The Boy and the Birds

Heigh! are you tipsy?
Bobolink, Bobolink, jolly’s a gipsey;
    Did these some one let
You take a nipper of drink from the runlet?
Cider or whiskey, as brandy or sherry,
What is it, Bobolink, makes you so merry?

    Ha, little fellow!
Dew from the buttercup keeps me mellow;
    O, but it twinkles!
Out of old Care’s face soaking the wrinkles!
That’s the tipple, I beg to remark, ill
Give true pleasure the genuine sparkle!

    Perched on a yarrow
Gay is your piping my little Song Sparrow,
    Where have you hidden
Flask or bottle with juice forbidden?
Mirth no rich has a drop on the lip of it,
Tell me, Sparrow, & let me sip of it.

    Yes, my bonny Boy,
Here’s my cup with its wine & honey, Roy;
    Over the pebbles,
Look, through the fern-leaves see how it bubbles!
Sweet & cool & clear from the Giver;
Drink of it, dance with it down to the river!

    Blue-bird & Robin,
Brown-thrush, Chick-a-dee, tipping & bobbing,
    Mocking-bird tonguey,
Is there no head that is dizzy away ye?
No rare Bourbon nor special Jamaica
Into such frolic & revel to wake ye?

    Never, my Darling!
Liquor is mother of growling & snarling.
    Pleasure drinks water;
Only of Innocence Mirth is the daughter.
“Aye, I know I’m a Temperance Man, sis,
I only ask for the favor [?] of your answer.”