Bird of the land! what dost thou here!(Graham's Lady's and Gentleman's Magazine, Issue 20, 1842, Page 9)
Lone wanderer oér a trackless bound,--
With nought but frowning skies above,
And cold, unfathom'd seas around;
Among the shrouds, with heaving breast
And drooping head, I see thee stand,
And pleased the coarsest sailor climbs,
To grasp thess in his roughen'd hand.
And didst thou follow, league on league,
Our pointed mast, thine only guide,
When but a floating speck it seemed
On the broad bosom of the tide!
On far Newfoundland's misty bank,
Hadst thou a nest, and nuslings fair!
Or 'mid New England's forests hoar!
Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear!
What news from native shore and hme,
Swift courier o'er the threatening tide!--
Hast thou no folded scroll of love
Prest closely to thy panting side!
A bird of genius art thou! say!
With impulse high thy spirit stirred--
Some region unexplored to gain,
And soar above the common herd!
Burns in thy breast some kindling spark
Like that which fired the glowing mind
Of the adventurous Genoese,
An undiscovered world to find!
Whate'er thou wert, how sad thy fate
With wasted strength the goal to spy,
Cling feebly to the flapping sail,
And at a stranger's feet to die.
Yet, from thy thin and bloodless beak,
Methinks a waning sigh doth creep--
To those who leave their sheltering home,
And lightly dare the dangerous deep.
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