Songs Out of Doors | Page 3

are free,?While the sea-gulls fly above the harbour,?While the river flows to meet the sea!
December, 1905.
THE RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET
I
Where's your kingdom, little king??Where the land you call your own,?Where your palace and your throne??Fluttering lightly on the wing?Through the blossom-world of May,?Whither lies your royal way,
Little king?
_Far to northward lies a land?Where the trees together stand?Closely as the blades of wheat?When the summer is complete.?Rolling like an ocean wide?Over vale and mountainside,?Balsam, hemlock, spruce and pine,--?All those mighty trees are mine.?There's a river flowing free,--?All its waves belong to me.?There's a lake so clear and bright?Stars shine out of it all night;?Rowan-berries round it spread?Like a belt of coral red.?Never royal garden planned?Fair as my Canadian land!?There I build my summer nest,?There I reign and there I rest,?While from dawn to dark I sing,?Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_
II
Back again, my little king!?Is your happy kingdom lost?To the rebel knave, Jack Frost??Have you felt the snow-flakes sting??Houseless, homeless in October,?Whither now? Your plight is sober,
Exiled king!
_Far to southward lie the regions?Where my loyal flower-legions?Hold possession of the year,?Filling every month with cheer.?Christmas wakes the winter rose;?New Year daffodils unclose;?Yellow jasmine through the wood?Flows in February flood,?Dropping from the tallest trees?Golden streams that never freeze.?Thither now I take my flight?Down the pathway of the night,?Till I see the southern moon?Glisten on the broad lagoon,?Where the cypress' dusky green,?And the dark magnolia's sheen,?Weave a shelter round my home.?There the snow-storms never come;?There the bannered mosses gray?Like a curtain gently sway,?Hanging low on every side?Round the covert inhere I bide,?Till the March azalea glows,?Royal red and heavenly rose,?Through the Carolina glade?Where my winter home is made.?There I hold my southern court,?Full of merriment and sport:?There I take my ease and sing,?Happy kingdom! Lucky king!_
III
Little boaster, vagrant king,?Neither north nor south is yours,?You've no kingdom that endures!?Wandering every fall and spring,?With your ruby crown so slender,?Are you only a Pretender,
Landless king?
_Never king by right divine?Ruled a richer realm than mine!?What are lands and golden crowns,?Armies, fortresses and towns,?Jewels, sceptres, robes and rings,--?What are these to song and wings??Everywhere that I can fly,?There I own the earth and sky;?Everywhere that I can sing,?There I'm happy as a king._
1900.
THE ANGLER'S REVEILLE
What time the rose of dawn is laid across the lips of night, And all the little watchman-stars have fallen asleep in light, 'Tis then a merry wind awakes, and runs from tree to tree,?And borrows words from all the birds to sound the reveille.
This is the carol the Robin throws?Over the edge of the valley;?Listen how boldly it flows,?Sally on sally:
_Tirra-lirra,?Early morn,?New born!?Day is near,?Clear, clear.?Down the river?All a-quiver,?Fish are breaking;?Time for waking,?Tup, tup, tup!?Do you hear??All clear--?Wake up!_
The phantom flood of dreams has ebbed and vanished with the dark, And like a dove the heart forsakes the prison of the ark;?Now forth she fares thro' friendly woods and diamond-fields of dew, While every voice cries out "Rejoice!" as if the world were new.
This is the ballad the Bluebird sings,?Unto his mate replying,?Shaking the tune from his wings?While he is flying:
_Surely, surely, surely,
Life is dear
Even here.
Blue above,
You to love,
Purely, purely, purely._
There's wild azalea on the hill, and iris down the dell,?And just one spray of lilac still abloom beside the well;?The columbine adorns the rocks, the laurel buds grow pink,?Along the stream white arums gleam, and violets bend to drink.
This is the song of the Yellow-throat,?Fluttering gaily beside you;?Hear how each voluble note?Offers to guide you:
_Which way, sir??I say, sir,?Let me teach you,?I beseech you!?Are you wishing?Jolly fishing??This way, sir!?I'll teach you._
Then come, my friend, forget your foes and leave your fears behind, And wander forth to try your luck, with cheerful, quiet mind; For be your fortune great or small, you take what God will give, And all the day your heart will say, "'Tis luck enough to live."
This is the song the Brown Thrush flings?Out of his thicket of roses;?Hark how it bubbles and rings,?Mark how it closes:
_Luck, luck,?What luck??Good enough for me,?I'm alive, you see!?Sun shining,?No repining;?Never borrow?Idle sorrow;?Drop it!?Cover it up!?Hold your cup!?Joy will fill it,?Don't spill it,?Steady, be ready,?Good luck!_
1899.
A NOVEMBER DAISY
Afterthought of summer's bloom!?Late arrival at the feast,?Coming when the songs have ceased?And the merry guests departed,?Leaving but an empty room,?Silence, solitude, and gloom,--?Are you lonely, heavy-hearted;?You, the last of all your kind,?Nodding in the autumn wind;?Now that all your friends are flown,?Blooming late and all alone?
Nay, I wrong you, little flower,?Reading mournful mood