 | Verses from The island book |  |
168
THE STORM PETREL.
Bird of untiring wing,
Whose home is the wave's crest,
When clouds and darkness fling
Their curtains o'er the deep,
It cradles thy light sleep
Upon its heaving breast.
Whose home is the wave's crest,
When clouds and darkness fling
Their curtains o'er the deep,
It cradles thy light sleep
Upon its heaving breast.
With morning's early light,
Far o'er the long low wave
Begins thy wandering flight;
All day thy pinions sweep
Above the unfathomed deep,
Thy heritage and grave.
Far o'er the long low wave
Begins thy wandering flight;
All day thy pinions sweep
Above the unfathomed deep,
Thy heritage and grave.
Dark harbinger of storm!
Amidst the roaring surge
Is seen thy shadowy form,
As phantom-like it glides
Far down their caverned sides,
Or scales the crested verge.
Amidst the roaring surge
Is seen thy shadowy form,
As phantom-like it glides
Far down their caverned sides,
Or scales the crested verge.
169
Along their foaming track,
When ships, by tempest tossed,
Reel madly through the rack,
And stout hearts quail with fear,
Then thou art hovering near,
“Lone wandering, but not lost.”
When ships, by tempest tossed,
Reel madly through the rack,
And stout hearts quail with fear,
Then thou art hovering near,
“Lone wandering, but not lost.”
| Verses from The island book | |