These both are gay; and when the buds put forth,
And leafy June is shading rock and river,
Thou art unmatch’d, blithe warbler of the North,
While through the balmy air thy clear notes quiver.
Joyous, yet tender, was that gush of song,
Caught from the brooks, where 'mid its wild flowers smiling,
The silent prairie listens all day long,
The only captive to such sweet beguiling;
Or didst thou, flitting through the verdurous halls,
And column’d isles of western groves symphonious,