Alexander Wilson

Alexander Wilson Poems

Alexander Wilson Biography

Alexander Wilson (July 6, 1766 – August 23, 1813) was a Scottish-American poet, ornithologist, naturalist, and illustrator. Identified by George Ord as the "Father of American Ornithology," Wilson is now regarded as the greatest American ornithologist before Audubon. Several species of bird are named after Wilson, including the Wilson's storm-petrel, Wilson's plover, Wilson's phalarope, Wilson's snipe, and Wilson's warbler. The now obsolete warbler genus Wilsonia was named for him by Charles Lucien Bonaparte. The Wilson Journal of Ornithology and the Wilson Ornithological Society also bear his name. Wilson was born in Paisley, Scotland. In 1779 he was apprenticed as a weaver. Inspired by the dialect verse of Robert Burns, who was only seven years older, Wilson soon became seriously interested in poetry, writing ballads, pastoral pieces, and satirical commentary on the conditions of weavers in the mills. The writing of a poem of severe personal satire against a mill owner, resulted in his arrest. He was sentenced to burn the work in public and imprisoned. After his release, he emigrated to America. Wilson and his nephew left Scotland for America in May 1794. Opportunities were scarce for weavers, and Wilson turned to teaching in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, eventually settling into a position at Gray's Ferry, Pennsylvania and taking up residence in nearby Kingsessing. Here Wilson met the famous naturalist William Bartram, who encouraged Wilson's interest in ornithology and painting. Resolving to publish a collection of illustrations of all the birds of North America, Wilson traveled widely, collecting, painting, and securing subscriptions for his work, the nine-volume American Ornithology (1808–1814). Of the 268 species of birds illustrated there, 26 had not previously been described. Wilson died during the preparation of the ninth volume, which was completed and published by George Ord. Wilson is buried in Gloria Dei Church cemetery in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. George Ord, Wilson's friend, patron, and continuator of his work, is buried in the adjacent plot. In Paisley, a memorial (on the banks of River Cart at the Hammills rapids/waterfall) and a statue (on the grounds of Paisley Abbey) commemorate Wilson's connection to that city. The memorial is inscribed "Remember Alexander Wilson 1766-1813. Here was his boyhood playground.")

The Best Poem Of 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;
When red glow the maples, so fresh and so pleasing,
Oh then comes the blue-bird, the herald of spring!
And hails with his warblings the charms of the season.

Then loud-piping frogs make the marshes to ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine is the weather;
The blue woodland flowers just beginning to spring,
And spicewood and sassafras budding together:
Oh then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair!
Your walks border up; sow and plant at your leisure;
The blue-bird will chant from his box such an air
That all your hard toils will seem truly a pleasure.

He flits through the orchards, he visits each tree,
The red-flowering peach and the apple's sweet blossoms;
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be,
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their bosoms;
He drags the vile grub from the corn he devours,
The worm from their webs where they riot and welter;
His song and his services freely are ours,
And all that he asks is in summer a shelter.

The ploughman is pleased when he gleans in his train,
Now searching the furrows, now mounting to cheer him;
The gardener delights in his sweet simple strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to hear him;
The slow-lingering schoolboys forget they'll be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before 'em
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him.

When all the gay scenes of the summer are o'er,
And autumn slow enters so silent and sallow,
And millions of warblers, that charmed us before,
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking swallow,
The blue-bird forsaken, yet true to his home,
Still lingers, and looks for a milder tomorrow,
Till, forced by the horrors of winter to roam,
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.

While spring's lovely season, serene, dewy, warm,
The green face of earth, and the pure blue of heaven,
Or love's native music, have influence to charm,
Or sympathy's glow to our feelings is given,
Still dear to each bosom the blue-bird shall be;
His voice like the thrillings of hope is a treasure;
For, through bleakest storms if a calm he but see,
He comes to remind us of sunshine and pleasure!

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