WHILE moonlight, silvering all the walls,
Through every mouldering crevice falls,
(Tipping with white his powdery plume,
As shades or shifts the changing gloom,)
The Owl that, watching in the barn,
Sees the mouse creeping in the corn,
As if he slept,-until he spies
The little beast within his stretch,-
Then starts, and seizes on the wretch.
Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care,
Thy tuneful notes will hush despair;
Thy plaintive warblings, void of art,
Thrill sweetly through my aching heart.
Now choose thy mate, and fondly love,
And all the thrilling transport prove,
While I a love-lorn exile live,
Nor transport, nor receive nor give.
For thee is laughing Nature gay,
For thee she pours the vernal day;
For me in vain is Nature drest,
While joy is stranger to my breast!
These sweet emotions all enjoy;
Let love and song thy hours employ!
Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care,
Thy tuneful notes will hush despair.
A THOUSAND miles from land are we,
Tossing about on the roaring sea;
From billow to bounding billow cast,
Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast:
The sails are scatter'd abroad, like weeds,
The strong masts shake, like quivering reeds,
The mighty cables, and iron chains,
The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,
They strain, and they crack, and hearts like stone, Their natural hard, proud strength disown.
Up and down! up and down!
From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,
And, amidst the flashing and feathery foam,
The Stormy Petrel finds a home ;—
A home, if such a place may be,
For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air;
And only seeketh her rocky lair
and to teach them to spring
At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!
Over the deep! over the deep!
Where the whale, and the shark, and the swordfish sleep,
Outflying the blast, and the driving rain,
The Petrel telleth her tale in vain ;
For the mariner curseth the warning bird,
Who bringeth him news of the storm unheard!
Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still:
Yet he ne'er falters :-Lo, Petrel! spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!
WITHIN her gilded cage confined,
I saw a dazzling belle,
A Parrot of that famous kind,
Whose name was "Nonpareil."
Like beads of glossy jet her eyes;
And, smooth'd by Nature's skill,
With pearl or gleaming agate vies
Her finely-curvéd bill.
Her plumy mantle's living hues,
In mass opposed to mass,
Outshine the splendour that imbues
The robes of pictured glass.
And, sooth to say, an apter mate
Did never tempt the choice
Of feathered thing, most delicate
In figure and in voice.
But, exiled from Australian bowers,
And singleness her lot,
She trills her song with tutor❜d powers,
Or mocks each casual note.
No more of pity for regrets
With which she may have striven;
But now in wantonness she frets,
Or spite, if cause be given.
Arch, volatile, a sportive bird,
By social glee inspired;
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