Pomfret VT Historical Society

On May 2, 1842, Hosea Doton of Pomfret began teaching a new term in Woodstock and he wrote in his diary that his friend and neighbor Norman W. Bridge was expected among the scholars. Norman was nineteen at the time and had struggled to attend school due to medical problems. Confined to bed, Norman spent much of his time reading and writing.

Now Norman was determined to prepare for college and on May 18, 1842, he appeared at Hosea’s school. Hosea wrote in his diary that he and Norman called on each other regularly through the summer and fall. In October, Hosea tutored Norman in Geometry and in 1843 he called on Norman frequently on Sundays.

In 1843, Norman enrolled at Norwich University and attended until his condition worsened in 1845. Hosea continued to visit Norman, encouraged him to write, and helped him prepare poems for publication. In April 1854, one of these poems, “The Song-Birds of Spring,” appeared in a magazine called Godey’s Lady’s Book.

More of Norman’s poems appeared in the same publication including “Misguided Love and Genius” in 1858 and three more poems, “Gathered Flowers,” “the Sweet and Lonely Glen,” and “The Thrush” in 1859. On September 3, 1860, Norman Bridge died at age thirty-eight and was buried in the Cushing Cemetery at the foot of Cloudland Road.

The Song-Birds of Spring
By Norman W. Bridge
Godey’s Lady’s Book, April, 1854

From out the airy balcony
Of many a sylvan cot and dome,
Is poured soul-melting minstrelsy,
That cheers my lonely heart and home.
Around each warbler’s chosen haunt
Are heard sweet notes of joy and praise;
From fruit-trees comes the robin’s chant,
And from each bush the sparrow’s lays.
Amid the poplar’s trembling lyre,
That o’er the lawn its shadow throws,
Rich warblings of a linnet-choir
My soul with melody o’erflows;
While from a willow waving near,
And where the vine its trellis girds,
Steals softly o’er the tuneful ear
The symphony of yellow-birds.
Upon the elm-tree’s lofty bough
The oriole serenely sings,
While from a puerile branch below
His loved one in her castle swings:
And in the flower-enamelled leas,
Where alders grace the streamlet’s brink,
I hear the charming melodies
Of many a sweet-voiced bobolink.
And from yon wildwood’s emerald crown
Come oft, in notes of heavenly tone,
The hymns of thrushes, “wood,” and “brown,”
And warbling throats to me unknown.
Bird-notes are all so rich and clear,
It seems as though their vocal powers
Were borrowed from some higher sphere
Than this discordant world of ours.
Nor is their magic gift of song
The only charm they o’er me throw;
They ne’er the poor and helpless wrong,
Nor swell the tide of human woe.
Their voice is ne’er with slander fraught,
Or friendships in misfortune change,
Nor speech or deed betrayeth aught
Of av’rice, hatred, and revenge.
They seek not, with malicious tongue,
To stir the bosom with mistrust,
By telling what ‘s been said and sung,
How all our faults have been discussed;
Till Jealousy within awakes,
And Love with doubt is much annoyed,
The golden clasp of Friendship breaks,
And peace of families destroyed.
No rival’s fame they derogate,
A brother falsely charge with sin,
Hoping thereby to elevate
Their name above more worthy kin:
They seem not e’er to envy those
Whose brilliant plumes their own outshine,
Or to rejoice at others’ woes
Whose powers of song are more divine.
Nor have their hearts the cruel pride
O’er humbler garbs and gifts to sneer;
The lame, their hapless fate deride,
Or o’er the weak to domineer.
No bitter taunt, unfeeling jest,
The boast of pow’r, wealth, rank, or birth,
E’er flow from soaring warbler’s breast,
To wound the heart of lowly worth.
Nor do they play the hypocrite
With faithful, fond, confiding friends,
Looks, manners, language counterfeit,
To gain ignobly selfish ends.
No word or act their aim belies,
Or yield they e’er to sin’s control,
And sell, for worldly merchandise,
The jewels of a virtuous soul.