The birds have ceased their songs,
All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash,
'Mid Pinkie's read more

The birds have ceased their songs,
All save the blackbird, that from yon tall ash,
'Mid Pinkie's 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 read more

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.

O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats read more

O Blackbird! sing me something well:
While all the neighbors shoot thee round,
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground,
Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell.