Classic Poem

The songs of nature, holiest, best are they!
 The sad winds sighing through the leafy trees—
 The lone lake's murmurs to the mountain breeze—
The streams' soft whispers, as they fondly stray
 Through dingles wild and over flowery leas,
 And sweetly holy; but the purest hymn—
A melody like some old prophet-lay—
 Is thine, poured forth from hedge, and thicket dim—
Linnet! wild Linnet!

The poor, the scorned and lowly, forth may go
 Into the woods and dells, where leaves are green;
 And 'mong the breathing forest flowers may lean,
And hear thy music wandering to and fro,
 Like sunshine glancing o'er the summer scene.
 Thou poor man's songster!—neither wealth nor power,
Can match the sweetness thou around dost throw!
 Oh! bless thee for the joy of many an hour—
Linnet! wild Linnet!

In sombre forest, gray and melancholy,
 Yet sweet withal and full of love and peace,
 And 'mid the furze wrapped in a golden fleece
Of blossoms, and in hedgerows green and lowly;
On thymy banks, where wild-bees never cease
 Their murmur-song, thou hast thy home of love!
Like some lone hermit, far from sin and folly,
 'Tis thine through forest fragrancies to rove—
Linnet! wild Linnet!

Some humble heart is sore and sick with grief,
 And straight thou comest with thy gentle song
 To wile the sufferer from his hate or wrong,
By bringing nature's love to his relief.
 Thou churmest by the sick child's window long,
 Till racking pain itself be wooed to sleep;
And when away have vanished flower and leaf,
 Thy lonely wailing voice for them doth weep—
Linnet! wild Linnet!

God saw how much of woe, and grief, and care,
 Man's faults and follies on the earth would make;
 And thee, sweet singer, for his creatures' sake
He sent to warble wildly everywhere,
 And by thy voice our souls to love to wake.
 Oh! blessed wandering spirit! unto thee
Pure hearts are knit, as unto things too fair,
 And good, and beautiful of earth to be—
Linnet! wild Linnet!