94 TO A WATERFOWL. As the kings of the cloud-crowned pyramid, Ye slumber unmarked 'mid the desolate main, TO A WATERFOWL. BY W. C. Bryant. WHITHER, 'midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek'st thou the plashy brink There is a Power whose care Lone wandering, but not lost. TO MY COMPANIONS. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, And soon that toil shall end, 95 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. TO MY COMPANIONS. [From the Collegian.] MINE ancient chair-thy wide embracing arms 96 TO MY COMPANIONS. And thou my table-though unwearied time And in my memory thou art living now; Soon must thou slumber with forgotten things, The peasant's ashes and the dust of kings. Thou melancholy mug-thy sober brown My broken mirror-faithless, yet beloved, I scorn the siren, but obey the call; I hate thy falsehood, while I fear thy truth, Primeval carpet-every well-worn thread I love you all-there radiates from our own THE ARCTIC LOVER. There is a voice, to other ears unknown, And these poor frailties have a simple tone, 97 THE ARCTIC LOVER TO HIS MISTRESS. BY W. C. BRYANT. GONE is the long long winter night, How glorious, through his depths of light, The willows, waked from winter's death, The summer is begun! Aye 't is the long bright summer day: The loosened ice-ridge breaks away— Seaward the glittering mountain rides, See, love, my boat is moored for thee, 98 THE ARCTIC LOVER. The pettrel does not skim the sea We'll go where, on the rocky isles, Or, bide thee where the poppy blows, Fierce though he be, and huge of frame, When crimson sky and flamy cloud And snows, that melt no more, enshroud With glistening walls and lucid dome, The white fox by thy couch shall play; The meteors of a mimic day Shall flash upon thine eyes. And 1-for such thy vow-meanwhile, |