Poems (Truesdell)/Bird of the Summer

by Helen Truesdell

[As I sat alone by my chamber window, a few evenings after the death of a beloved friend, a beautiful bird, of a peculiar kind, came and stood on my work-basket. There was something so plaintive in its low, melancholy note, it touched a chord of sympathy, and immediately turning over the leaves of my Scrap-Book, I inserted the following lines.]

BIRD OF THE SUMMER.

Bright bird of the summer!
 From whence hast thou flown?
Ah! speak, pretty warbler,—
 Art left all alone?

Have thy playmates all left thee?
 Thy companions all gone?
Come, then, to this bosom—
 I too am alone!

 

Not so, in the proud day of pomp and of pride,
All courted my favor, all sought the gay bride;
But now, I in sadness am left here to mourn,
And grieve for the joys that can never return.

Then stay, pretty warbler, and sing me a song!
Oh! sing me a requiem for joys that are gone!
Thy beautiful notes, though so plaintive and sad,
Will fall on mine ear, and make my heart glad.

Thou wilt not! thou say est?
 Then unhurt fly away.
O'er mountain and stream,—
 Thy flight I'll not stay:

But my hopes shall go with thee,
 And wish to the last,
Like thee, pretty one,
 I could fly from the past.