Or early dawn of purple-vested morn,
Shalt thou be heard, or solitary song
Whistle contented from the watery bough,
What time the sun flings o'er the dewy earth
An unexpected beam, fringing with flame
The cloud immense, whose shower-shedding folds
Have all day dwelt upon a deluged world.
No, thy sweet pipe is mute, it sings no more.
High on the topmost branches of the elm
In sable conversation sits the flock
Of social starlings, the withdrawing beam
Enjoying, supperless, of hasty day.
Half starved and petrified the pigeon moves
With bloated plumage on the dovehouse sill,
And seems forgetful of his amorous bow
And note of love profound. No more he starts
With loud-applauding wing from his hush'd cove,
Nor sweeps with swift career the snowy down.
But most of all subdued, or fearful least
Of man's society, with ruddy breast
Against the window beats, sagacious bird,
The robin. At the door half open left
Or by the gale unlatch'd, or narrow pass
Of air-admitting casement, or (to him
Sufficient port) the splinter'd aperture
Of attic pane demolish'd, with a flirt
Enters the fledged intruder. He has left
His haunt divine, the woodhouse and the barn,
A feathery mendicant made bold by want,
And every little action asks aloud
Alms the most indigent might well afford,
A drop of water and a crumb of bread.
Timid and sleek upon the floor he hops,
His every feather clutch'd, all ear, all eye,
And springing swift at the first sound he hears,
Thumps for dismission on the healthy pane.
Sweet beggar, no. Impenetrable glass
Has closed around thee its transparent cage,
Escape denying. Satisfy thy need,
And, having fed, be free. Beneath my chair
Sit budge, a feathery bunch; upon its staves
Polish thy clattering beak; with head reversed
Dress every plume that decks thy plain surtout,
And either pinion of thy slender wing;
With bridled bill thy ruddy bosom smooth,
And, all perform'd, delight me if thou wilt
With a faint sample of contented song,
Concise and sweet: then flit around the room,
Cheerful though silent, seizing with an air
Each crumb diminutive which the last meal
Dropp'd unperceived, and the religious broom
Unconscious left upon the woven floor,
Or which the hand of charity lets fall,
Not grudging. Banquet here and sleep to-night,
And when thy morning meal is finish'd, fly;
Nothing unwelcome if thou dare return,
And daily seek the hospitable feast
Strew'd to invite thee on the casement ledge.
Soon as eve closes, the loud hooting owl,
That loves the turbulent and frosty night,
Perches aloft upon the rocking elm
And halloos to the moon. She, mounting slow,
Steers her wild voyage through a troubled sea
Of dissipated scud, apparent oft,
Oft intercepted by the billowy skirt
Of the fleet vapour, oft in part o'ercome,
Yet still victorious be the storm how rude,
And nothing later at the port she seeks,
Retarded by the tide of adverse cloud.
Now is it sometimes pleasure to steal forth
At sultry midnoon, when the busy fly
Swarms multitudinous, and the vex'd herd
Of milch-kine slumber in yon elm-grove shade,
Or unrecumbent exercise the cud
With milky mouths. "Tis pleasure to approach
And, by the strong fence shielded, view secure
Thy terrors, Nature, in the savage bull.
Soon as he marks me, be the tyrant fierce-
To earth descends his head-hard breathe his lungs
Upon the dusty sod-a sullen leer
Gives double horror to the frowning curls
Which wrap his forehead-and ere long be heard
From the deep cavern of his lordly throat
The growl insufferable; not more dread
And not more sullen the profoundest peal
Of the far distant storm which o'er the deep,
Clothed in the pall of midnight premature,
At evening hangs, and jars the solid earth
With its remote explosion. Tramples then
The surly brute impatient of disdain,
And spurns the soil with irritated hoof,
Himself inhaler of the dusty cloud,
Himself insulted by the pebbly shower
Which his vain fury raises. Nothing fear'd,
Let him incensed from agitated lungs
Blow his shrill trump acute till echo ring,
And with a leer of malice steal away,
Assault and vengeance swearing ere be long.
'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires the' horizon; while the clouds
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
Resemble most some city in a blaze,
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale,
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue,
From every herb and every spiry blade
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field.
Mine, spindling into longitude immense,
In spite of gravity, and sage remark
That I myself am but a fleeting shade,
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance
I view the muscular proportion'd limb
Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair,
As they design'd to mock me, at my side
Take step for step; and, as I near approach
The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall,
Preposterous sight! the legs without the man.
The verdure of the plain lies buried deep
Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents
And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest,
Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine
Conspicuous, and, in bright apparel clad
And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb.
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man,
Fretful if unsupplied; but silent, meek,
And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay.
He from the stack carves out the' accustom'd load,
Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft
His broad keen knife into the solid mass:
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands,
With such undeviating and even force
He severs it away: no needless care,
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile
Deciduous or its own unbalanced weight.
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd
The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe
And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear,
From morn to eve his solitary task.
Shaggy and lean and shrewd, with pointed ears
And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur,
His dog attends him. Close behind his heel
Now creeps he slow; and now, with many a frisk
Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow
With ivory teeth, or plough it with his snout:
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy.
Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl
Moves right toward the mark; nor stops for aught,
But now and then with pressure of his thumb
To' adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube
That fumes beneath his nose: the trailing cloud
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air.
Now from the roost or from the neighbouring pale,
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam
Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side,
Come trooping at the housewife's well known call
The feather'd tribes domestic. Half on wing,
And half on foot they brush the fleecy flood,
Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge.
The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves
To seize the fair occasion; well they eye
The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved
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