Our Native Birds

Alone I sit at eventide;
        The twilight glory pales,
    And o'er the meadows far and wide
        I hear the bobolinks -
        (We have no nightingales!)

    Song-sparrows warble on the tree,
        I hear the purling brook,
    And from the old manse on the lea
        Flies slow the cawing crow -
        (In England 'twere a rook!)

    The last faint golden beams of day
        Still glow on cottage panes,
    And on their lingering homeward way
        Walk weary laboring men -
        (Alas! we have no swains!)

    From farmyards, down fair rural glades
        Come sounds of tinkling bells,
    And songs of merry brown milkmaids
        Sweeter than catbird's strains -
        (I should say Philomel's!)

    I could sit here till morning came,
        All through the night hours dark,
    Until I saw the sun's bright flame
        And heard the oriole -
        (Alas! we have no lark!)

    We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,
        No swains, no nightingales,
    No singing milkmaids (save in books)
        The poet does his best: -
        It is the rhyme that fails.

                 Nathan Haskell Dole.