Song Birds.
The blackbird pipes frae the hawthorn tree
His flute-like notes of melody,
That tell me the lang dreary winter is past,
An’ the bonnie simmer days hae come at last.
The mavis singin’ ’neath the plantin’ shade
His blithe bauld sang tae a winsome maid,
Wha coyly yields tae a sang weel sung,
Min’s me o’ the time when the hert was young.
The wee cock-wren sae geuty an’ neat
Sings me a sang sae sweet, sae sweet;
Mem’ry wud haud its pure refrain,
For a towmond may gang ere I hear it again.
The skylark sings tae the angels abune,
An’ tae mortals the notes o’ his sang come doon;
I hear him weel, ‘tho’ I mayna see
His form as he soars in the lift sae hie.
The lintie in the broom, an’ the merlie in the thorn,
Join this happy quartette wi’ their love-sweet song,
Wi’ mony ither sangsters I micht name
That mak’ amang oor moorlan’ their mountain hame.
The Great Creator in His love divine
Makes the earth tae blossom an’ the sun tae shine,
The birdies tae sing, sae charmin’ an’ rare;
Dear friend, your photo I received;
It’s really very good;
So please accept my thanks in rhyme—
You’ve caught me in the mood.
Though the photographic art is great,
And wonderful withal,
No shade can be as good to me
As the original.
Thanks; I will safely keep and
Your beautiful reflection,
And every time I look at it
’Twill bring to recollection
A pleasant summer holiday
’Mid rural scenes so fair;
In ease of mind, with friends so kind,
My memory lingers there.