TO A WOOD-PIGEON.

AVE I scared thee from thy bough,
Tenant of the lonely wild,

Where, from human face exiled,
"Tis thine the sky to plough;
Hearing but the wailing breeze,
Or the cataract's sullen roaring,
Where, 'mid clumps of ancient trees,
O'er its rocks the stream is pouring?

Up on ready wing thou rushest
To the gloom of woods profound,
And through silent ether brushest
With a whirring sound.
Ring-dove beauteous! is the face
Of man so hateful, that his sight
Startles thee, in wild affright,
From beechen resting-place?

Surely pleasant life is thine,
Underneath the shining day;
Thus, from sorrow far away,
'Mid bowering groves to pine-

To pine with wild, luxurious love,

While coos thy timid partner near thee,

Flowers below, and boughs above,

And nought around to fear thee;

TO A WOOD-PIGEON.

While thy bill so gently carries
To thy young, from field or wood,
Seeds, or fruits, or purple berries,
For their slender food.

Rapidly thou wing'st away:
I saw thee now, a tiny spot-
Again and now I see thee not,
Nought save the skies of day.

The Psalmist once his prayer address'd-
"Dove, could I thy pinions borrow,

My soul would flee, and be at rest,

Far from the earth's oppressing sorrow!"

Alas! we turn to brave the billows

Of the world's tempestuous sway,

Where Life's stream, beneath care's willows, Murmurs night and day!

STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.

IME was when I was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;
I perch'd at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new.