warbler ceas'd to sing;
And I saw him spread his wing;
And I saw him take his flight,
Other regions to delight.
Then, in most poetic wise,
I began to moralize.
In this bird can fancy trace
An emblem of the rhyming race.
Ere with heaven's immortal fire,
Loud they strike the quivering wire;
Ere in high, majestic song,
Thundering wars the verse along;
Soft and low each note they sing,
Soft they try each varied string;
Till each power is tried and known;
Then the kindling spark is blown.
Thus, perchance, has Maro sung;
Thus, his harp has Milton strung;
Thus, immortal Avon's child;
Thus, O Scott! thy witch-notes wild;
Thus, has Pope's melodious lyre
Rung each note with Homer's fire;
Thus, did Campbell's war-blast roar
Round the cliffs of Elsinore;
Thus, he dug the soldier's grave,
Iser! by thy purpled wave.