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No. 19 - Song - Hélène

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Hélène: When all the Eastern sky's a-blush
With rosy flush of day new-born,
The caroll'd matins of the thrush
Beneath my window greet the morn;
With merry heart he meets the day
While yet the day is scarce begun.
I hear his rhythmic roundelay
Pour'd forth in welcome to the sun.
And oh! but a merry little bird is he
As he swings on his perch in the apple tree.
"Good-day! Good-day!" he seems to say,
Away with all repining!
Away with all repining!
The skies are blue and pearls of dew
On ev'ry blade are shining,
are shining for you.
   
  But when the sun is overlaid
With angry clouds and wrapp'd in mist,
His song he warbles undismayed,
This cheery little optimist,
Whate'er the ills that be in store
With gladsome pips he'll still attest
That blackest hours are soonest o'er
And all that is is for the best.
And oh! but a merry little bird is he
As he swings on his perch in the apple tree.
"Good-day! Good-day!" he seems to say,
Away with all repining!
Away with all repining!
The passing show'r last but an hour,
The sun will soon be shining,
be shining for you.
   
  When o'er the sunset's crimson glow
Pale stars gleam faint in opal skies,
He sings "farewell" and clear and low
The last sweet cadence floats and dies,
Blithe little bird so may we all
Meet all the cares that round us throng,
And when the evening shadows fall
Pour out with him our evensong.
For oh! but a merry little bird is he
Though he flies to his nest in the apple tree.
"Good-night!" he seems to say, "Goodnight!"
A truce to ev'ry trouble!
A truce to ev'ry trouble!
Dull care may threat but bravely met
'Twill prove a bursting bubble,
A bubble Goodnight!
   
  Ah!
Good night!

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