BLACKBIRD
The birds have ceased their songs,
All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash,
'Mid Pinkie's greenery, from his mellow throat,
In adoration of the setting sun,
Chants forth his evening hymn.
Golden Bill! Golden Bill!
Lo, the peep of day;
All the air is cool and still,
From the elm-tree on the hill,
Chant away:
- * * *
Let thy loud and welcome lay
Pour alway
Few notes but strong.
A slender young Blackbird built in a thorn-tree:
A spruce little fellow as ever could be;
His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black,
So long was his tail, and so glossy his back,
That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs,
And only just left them to stretch her poor legs,
And pick for a minute the worm she preferred,
Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird.
O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While] all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keepjgmooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where",tholi may'st warble, eat and dwell.
BLACKSMITH
- BLACKSMITH ##
Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought
Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught
Smiths (who before could only make
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)
Arts, in most cruel wise
Man's left to epitomize!
Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 'tis at a white heat now:
The billows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound;
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare;
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
The smith and his penny both are black.
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime;
Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
As great Pythagoras of yore,
Standing beside the blacksmith's door,
And hearing the hammers, as they smote
The anvils with a different note,
Stole from the varying tones, that hung
Vibrant on every iron tongue,
The secret of the sounding wire,
And formed the seven-chorded lyre.
And he sang: "Hurra for my handiwork!"
And the red sparks lit the air;
Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
In other part stood one who, at the forge
Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass
Had melted.
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool.
King John. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 193.
The paynefull smith, with force of fervent heat,
The hardest yron soone doth mollify,
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat,
And fashion it to what he it list apply.
Spenser—Sonnet XXXII.
BLASPHEMY (See Oaths, Swearing)
BLESSINGS
'Tis not for mortals always to be blest.
Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament;
Adversity is the blessing of the New.
Bacon—Of Adversity.
Blessings star forth forever; but a curse
Is like a cloud—it passes.
Bailey—Festus. Sc. Hades.
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I bless'd them unaware.
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
Congreve—Mourning Bride. Act. V. Sc. 3.
