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TO A CITY PIGEON.
Stoop to my window, thou beautiful Dove !
And my joy is high
Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves,
How canst thou bear
Thou alone of the feather'd race
Thou alone, with a wing to flee,
And the “gentle Dove"
A holy gift is thine, sweet bird !
And thy even wings
It is no light chance: thou art set apart,
I sometimes dream
Come! then, ever, when daylight leaves
I hear and see
BIRDS, joyous birds of the wand'ring wing! Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring ? -“We come from the shores of the green old
Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile; From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, From the myrrh-trees of glowing Araby.
“ We have swept o'er cities, in song renown'dSilent they lie, with the deserts round ! We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath
roll’d All dark with the warrior blood of old ; And each worn wing hath regain'd its home, Under peasant's roof-tree, or monarch's dome.”
And what have
found in the monarch's dome, Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam ?
-“We have found a change, we have found a
pall, And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, And a mark on the floor, as of life-drops spiltNought looks the same, save the nest we built !”
Oh, joyous birds, it hath still been so !
-“ A change we have found there, and many a
change! Faces and footsteps, and all things strange! Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, And the young that were have a brow of care; And the place is hush'd where the children play'dNought looks the same, save the nest we made !”
Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth,
VARIED as his plumes, and as his plumes