 | The forest minstrel |  |
176
THE PITCHER-PLANT.
The song-bird came, with weary wing,
From breezy blossomed groves,
Where fountains flow, and blossoms spring,
And happy creatures rove.
From breezy blossomed groves,
Where fountains flow, and blossoms spring,
And happy creatures rove.
All heedlessly the wild thing strayed
Along the desert plain,
And sought the fruit, the breezy shade,
And cooling stream in vain.
Along the desert plain,
And sought the fruit, the breezy shade,
And cooling stream in vain.
His little throat grew swollen and dry,
His voice was faint and low,
And dim and heavy grew his eye
In day's meridian glow.
His voice was faint and low,
And dim and heavy grew his eye
In day's meridian glow.
With drooping plumes he fluttered round;
No kind relief was nigh;
He dropped exhausted on the ground,
And closed his wings to die;
No kind relief was nigh;
He dropped exhausted on the ground,
And closed his wings to die;
But near him, on the burning waste,
In lonely beauty grew,
A plant with pearly blossoms graced,
Which lived upon the dew.
In lonely beauty grew,
A plant with pearly blossoms graced,
Which lived upon the dew.
177
With quivering form and panting breath,
He crept beneath the shade;
And there upon the naked earth
His little head was laid.
He crept beneath the shade;
And there upon the naked earth
His little head was laid.
Above him drooped the slender boughs,
With humble blossoms hung;
Oh, how unlike the rich red rose
His native bowers among!
With humble blossoms hung;
Oh, how unlike the rich red rose
His native bowers among!
Ah, sadly beautiful they come
Before his closing eyes,
Shades of his dear deserted home,
Where living fountains rise.
Before his closing eyes,
Shades of his dear deserted home,
Where living fountains rise.
But hark! a wandering zephyr shakes
The plant 'neath which he lies,
And on his ear a murmur breaks,—
“Rise, weary wanderer, rise!”
The plant 'neath which he lies,
And on his ear a murmur breaks,—
“Rise, weary wanderer, rise!”
Then trembling o'er his aching head,
Low drooped the blossomed bough,
And clear and cooling drops were shed
Upon his burning brow.
Low drooped the blossomed bough,
And clear and cooling drops were shed
Upon his burning brow.
It was the Pitcher-Plant that grew
Above his desert bed,
And grateful was the shower of dew,
Its generous blossoms shed.
Above his desert bed,
And grateful was the shower of dew,
Its generous blossoms shed.
He rose, he drank, he dressed his wings,
And smoothed his ruffled plumes;
And soon, with grateful carollings,
His onward flight resumes.
And smoothed his ruffled plumes;
And soon, with grateful carollings,
His onward flight resumes.
178
But still around that lonely tree
The breezy angel stayed,
And thus, in balmy tones, to me
The desert blessing said:
The breezy angel stayed,
And thus, in balmy tones, to me
The desert blessing said:
“Art thou a wanderer from the bowers
Of beauty, love, and truth,
Where songs, and dews, and balmy flowers,
Were clustered round thy youth?
Of beauty, love, and truth,
Where songs, and dews, and balmy flowers,
Were clustered round thy youth?
“And hast thou found life's onward way
A desert, dry and drear?
Where no sweet streams of blessing stray,
No fruits or flowers appear?
A desert, dry and drear?
Where no sweet streams of blessing stray,
No fruits or flowers appear?
“And art thou weary, sad, and faint,
And dost thou wish to die?
Look up! there is a Pitcher-Plant,
With consolation nigh.
And dost thou wish to die?
Look up! there is a Pitcher-Plant,
With consolation nigh.
“Look up! it offers unto thee
The dew of holy love;
Accept the gift, 'tis pure and free,
A treasure from above.
The dew of holy love;
Accept the gift, 'tis pure and free,
A treasure from above.
“Drink, and rejoice beneath the shade,
And plume thy drooping wing;
Then journey where thy path is laid
Toward the Living Spring.
And plume thy drooping wing;
Then journey where thy path is laid
Toward the Living Spring.
“Ay, onward to the verdant shore,
With songs, pursue thy way;
That blessed home, whence never more
The bird shall wish to stray.”
With songs, pursue thy way;
That blessed home, whence never more
The bird shall wish to stray.”
| The forest minstrel | |