CCXXV MY DOVES My little doves have left a nest Whose leaves fantastic take their rest The tropic flowers look'd up to it, And glittering eyes that show'd their right And God them taught at every close Of water far, and wind My little doves were borne away My little doves! who lately knew The sky and wave by warmth and blue! And now within the city prison, The stir, without the glow of passion, The gold and silver's dreary clashing With man's metallic heart The wheeled pomp, the pauper tread. Yet still, as on my human hand Their chant is soft as on the nest For love that stirred it in their breast Remains undyingly, And 'neath the city's shade can keep The well of music clear and deep. And love, that keeps the music, fills All echoings from out the hills, All droppings from the skies, All flowings from the wave, and wind, Remember'd in their chant I find. So teach ye me the wisest part, And vocal with such songs as own 'Twas hard to sing by Babel's stream, To me fair memories belong Of scenes that erst did bless; Like types, in purer things than they! I will have hopes that cannot fade, My spirit and my God shall be My sea-ward hill, my boundless sea. CCXXVI TO A SKYLARK Ethereal minstrel, pilgrim of the sky, Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam; CCXXVII TO THE FIRST SWALLOW 'Tis not one blossom makes a spring, Thy twittering voice, thy pinions light, That glance, and glide with fleetest motion, Unwearied, though but yesternight They buoy'd thee o'er the wide-spread ocean,— A welcome promise bring once more My spirit's eye in glimmering shadows;— Till gazing on thee wheeling near, The summer bird, or vernal blossom. The blossom brought a promise sweet, Too aptly?-Nay that word recall: Or mark the swift-wing'd foreigner Again; and check each thought of sadness: All here may fade: it grieves not her : She knows another land of gladness. T. Davis CCXXVIII THE LOSS OF THE FAVOURITE The skylark has perceiv'd his prison door Unclosed; for liberty the captive tries : Puss eagerly hath watch'd him from the floor, And in her grasp he flutters, pants, and dies. Lucy's own puss, and Lucy's own dear bird, Her foster'd favourites both for many a day, That which the tender-hearted girl preferr'd, She, in her fondness, knew not sooth to say. |