The First Robin

When all the air is full of glee,
That bubbles over shrub and tree,
As if the summer forest sung 
With every leaflet for a tongue, 
Glad though we be, we are not stirred 
As when a solitary bird
Vibrates the frosty air with hymns
That thrill, as June, the leafless limbs.

I heed not now if frost and snow 
Are round me, and the ice-winds blew;
If braggart winter dare defy
The ascending regent of the sky, 
With blustering insolence, to hide 
The yielding of his stoic pride;
For I have heard my gallant bird, 
My brave, brown Robin sing this word:
"Good cheer! good cheer! the spring is near!"
In all the icy atmosphere 
That clarion signal thrills, and stirs 
The heart through muffling wraps and furs!

As on the frozen clod I tread,
A hollow sound says: "Earth is dead!"
But when I lift my eye to where 
The fall trees meet th' Illumined air, 
0, sober-coated pioneer,
Blithe herald of the day and year, 
I see thy russet plumage gleam 
More ruddy in the rising beam, 
And hear thy slender ritornel
Greet morning with a merrier swell.

High on the elm-tree's highest branch, 
Thou seest the cheek of darkness blanch 
Where first the dawn-tide's golden wave 
Comes rippling to his dusky cave;
And while its fire-spray tips thy wing
Till every fibre stirs to sing,
Thou art the voice of coming day, 
The Memnon-music of Its ray!
Nor less a prophet-bard to sing T
he waiting victories of spring:
To call from winter's icy tomb
Green grass, and shrouded leaf and bloom,
And summon all the earth forlorn 
To nature's resurrection morn.

My brave, brown Robin, bluff and strong,
I thank thee for this morning song;
Though but a simple strain of cheer 
Poured o'er and o'er, so silvery clear.
Sweet prelude, oft rehearsed, to greet 
The gleam of Oester's shining feet,
That, beautiful upon the hills,
Bring glad release to flocks and rills.

Full many a blithe, melodious tune,
Hath filled the sparkling airs of June, 
As if the very dew, sun-kissed, 
Were changed to music, as to mist;
Vaunt-couriers of the unrisen sun, 
A thousand twittering songs, like one, 
Have called me from the realm of dream 
To glorify the effulgent beam;
But oh, my bonny bird! thy lay—
Alone that greets the chilly day,— 
Can, more than all the summer-choirs 
Fill, full, the reverent soul's desires, 
And make the kindled bosom strong 
As hero's stirred by martial song;
For while its louder accents cry:
"Good cheer! good cheer! the spring is nigh!" 
In graver undertones I hear 
A promise of the better year, 
Of life's renewal after loss.
New peace rewarding pang and cross, 
And of pure hope's perennial bloom 
Nodding on every mortal tomb;
Such [?] [obscured words] earllest strain can bring
[Obscured words] eternal spring!