And in the flower-enamelled leas,
Where alders grace the streamlet's brink,
I hear the charming melodies
Of many a sweet-voiced bobolink.
And from yon wildwood's emerald crown
Come oft, in notes of heavenly tone,
The hymns of thrushes, "wood," and "brown,"
And warbling throats to me unknown.
Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,
It seems as though their vocal powers