Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/242

226 NOBLE BUTLER [IHIiU-iO. THE BLUE-BIRD, Though Winter's power fades away, The tyrant does not yield ; But still he holds a waning sway O'er hill and grove and field. But while he still is lingering, Some lovely days appear — Bright heralds from the train of Spring, To tell that she is near. It is as if a day of heaven Had fallen from on high, And God's own smiles, for sunlight given, Were beaming thi'ough the sky. The blue-bird now, with joyous note, His song of welcome sings ; Joy swells melodious in his throat; Joy quivers in his wings. No cunning show of art severe, But soft and low his lay — A sunbeam shining to the ear — Spring's softest, brightest ray. Those magic tones call from the past The sunny hours of youth ; And shining hopes come thronging fast From worlds of love and truth. The harmony is seen and heai-d ; For notes and rays combine. And joys and hopes, and sun and bird, All seem to sing and shine. THE DAUGHTER OF JUDAH. Daughter of Judah ! once in pride Thou sat'st upon thy lofty throne, Bedecked with jewels like a bride, The delicate and comely one ! And in the waving palm-tree's shade Was heard thy harp's exulting strain ; Jehovah's flock around thee played. And bounded o'er the flowery plain. Daughter of Judah ! where is now The glory that around thee shone ? Where are the gems that graced thy brow? Where is thy proud and lofty throne ? Where is the harp whose glad tones broke The stillness of the balmy air? Where is the flock, the lovely flock, Jehovah trusted to thy care ? Daughter of .Judah ! sad and lone Thou sit'st in sackcloth on the ground; The woods are vocal with thy moan ; The distant hills thy groans resound. Thy harp, from which the music gushed. As water gushed 'neath Horeb's brow — That harp of thine, decayed and crushed. Hangs voiceless on the willow-bough. Thou seest no flock around thee play ; All, all the lovely ones are gone ! Scattered in distant lands they stray — Daughter of Judah, still weep on ! LINES FOR MUSIC. Sleep light gently on thy breast, As the dove upon her nest ! Many a golden glowing dream In thy happy slumbers gleam ! Dream of fairies on the green. In the moonbeam's silver sheen ; Dream of rain-bow-gleaming flowers Rich with scent of Eden bowers ; Dream of some immortal strain Floating o'er the peaceful main, From a fiir-off lovely isle Glowing in its INIaker's smile ; Dream of realms of love and peace, Where the sounds of discord cease ; Dream of angels guarding thee — Dream, too, dearest one, of me.