In hedges where the wild brier-rose,
Woos to its breast the sweets of June;
When soft the balmy south-wind blows,
The Pewee trills its simple tune.
And when on glade and upland hill
Shines out the sultrier July’s sun;
And forest shade and bubbling rill
The red-bird’s shriller notes have won,
Oh then along the dull road side—
(As if the deepening gloom to cheer)
The Pewee loves to wander wide—
There still its airy lay you hear.
Or now, when more familiar grown,
It seeks the busier haunts of men;
And to the welcome barn roof flown,
Renews its joyous song again.
And thus throughout the livelong day,
(Tho’ showery pearl-drops damp its wings;
And heedless who may pass its way,)
The modest Pewee sits and sings.
Bird of the heart—meek Virtue’s child!
Emblem of sweet simplicity;
An thou’d’st a pleasant hour have whiled,
Go list the Pewee’s minstrelsy!
The eagle’s wing it may not boast,
Nor yet his plume of golden sheen;
But not in garb of regal cost
Are Virtue’s children always seen.
Ah, no, sweet bird! in lowly guise
Her fairest child is oftenest met;
And seldom knows thy cloudless skies,
Or path with flowers so richly set.
When summer buds are bright and gay
I fly the city’s dull confines,
And love to sport the hours away
By sedgy streams and leafy shrines.
Nor least among the happy sounds
Which then salute my raptur’d ear,
I hail, from hedge and meadow grounds,
The Pewee, with its song so clear.
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