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Sing to the woods, I go!
The glorious rose may blow.
Swell high, then break, my heart ! The rose, the royal rose, is gone, And I, too, will depart.
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart Both with thy nest upon the dewy
ground ? Thy nest, which thou canst drop into
at will, Those quivering wings composed,
that music still!
“ BIRDIE, Birdie, will you, pet ? Summer is far and far away yet. You'll have silken quilts and a vel
vet bed, And a pillow of satin for your head."
To the last point of vision, and be
yond, Mount, daring warbler! That love
prompted strain, 'Twixt thee and thine a never-failing
bond, Thrills not the less the bosom of the
plain; Yet might'st thou seem, proud privi
lege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring.
Leave to the nightingale her shady
wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the
world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more di
vine; Type of the wise, who soar,
but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.
“I'd rather sleep in the ivy wall: No rain comes through, though I
hear it fall; The sun peeps gay at dawn of day, And I sing, and wing away, away!” “O Birdie, Birdie, will you, pet? Diamond stones and amber and jet We'll string on a necklace fair and fine, To please this pretty bird of mine." “Oh! thanks for diamonds, and
thanks for jet; But here is something daintier yet, A feather necklace, round and round, That I would not sell for a thousand
pound!” “O Birdie, Birdie, won't you, pet ? We'll buy you a dish of silver fret, A golden cup and an ivory seat, And carpets soft beneath your feet." “Can running water be drunk from
gold ? Can a silver dish the forest hold? A rocking twig is the finest chair, And the softest paths lie through the
air: Good-by, good-by, to my lady fair."
TO A SKY-LARK.
LIKE a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.
I must go furnish up
TO THE SKY-LARK.
ETHEREAL minstrel, pilgrim of the
sky! Dost thou despise the earth where
Then up she clambe the clouds
FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE.
“Let's brush loose for any creek,
Mute the listening nations stand
RAMBLING along the marshes,
All the grandmothers about
Then once more I heard them say,
“'Twas our forte in pass for this, Proper sack of sense to borrow, Wii and and bills that clat
ter, And the horizon of To-morrow."
TO A WATERFOWL.
Cannot land and map the stars
WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last
steps of day? Far through their rosy depths dost
“Up, my feathered fowl, all,”. Saith the goose commander, “Brighten your bills, and flirt your
pinions, My toes are nipped, - let us render Ourselves in soft Guatemala, Or suck puddles in Campeachy, Spitzbergen-cake cuts very frosty, And the tipple is not leechy.
Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do
thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson
Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lakc, or marge of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise
There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless
coast, The desert and illimitable air,
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned At that far height the cold, thin
atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome
land, Though the dark night is near.
That rolled the wild, profound, eter
nal bass In nature's anthem, and made mu
sic such As pleased the ear of God! original, Unmarred, unfaded Work of Deity! And unburlesqued by mortal's puny
skill; From age to age enduring, and un
changed, Majestical, inimitable, vast, Loud uttering satire, day and night,
on each Succeeding race, and little pompous
work Of man; unfallen, religious, holy sea! Thou bowedst thy glorious head to
none, fearedst none, Heardst none, to none didst honor,
but to God Thy Maker, only worthy to receive Thy great obeisance.
And soon that toil shall end, Soon shalt thou find a summer home,
and rest, And scream
among thy fellows: reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Where the seaweed makes its bend
ing home, And the sea-birds swim on the crests
so clear, Wave after wave, they are curling
o'er, While the white sand dazzles along the shore.
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness
and ease! Whom slumber soothes not, pleasure
cannot please, Oh! who can tell, save he whose
heart hath tried, And danced in triumph o'er the wa
ters wide, The exulting sense, the pulse's mad
dening play, That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
A WET SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA.
THE CORAL GROVE.
A wer sheet and a flowing sea,
A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail,
And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys,
While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves
Old England on the lee. There's tempest in yon hornèd moon,
And lightning in yon cloud; And hark, the music, mariners!
The wind is wakening loud. The wind is wakening loud, my boys,
The lightning flashes free; The hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea.
DEEP in the wave is a coral grove, Where the purple mullet and goldWhere the sea-flower spreads its
leaves of blue, That never are wet with falling dew, But in bright and changeful beauty
shine Far down in the green and glassy
brine. The floor is of sand, like the moun
tain drift, And the pearl-shells spangle the
flinty snow: From coral rocks the sea-plants lift Their boughs, where the tides and
billows flow; The water is calm and still below, For the winds and the waves are
absent there, And the sands are bright as the stars
that glow In the motionless fields of upper air: There with its waving blade of
green, The sea-flag streams through the
silent water, And the crimson leaf of the dulse is
seen To blush like a banner bathed in
slaughter: There with a light and easy motion The fan coral sweeps through the
clear deep sea; And the yellow and scarlet tufts of
ocean Are bending like corn on the upland
lea; And life, in rare and beautiful forms, Is sporting amid those bowers of