17
The Dove.
There was a lonely ark,
That sail'd o'er waters dark;
And wide around,
Not one tall tree was seen,
No flower, nor leaf of green,
All—all were drown'd.
Then a soft wing was spread,
And o'er the billows dread,
A meek dove flew;
But on that shoreless tide
No living thing she spied,
To cheer her view.
There was no chirping sound
O'er that wide watery bound,
To soothe her wo;
But the cold surges spread
Their covering o'er the dead,
That slept below.