Tuesday, August 6, 2013

"Bird Shooting," a poem by Thomas Green Fessenden


by T.G. Fessenden

The plumy warblers of the grove
From spray to blossom roving,
Chant choral symphonies, above
The quavers of Beethoven.

These are the Farmer's little friends,
And foes to his annoyers;
The petty means to potent ends,
As worm and bug destroyers.

But oft these prettiest of all
The works of their Creator,
Are prematurely doomed to fall
By Man, the Desolator!

Through tangled thickets Popgun steals
To their extermination;
Ah! should he feel each death he deals,
'T were just retaliation!

Reader, it seemeth unto me,
If you'll excuse a pun, Sir,
No blunderbuss should ever be
Allow'd to use a gun, Sir.

New England Farmer. July 31, 1829

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