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191
THE DOVE ON THE CHIMNEY.
I saw a white dove on a black chimney-top,
And I said, “Little dove, shouldst thou happen to drop,
By carelessly setting thine innocent foot,
Adown the dark region of smoke and of soot,
In what an unseemly and pitiful plight
Would that snowy bosom return to the light!”
And I said, “Little dove, shouldst thou happen to drop,
By carelessly setting thine innocent foot,
Adown the dark region of smoke and of soot,
In what an unseemly and pitiful plight
Would that snowy bosom return to the light!”
“O, fear not for me!” said the beautiful dove;
“The black, narrow pit I am walking above
Shall not have my bosom to ruffle and soil,
Nor these silver pinions to prison and foil!
For, while round its mouth my small feet pad about,
I've wings, should I slip, and can soon spread them out.
“The black, narrow pit I am walking above
Shall not have my bosom to ruffle and soil,
Nor these silver pinions to prison and foil!
For, while round its mouth my small feet pad about,
I've wings, should I slip, and can soon spread them out.
“I sometimes, you know, take a walk in the street,
To spy out and pick little morsels to eat;
And oft reconnoitre your door-yard with care,
While close to the ground comes my breast smooth and fair.
When I rise, then, and light by your clear window-pane,
Does e'er my white plumage come rough, or with stain?”
To spy out and pick little morsels to eat;
And oft reconnoitre your door-yard with care,
While close to the ground comes my breast smooth and fair.
When I rise, then, and light by your clear window-pane,
Does e'er my white plumage come rough, or with stain?”
Ah, no!” I replied, “and thy virtue innate
Preserves thee without in so comely a state.
An eye ever watchful, thy thoughts on alert,
This keep thy pure vesture unsullied, unhurt;
As pureness of soul is the amulet sure,
Man's life, as a robe, keeping comely and pure.”
Preserves thee without in so comely a state.
An eye ever watchful, thy thoughts on alert,
This keep thy pure vesture unsullied, unhurt;
As pureness of soul is the amulet sure,
Man's life, as a robe, keeping comely and pure.”
192
“It still,” said the bright little dove, “would not do
For our careless ways to be copied by you.
A spot on my plumes air and rain will efface;
A feather deranged my own beak can replace:
While man, does he get by one slip but a stain,
Will find it a mark that must always remain!”
For our careless ways to be copied by you.
A spot on my plumes air and rain will efface;
A feather deranged my own beak can replace:
While man, does he get by one slip but a stain,
Will find it a mark that must always remain!”
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