And when I hear the partridge cry
So pretty, pretty,
Upon the house-top, breakfast I;
She comes a-chirping far and wide,
And swinging from the mountain side—
I see and hear the dainty dear!
Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!
Thy nest's inlaid with posies rare.
And pretty, pretty
Bloom violet, rose, and lily there;
The place is full of balmy dew
(The tears of flowers in love with you!)
And one and all impassioned call;
"O pretty, pretty—
O dear little partridge!"
Thy feathers they are soft and sleek—
So pretty, pretty!
Long is thy neck and small thy breast;
The color of thy plumage far
More bright than rainbow colors are!
Sweeter than dove is she I love—
My pretty, pretty—
My dear little partridge!
When comes the partridge from the tree,
So pretty, pretty!
And sings her little hymn to me,
Why, all the world is cheered thereby—
The heart leaps up into the eye,
And echo then gives back again
Our "Pretty, pretty,"
Our "Dear little partridge!"
Admitting the most blest of all
And pretty, pretty,
The birds come with thee at thy call;
In flocks they come and round they play,
And this is what they seem to say—
They say and sing, each feathered thing;
"Ah! pretty, pretty;
Ah! dear little partridge!"
ALASKAN BALLADRY, NO. 1.
The Northland reared his hoary head
And spied the Southland leagues away—
"Fairest of all fair brides," he said,
"Be thou my bride, I pray!"
Whereat the Southland laughed and cried
"I'll bide beside my native sea,
And I shall never be thy bride
'Til thou com'st wooing me!"
The Northland's heart was a heart of ice,
A diamond glacier, mountain high—
Oh, love is sweet at my price,
As well know you and I!
So gayly the Northland took his heart;
And cast it in the wailing sea—
"Go, thou, with all my cunning art
And woo my bride for me!"