 | Birds, Bees and Blossoms |  |
49
THE SKYLARK.
Beautiful bird! thou soarest merrily
On wings which time thy music's silver flow,
Which rolls across the flowery-sprinkled lea,
And echoes o'er the hill's wood-waving brow,
Along the river, that reflects the sky,
And thee, thou warbling speck, deep mirrored from on high.
On wings which time thy music's silver flow,
Which rolls across the flowery-sprinkled lea,
And echoes o'er the hill's wood-waving brow,
Along the river, that reflects the sky,
And thee, thou warbling speck, deep mirrored from on high.
The broad unbounded sky is all thine own,
The silvery-sheeted heaven thy wide domain;
No landmark there, no hand to pull thee down,
Sole monarch of the blue expanding plain.
To thee is airy space far stretching given,
The vast unmeasured floor of the wide wind-swept heaven.
The silvery-sheeted heaven thy wide domain;
No landmark there, no hand to pull thee down,
Sole monarch of the blue expanding plain.
To thee is airy space far stretching given,
The vast unmeasured floor of the wide wind-swept heaven.
50
Thou lovest to sing alone above the dews,
Leaving the nightingale to cheer the night,
When rides the moon, chasing the shadowy hues
From the dark trees; thou lovest best the light,
To quit the daisies and be with the sun,
Looking on hill and dale, where rippling rivers run.
Leaving the nightingale to cheer the night,
When rides the moon, chasing the shadowy hues
From the dark trees; thou lovest best the light,
To quit the daisies and be with the sun,
Looking on hill and dale, where rippling rivers run.
Now thou hast vanished, singing from my sight;
So must this earth be lost to eyes of thine.
Around thee is illimitable light;
Thou gazest down, and all appears to shine
Bright as above. Thine is a glorious way,
Pavilioned all around with golden-spreading day.
So must this earth be lost to eyes of thine.
Around thee is illimitable light;
Thou gazest down, and all appears to shine
Bright as above. Thine is a glorious way,
Pavilioned all around with golden-spreading day.
And thou hast gone, perchance, to catch the sound
Of angel voices, heard far up the sky;
And to thy mate, low nestling on the ground,
Wilt teach the songs which thou brought'st from on high;
Then both ascend and carol o'er the bowers,
Where the wild roses wave, and the bees sip the flowers.
Of angel voices, heard far up the sky;
And to thy mate, low nestling on the ground,
Wilt teach the songs which thou brought'st from on high;
Then both ascend and carol o'er the bowers,
Where the wild roses wave, and the bees sip the flowers.
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