52
to a city pigeon.
What have the haunts of men to tempt thy stay?
Here are no forests waving in the breeze!
No leafy bowers, where fragrant zephyrs play:
Within our city bounds we know not these;
Here, there is toil, and care, and bustling strife—
How can'st thou linger with us, bird, so long?
Why in thy noisome air wear out thy life?
Fly to the woodland—build its bowers among;
Blake thee a home amid the fresh green leaves—
Quit for at least awhile, these dull and heated eaves.
Here are no forests waving in the breeze!
No leafy bowers, where fragrant zephyrs play:
Within our city bounds we know not these;
Here, there is toil, and care, and bustling strife—
How can'st thou linger with us, bird, so long?
Why in thy noisome air wear out thy life?
Fly to the woodland—build its bowers among;
Blake thee a home amid the fresh green leaves—
Quit for at least awhile, these dull and heated eaves.
Had I the pinions folded by thy side,
Thy glossy feathers, and the power to spring
Upon the air, and stretch them far and wide,
How quickly would I mount on swiftest wing:
Resting at noonday in some cool retreat,
The abode of birds, and where the wild flowers lie
Bent only by the hare's adventurous feet,
And only gazed on by the fawn's soft eye:
Where streams o'er pebbly beds are murmuring low,
Thither I'd bear me on, their music sweet to kow.
Thy glossy feathers, and the power to spring
Upon the air, and stretch them far and wide,
How quickly would I mount on swiftest wing:
Resting at noonday in some cool retreat,
The abode of birds, and where the wild flowers lie
Bent only by the hare's adventurous feet,
And only gazed on by the fawn's soft eye:
Where streams o'er pebbly beds are murmuring low,
Thither I'd bear me on, their music sweet to kow.
