Poems (McDonald)/To a City Pigeon
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And thou hast wings to bear thee far away,
Over bright fields, and to the tree-tops high;
And yet thou art content with us to stay,
'Mid heat and turmoil 'neath our sultry sky.
Bird, hast thou no desire to wander free
No wish to taste the fresh, pure summer air?
Where greenwood songsters fill the swaying tree,
Would'st thou not speed thee, all their mirth to share?
Stooping by some clear fount to lave thy breast,
And smooth thy plumage soft, ere flitting to thy nest?
TO A CITY PIGEON.
And thou hast wings to bear thee far away,
Over bright fields, and to the tree-tops high;
And yet thou art content with us to stay,
'Mid heat and turmoil 'neath our sultry sky.
Bird, hast thou no desire to wander free
No wish to taste the fresh, pure summer air?
Where greenwood songsters fill the swaying tree,
Would'st thou not speed thee, all their mirth to share?
Stooping by some clear fount to lave thy breast,
And smooth thy plumage soft, ere flitting to thy nest?
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.
I'd fly where'er my fancy led the way,
Far from the noise and discord reigning here;
Light on green lawns, where leafy shadows play,
And drink from bubbling fountains bright and clear:
Seek out the scented violet's mossy bed,
Hid from the sunbeam by a clustering vine;
I'd know each bank with daisies overspread,
And at the cottage porch, where wild brier's twine,
There would I pause, to catch the household hymn,
Ringing in infant tones, out in the twilight dim.
Far from the noise and discord reigning here;
Light on green lawns, where leafy shadows play,
And drink from bubbling fountains bright and clear:
Seek out the scented violet's mossy bed,
Hid from the sunbeam by a clustering vine;
I'd know each bank with daisies overspread,
And at the cottage porch, where wild brier's twine,
There would I pause, to catch the household hymn,
Ringing in infant tones, out in the twilight dim.
And can'st thou linger? In its pride, the rose
Hangs on the garden wall, to lure the bee;
Clad in her summer beauty, Nature glows,
And must she smile to bless all else but thee?
Thou answerest, there are ties to keep thee here
A parent's love swells in thy gentle breast;
Thou can'st not leave the fluttering brood so dear,
And hie thee out to find a greener nest
Have they not wings like thee to follow on?
Would they not seek the land, where thou before had'st gone?
Hangs on the garden wall, to lure the bee;
Clad in her summer beauty, Nature glows,
And must she smile to bless all else but thee?
Thou answerest, there are ties to keep thee here
A parent's love swells in thy gentle breast;
Thou can'st not leave the fluttering brood so dear,
And hie thee out to find a greener nest
Have they not wings like thee to follow on?
Would they not seek the land, where thou before had'st gone?
Thou wilt not leave them—gentle bird, in thee
I read a lesson of eternal things;
So does the spirit, longing to be free,
Too oft forget its birth, and fold its wings:
We, too, have ties that bind us here below,
And dread to break them all and soar away;
There is a brighter, better land, we know,
Yet fondly cling to one which must decay;
We know beyond us, lies a world of bliss,
And yet, with all its ill, we fix our hearts in this!
I read a lesson of eternal things;
So does the spirit, longing to be free,
Too oft forget its birth, and fold its wings:
We, too, have ties that bind us here below,
And dread to break them all and soar away;
There is a brighter, better land, we know,
Yet fondly cling to one which must decay;
We know beyond us, lies a world of bliss,
And yet, with all its ill, we fix our hearts in this!