The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe hermit thrushThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The hermit thrushAuthor: F. Schuyler MathewsRelease date: February 10, 2023 [eBook #70006]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: United States: L Prang & Co, 1896Credits: Steve Mattern, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERMIT THRUSH ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: The hermit thrushAuthor: F. Schuyler MathewsRelease date: February 10, 2023 [eBook #70006]Language: EnglishOriginal publication: United States: L Prang & Co, 1896Credits: Steve Mattern, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
Title: The hermit thrush
Author: F. Schuyler Mathews
Author: F. Schuyler Mathews
Release date: February 10, 2023 [eBook #70006]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: L Prang & Co, 1896
Credits: Steve Mattern, Barry Abrahamsen, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HERMIT THRUSH ***
The Hermit Thrush
BYF· Schuyler MathewsL·PRANG·&·Co:Boston:
BYF· Schuyler MathewsL·PRANG·&·Co:Boston:
BY
F· Schuyler Mathews
L·PRANG·&·Co:
Boston:
The Hermit Thrush
The Hermit Thrush
The Hermit Thrush
The sweet fresh air of the new springtimeBreathes o’er the woods where the blue hills climbAloft from a belt of spruce and pineThat hides their feet in a dark green line.On the edge of the wood where the white birch trees
The sweet fresh air of the new springtimeBreathes o’er the woods where the blue hills climbAloft from a belt of spruce and pineThat hides their feet in a dark green line.On the edge of the wood where the white birch trees
The sweet fresh air of the new springtimeBreathes o’er the woods where the blue hills climbAloft from a belt of spruce and pineThat hides their feet in a dark green line.On the edge of the wood where the white birch trees
The sweet fresh air of the new springtime
Breathes o’er the woods where the blue hills climb
Aloft from a belt of spruce and pine
That hides their feet in a dark green line.
On the edge of the wood where the white birch trees
WHERE THE BLUE HILLS CLIMBALOFT FROM A BELT OF SPRUCE AND PINE
WHERE THE BLUE HILLS CLIMBALOFT FROM A BELT OF SPRUCE AND PINE
WHERE THE BLUE HILLS CLIMBALOFT FROM A BELT OF SPRUCE AND PINE
Nod and bend in the passing breeze,A hermit lives who never is seenNearer the meadow’s rolling greenThan the pasture bars beside the hill,Where the road is lonely, dark, and still,And scarcely anyone passes byBut the boy and cows, and squirrels shy.This hermit is brown, and small in size,And hides away from curious eyes;He wears no cowl and studies no book,
Nod and bend in the passing breeze,A hermit lives who never is seenNearer the meadow’s rolling greenThan the pasture bars beside the hill,Where the road is lonely, dark, and still,And scarcely anyone passes byBut the boy and cows, and squirrels shy.This hermit is brown, and small in size,And hides away from curious eyes;He wears no cowl and studies no book,
Nod and bend in the passing breeze,A hermit lives who never is seenNearer the meadow’s rolling greenThan the pasture bars beside the hill,Where the road is lonely, dark, and still,And scarcely anyone passes byBut the boy and cows, and squirrels shy.This hermit is brown, and small in size,And hides away from curious eyes;He wears no cowl and studies no book,
Nod and bend in the passing breeze,
A hermit lives who never is seen
Nearer the meadow’s rolling green
Than the pasture bars beside the hill,
Where the road is lonely, dark, and still,
And scarcely anyone passes by
But the boy and cows, and squirrels shy.
