Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE TO A BLACKBIRD, by MARCUS S. C. RICKARDS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ODE TO A BLACKBIRD, by                    
First Line: Troll out thy passion from yon vantage spray
Last Line: Resounding thro' the echoing arbours of my brain!
Subject(s): Blackbirds; Earth; Evil; Heaven; World; Paradise


TROLL out thy passion from yon vantage spray
The while I gaze on thee, and guess its theme,
Thou Milton among minstrels, whose rich lay
Bespeaks high vision, and unearthly dream!
With eyes uncurtained, thou art blind as he
To all but Heaven, tho' a faery world
Outstretched beneath thee spreads her myriad Iures.
Throned on this spiring tree
With head and form elate, and pinions furled,
Thou scornest all response to her gay overtures.

Some Paradise thou singest -- is it lost
That this rare pathos steeps thy lofty strain?
Did ever dawn a day when to thy cost
The pride of being led thee to disdain
A nobler destiny, or break some law
Of thy bird nature? or dost thou bewail
A ravaged Eden, a sweet sylvan nest
Spoiled by the felon paw
Of predatory weasel, or perchance, too frail
For vernal tempests, or too plain to schoolboy quest?

Or maybe 'tis for us this plaintive wealth --
That we in wistful audience may hark back
To happier days of innocence and health:
Angel of sadness! robed in tender black
To chant a requiem o'er buried joys,
I hear thee never but I dream of bowers
Dismantled and forlorn, of beauty fled,
Of love that sin destroys,
Of gardens serpent haunted, fading flowers,
And outcast feet in funeral march toward the dead.

And yet that music! Paradise regained
Pulses thro' all; and fitly does the trill
That comforts thee, and keeps our heart enchained
With sunny hope, rise from a golden bill,
A tongue of flame, so eloquent that thou
To melancholy must have bid adieu:
Ay, Earth holds joy enough to make thee glad --
A mate, perchance, with vow
Inviolate as thine -- none, none could woo
With such delicious breath, who lingers lone and sad.

Nor could thine audience nurse a woeful Past
A gloomy Present: who can fail to feel
That Evil's haunting curse shall never last --
That strenuous Life shall break the mortal seal?
Our wintry world shall flame to Love's embrace
As Earth now flushes to the kiss of Spring!
Thou high Evangelist whose mellow tale
Thus charms my listening Race!
No loftier paean did rapt Milton sing
Of Grace, our sad apostacy to countervail.

So I, who first grew pensive, leave thee glad,
Thanks to thy homoeopathy -- that voice
Which thro' its tinctured sadness, heals the sad.
Its haunting cadence lingers, "Be thy choice,"
It pleads, "not vain regrets, but Heaven's new boon!"
Ah! what has scared thee? flitting down to Earth
All seems the poorer for thy hushed refrain:
Yet shall that silenced tune
Survive immortal, as befits its worth,
Resounding thro' the echoing arbours of my brain!





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