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Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou
despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the
wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest
upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop
into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that
music still!
To the last point of vision, and
beyond,
Mount, daring warbler! -that love-prompted
strain,
('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond),
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain:
Yet
mightst thou seem, proud privilege! to sing
All
independent of the leafy Spring.
Leave to the
nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious
light is thine,
Whence thou dost pour upon the world
a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to
the kindred points of Heaven and Home!
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