E CCXXVI TO A SKYLARK THEREAL minstrel, pilgrim of the sky, Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? Or, while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; T CCXXVII TO THE FIRST SWALLOW IS not one blossom makes a spring, Nor yet one swallow makes a summer; But a sweet promise both may bring, And thine is sweet, thou glad new comer ! Thy twittering voice, thy pinions light, They buoyed 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 blossom brought a promise sweet, And I will joy, though pinions fleet Too aptly? Nay, that word recall : Deem rather it were cause for weeping, If pleasant summer days were all, And never came a day of reaping. Or mark the swift-winged foreigner Again; and check each thought of sadness: All here may fade; it grieves not her: She knows another land of gladness. T. Davis TH CCXXVIII THE LOSS OF THE FAVORITE 'HE skylark has perceived his prison door Unclosed; for liberty the captive tries: Puss eagerly hath watched him from the floor, And in her grasp he flutters, pants, and dies. Lucy's own puss, and Lucy's own dear bird, Her fostered favorites both for many a day, That which the tender-hearted girl preferred, She, in her fondness, knew not sooth to say. For if the skylark's pipe were shrill and strong, Both knew her voice, and each alike would seek Her eye, her smile, her fondling touch to gain; How faintly then may words her sorrow speak, When by the one she sees the other slain. Come, Lucy, let me dry those tearful eyes ; I will not warn thee not to set thine heart It is our nature's strong necessity, And this the soul's unerring instincts tell : Therefore I say, let us love worthily, Dear child, and then we cannot love too well. Better it is all losses to deplore Which dutiful affection can sustain, Than that the heart should, in its inmost core, This love which thou hast lavished, and the woe Which makes thy lip now quiver with distress, Are but a vent, an innocent o'erflow, From the deep springs of female tenderness. And something I would teach thee from the grief I ask not whither is the spirit flown That lit the eye which there in death is sealed; Our Father hath not made that mystery known; Needless the knowledge, therefore not revealed. But didst thou know in sure and sacred truth, Lacy, if then the power to thee were given In that cold form its life to re-engage, Wouldst thou call back the warbler from its Heaven, To be again the tenant of a cage? Only that thou might'st cherish it again, O no, thou say'st: O, surely not, not so, I read the answer which those looks express: For pere and true affection, well I know, Leaves in the heart no room for selfishness. Such love of all our virtues is the gem ; We bring with us th’immortal seed at birth : Of Heaven it is, and heavenly; woe to them Who make it wholly earthly, and of earth ! What we love perfectly, for its own sake We love and not our own, being ready thus O Lucy, treasure up that pious thought! It hath a balm for sorrow's deadliest darts ; If grief should reach thee in thy heart of hearts. |