The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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THE MESSENGER BIRD. |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE MESSENGER BIRD.
Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirit's land:
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!
Thou art come from the spirit's land:
Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!
We know that the bowers are green and fair
In the light of that summer shore,
And we know that the friends we have lost are there,
They are there—and they weep no more!
In the light of that summer shore,
And we know that the friends we have lost are there,
They are there—and they weep no more!
97
And we know they have quenched their fever's thirst
From the Fountain of youth ere now,
For there must the stream in its freshness burst
Which none may find below!
From the Fountain of youth ere now,
For there must the stream in its freshness burst
Which none may find below!
And we know that they will not be lured to earth
From the land of deathless flowers,
By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with ours:
From the land of deathless flowers,
By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth,
Though their hearts were once with ours:
Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze,
And bent with us the bow,
And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now!
And bent with us the bow,
And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now!
But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain!
Can those who have loved forget?
We call—and they answer not again—
Do they love—do they love us yet?
Can those who have loved forget?
We call—and they answer not again—
Do they love—do they love us yet?
Doth the warrior think of his brother there,
And the father of his child?
And the chief, of those that were wont to share
His wandering through the wild?
And the father of his child?
And the chief, of those that were wont to share
His wandering through the wild?
98
We call them far through the silent night,
And they speak not from cave or hill;
We know, thou bird! that their land is bright,
But say, do they love there still?
And they speak not from cave or hill;
We know, thou bird! that their land is bright,
But say, do they love there still?
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |