 | Earl Goodwin |  |
When first the dove forsook the Patriarch's hand,
She ventur'd far to find some friendly land;
Like her, from frozen regions quickly hurl'd,
My nest shall be—the bosom of the world.
She ventur'd far to find some friendly land;
Like her, from frozen regions quickly hurl'd,
My nest shall be—the bosom of the world.
| Earl Goodwin | |