 | Forest buds, from the woods of Maine |  |
37
FLOWN.
A beautiful birdling made its nest
In my dark and lonely heart,
And I fondly cherished my welcome guest,
And prayed with a grateful soul, and blest,
That always thus it might sweetly rest,
And never more depart.
In my dark and lonely heart,
And I fondly cherished my welcome guest,
And prayed with a grateful soul, and blest,
That always thus it might sweetly rest,
And never more depart.
I gazed in the soft bewildering deeps
Of its young unshadowed eyes,—
They were calm as the wave where a sunbeam sleeps,—
They were pure as the dew that the lily weeps,
And bright as the brightest star which keeps
Its watch in the midnight skies.
Of its young unshadowed eyes,—
They were calm as the wave where a sunbeam sleeps,—
They were pure as the dew that the lily weeps,
And bright as the brightest star which keeps
Its watch in the midnight skies.
Its gushing voice was as sweet and clear
As the lays of seraphs blest;—
In melody on my raptured ear
It fell, like songs from a holier sphere,
With a wondrous power to soothe and cheer
My spirit's wild unrest.
As the lays of seraphs blest;—
In melody on my raptured ear
It fell, like songs from a holier sphere,
With a wondrous power to soothe and cheer
My spirit's wild unrest.
38
And I watched above it with fond delight,
Till once on a quiet even,
It spread its beautiful wings in flight
And floated away from my longing sight,
Slow melting into the distance bright
Like a star in the morning heaven.
Till once on a quiet even,
It spread its beautiful wings in flight
And floated away from my longing sight,
Slow melting into the distance bright
Like a star in the morning heaven.
From the first sweet song of the early lark,
Till now, when on hill and plain,
The shadows of night fall dim and dark,
I have waited, its homeward flight to mark,
But the dove gone forth from my heart's lone ark,
Returneth not again.
Till now, when on hill and plain,
The shadows of night fall dim and dark,
I have waited, its homeward flight to mark,
But the dove gone forth from my heart's lone ark,
Returneth not again.
And now I listen, alas, in vain,
Through the sad and cheerless hours,
For the clear wild notes of its gushing strain
To fall on my waiting ear again,
As the grateful drops of the summer rain
On the faint and drooping flowers.
Through the sad and cheerless hours,
For the clear wild notes of its gushing strain
To fall on my waiting ear again,
As the grateful drops of the summer rain
On the faint and drooping flowers.
No longer it gladdens my weary breast,
As in happy days of yore,
Or soothes my soul to a quiet rest
With its thrilling music, so sweet and blest,—
For the bird gone forth from my heart's warm nest,
Returns, alas, no more!
As in happy days of yore,
Or soothes my soul to a quiet rest
With its thrilling music, so sweet and blest,—
For the bird gone forth from my heart's warm nest,
Returns, alas, no more!
| Forest buds, from the woods of Maine | |