The Redbird
(Cardinal Grosbeck)
What wealth is in your ruddy throat,
O bugler of the scarlet coat!
As rollicking and bold as erst,
I hear the silver clarion-burst
With which you herald in the Spring
To tourney with the Winter-king,
Whose gauntlet falls with ringing sound
Of challenge on the frosty ground.
About the breezy battle-plain,
“Right here! Right here!” you cry, amain.
The Spring, a lusty, green-clad knight,
With rondels pricking into flight,
Still bears his flower-wreathed lance in rest
To pierce his foeman's ice-mailed breast:
And when old Winter's jewelled sword
Lies shattered on the trampled sward,
And when you see the foeman fall,
How blithe shall ring your bugle-call
Of “Io! Io! Victory!
Now all the serf-bound streams are free!”
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