O Blackbird! sing me something well: — Blackbirds

"The birds have ceased their songs, All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash, Mid Pinkies greenery, from his mellow throat, In adoration of the setting sun, Chants forth his evening hymn."

"A slender young Blackbird built in a thorn-tree: A spruce little fellow as ever could be; His bill was so yellow, his feathers so black, So long was his tail, and so glossy his back, That good Mrs. B., who sat hatching her eggs, And only just left them to stretch her poor legs, And pick for a minute the worm she preferred, Thought there never was seen such a beautiful bird."

"Golden Bill! Golden Bill! Lo, the peep of day; All the air is cool and still. From the elm-tree on the hill, Chant away: * * * * * Let thy loud and welcome lay Pour alway Few notes but strong."