Page:Poems for the Sea.djvu/81

Rh Pours the thrush his carol fair? Glides the crimson oriole there? Have ye o'er their callow young Still your kind protection flung? Blessings on ye! Dews and rain Fill with sap each healthful vein; Blessings on ye! Wear serene Nature's coronal of green, And no woodman's savage blade Dare your birthright to invade.

Roofs! that in the vista rise, Rude, or towering toward the skies, Not by wealth or taste alone Are your innate treasures shown, Tho', perchance, your hearth-stones show Signs of penury and woe, Yet where'er with peaceful sigh Sits the mother patiently, Plying still her needle's care For the child that slumbers there. Wheresoe'er in cottage low Rocks the cradle to and fro,