 | Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] |  |
66
TO THE BIRD OF PARADISE.
I
Sweet bird of beauty! whence thy flight,Oh! say—do climes of orient light
Gladden thine Iris wings?
Art thou from the haunts of the Houris fair,
Laden with hope as a spirit of air,
When a message from Heaven it brings?
II
Alas! this world is no place for thee,Man has a cage, and a snare for the free—
And thy wing it may find no rest.
Thy once loved home is a lonely waste,
And the flowers which proffer'd their dews to thy taste,
Earth has folded them all on her breast.
67
III
Then why linger here, bright bird of the skies?Go bathe thy glad wings where the rivers arise,
Abounding with bliss for ever.
O'er the far off mountains—thy home is there,
Where the eye may not reach—the tongue declare,
And where death never enters—never.
IV
I will gaze on thy flight—I will track thy way—My soul mounting up from this prison of clay,
Search out for thy beauty above.
With thee my rest and my treasure shall be,
When the spirit may spurn all controul, and be free
As the light o'er the altar of love.
| Poems and Songs by E. H. B. [i.e. E. H. Bickersteth] | |