The Wish (John Malcolm)

by John Malcolm (1769-1833)

For works with similar titles, see The Wish.

O that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee awayand be at rest!So prayed the Psalmist to be freeFrom mortal bonds and earthly thrall;And such or soon or late shall beFull oft the heart-breathed prayer of all:—And we, when life's last sands we roveWith faltering foot and aching breast,Shall sigh for wings that waft the doveTo flee away and be at rest.While hearts are young and hopes are high,A fairy scene doth life appear;Its sights are beaujy to the eye,Its sounds are music to the ear:But soon it glides from youth to age,—And, of its joys no more possessed,We, like the captive of the cage,Would flee away and be at rest.Is ours fair Woman's angel smile,All bright and beautiful as day?—So of her cheek and eye the while,Time steals the rose and dims the ray;She wanders to the spirit's land,—And we, with speechless grief opprest,As o'er the faded form we stand,Would gladly share her place of rest.Beyond the hills,—beyond the sea,—O for the pinions of a dove,—O for the morning's wings to fleeAway, and be with them we love:—When all is fled that's bright and fair,And life is but a wintry waste,This, this at last must be our prayer,—To flee away and be at rest!