Poems and Essays

by Joseph Howe

TO THE LINNET.
Oh! fear me not, sweet little Bird, Nor quit the bough for me, But let your evening song be heard Of artless minstrelsy. [Page 158] Think not I wish to do you harm	5
Or drive you from the spray, In hopes your song my thoughts may charm I’m listening to your lay. Oh! sing the saddest, wildest strain You’ve e’er been taught by grief,	10
And chaunt it o’er and o’er again ’Twill give my soul relief. If you have watched a Parent dear Whose life was on the wane, The mournful song pray let me hear,	15
You sang to soothe his pain. If you have seen his eyelids close Without the power to save, Warble the lay, ’twill bring repose, You sang beside his grave.	20
How oft by yonder aged tree, My Father at my side, I’ve listen’d many an hour to thee At silent eventide. For then, the merriest roundelay	25
You sang on summer eve Was welcome, to a heart so gay It knew no cause to grieve. E’en yet your simple strain I love Altho’ by care oppress’d, [Page 159]	30
To hear thee warbling as I rove Relieves my aching breast. Then fear me not, sweet little Bird Nor quit the bough for me, But let your evening song be heard	35
Of artless minstrelsy. [Page 160]