Alexander Wilson

  • The Blue-Bird

    When winter’s cold tempests and snows are no more,
      Green meadows and brown-furrowed fields reappearing,
    The fishermen hauling their shad to the shore,
      And cloud-cleaving geese to the Lakes are a-steering;
    When first the lone butterfly flits on the wing;...

  • The Fisherman's Hymn

    The osprey sails above the sound,
      The geese are gone, the gulls are flying;
    The herring shoals swarm thick around,
      The nets are launched, the boats are plying;
        Yo ho, my hearts! let ’s seek the deep,
          Raise high the song, and cheerily wish her...