Our Native Birds

Alone I sit at eventide;         The twilight glory pales,     And o'er the meadows far and wide         I hear the bobolinks -         (We have no nightingales!)     Song-sparrows warble on the tree,         I hear the purling brook,     And from the old manse on the lea         Flies slow the cawing crow -         (In England 'twere a rook!)     The last faint golden beams of day         Still glow on cottage panes,     And on their lingering homeward way         Walk weary laboring men -         (Alas! we have no swains!)     From farmyards, down fair rural glades         Come sounds of tinkling bells,     And songs of merry brown milkmaids         Sweeter than catbird's strains -         (I should say Philomel's!)     I could sit here till morning came,         All through the night hours dark,     Until I saw the sun's bright flame         And heard the oriole -         (Alas! we have no lark!)     We have no leas, no larks, no rooks,         No swains, no nightingales,     No singing milkmaids (save in books)         The poet does his best: -         It is the rhyme that fails.                  Nathan Haskell Dole.