This hermit is brown, and small in size,
And hides away from curious eyes;
He wears no cowl and studies no book,
THE PASTURE BARSBESIDE THE HILL
THE PASTURE BARSBESIDE THE HILL
THE PASTURE BARSBESIDE THE HILL
Nor sits in a cave or sheltered nook;But up in the top of the tallest treeAt the edge of the wood, alone sits he,And sings his song in a wild sweet way,Of the distant world so blithe and gay;How he retired from its youthful folly—And here there’s a touch of melancholyIn cadence soft; and the song’s complete,With such a wealth of melody sweetAs never the organ’s pipe could blow,
Nor sits in a cave or sheltered nook;But up in the top of the tallest treeAt the edge of the wood, alone sits he,And sings his song in a wild sweet way,Of the distant world so blithe and gay;How he retired from its youthful folly—And here there’s a touch of melancholyIn cadence soft; and the song’s complete,With such a wealth of melody sweetAs never the organ’s pipe could blow,
Nor sits in a cave or sheltered nook;But up in the top of the tallest treeAt the edge of the wood, alone sits he,And sings his song in a wild sweet way,Of the distant world so blithe and gay;How he retired from its youthful folly—And here there’s a touch of melancholyIn cadence soft; and the song’s complete,With such a wealth of melody sweetAs never the organ’s pipe could blow,
Nor sits in a cave or sheltered nook;
But up in the top of the tallest tree
At the edge of the wood, alone sits he,
And sings his song in a wild sweet way,
Of the distant world so blithe and gay;
How he retired from its youthful folly—
And here there’s a touch of melancholy
In cadence soft; and the song’s complete,
With such a wealth of melody sweet
As never the organ’s pipe could blow,
Or ever musician could think or know.Sometimes he sits in the gloaming still,On the leaning birch beside the millAnd the old mill’s shaky, clumsy wheel,Worn out with the work of grinding meal,Frets and fusses and sputters away,And beats the water to foam and spray;Its broken buckets dipping alongIn ill marked time to the thrush’s song.Never was music softer nor tune
Or ever musician could think or know.Sometimes he sits in the gloaming still,On the leaning birch beside the millAnd the old mill’s shaky, clumsy wheel,Worn out with the work of grinding meal,Frets and fusses and sputters away,And beats the water to foam and spray;Its broken buckets dipping alongIn ill marked time to the thrush’s song.Never was music softer nor tune
Or ever musician could think or know.Sometimes he sits in the gloaming still,On the leaning birch beside the millAnd the old mill’s shaky, clumsy wheel,Worn out with the work of grinding meal,Frets and fusses and sputters away,And beats the water to foam and spray;Its broken buckets dipping alongIn ill marked time to the thrush’s song.Never was music softer nor tune
Or ever musician could think or know.
Sometimes he sits in the gloaming still,
On the leaning birch beside the mill
And the old mill’s shaky, clumsy wheel,
Worn out with the work of grinding meal,
Frets and fusses and sputters away,
And beats the water to foam and spray;
Its broken buckets dipping along
In ill marked time to the thrush’s song.
Never was music softer nor tune
SOMETIMES HE SITS IN THE GLOAMING STILLON THE LEANING BIRCH BESIDE THE MILL:
SOMETIMES HE SITS IN THE GLOAMING STILLON THE LEANING BIRCH BESIDE THE MILL:
SOMETIMES HE SITS IN THE GLOAMING STILLON THE LEANING BIRCH BESIDE THE MILL:
Sweeter than his in the afternoonWhen the lowering sun shines slanting acrossThe rugged old pines, and the rocks, and moss.Should you wish to hear this hermit thrush sing,And his song in the woods and welkin ring,Then come where the blue notch mountains riseFar up in the north and pierce the skies;Where Kinsman’s dome stands full and round,And Lafayette’s pyramid peak is found;Where Pemigewasset’s silvery stream
Sweeter than his in the afternoonWhen the lowering sun shines slanting acrossThe rugged old pines, and the rocks, and moss.Should you wish to hear this hermit thrush sing,And his song in the woods and welkin ring,Then come where the blue notch mountains riseFar up in the north and pierce the skies;Where Kinsman’s dome stands full and round,And Lafayette’s pyramid peak is found;Where Pemigewasset’s silvery stream
Sweeter than his in the afternoonWhen the lowering sun shines slanting acrossThe rugged old pines, and the rocks, and moss.Should you wish to hear this hermit thrush sing,And his song in the woods and welkin ring,Then come where the blue notch mountains riseFar up in the north and pierce the skies;Where Kinsman’s dome stands full and round,And Lafayette’s pyramid peak is found;Where Pemigewasset’s silvery stream
Sweeter than his in the afternoon
When the lowering sun shines slanting across
The rugged old pines, and the rocks, and moss.
Should you wish to hear this hermit thrush sing,
And his song in the woods and welkin ring,
Then come where the blue notch mountains rise
Far up in the north and pierce the skies;
Where Kinsman’s dome stands full and round,
And Lafayette’s pyramid peak is found;
Where Pemigewasset’s silvery stream
THE LOWERING SUNSHINES SLANTING ACROSS
THE LOWERING SUNSHINES SLANTING ACROSS
THE LOWERING SUNSHINES SLANTING ACROSS
Winds through the valley with glint and gleam;There you will hear the heaven-born noteSwell from the thrush’s slender throat,And listening nature will breathless lie,To hear the sweetest song of the sky!
Winds through the valley with glint and gleam;There you will hear the heaven-born noteSwell from the thrush’s slender throat,And listening nature will breathless lie,To hear the sweetest song of the sky!
Winds through the valley with glint and gleam;There you will hear the heaven-born noteSwell from the thrush’s slender throat,And listening nature will breathless lie,To hear the sweetest song of the sky!
Winds through the valley with glint and gleam;
There you will hear the heaven-born note
Swell from the thrush’s slender throat,
And listening nature will breathless lie,
To hear the sweetest song of the sky!
COME GENTLE SPRING
COME GENTLE SPRING
COME GENTLE SPRING