TO THE RED-BREAST.

Unheard in summer's flaring ray,

Pour forth thy notes, sweet singer,

Wooing the stillness of the autumn day:

Bid it a moment linger,

Nor fly

Too soon from winter's scowling eye.

The blackbird's song at even-tide,

And hers, who gay ascends,

Filling the heavens far and wide,

Are sweet. But none so blends,

As thine,

With calm decay, and peace divine.