TO A LAND BIRD AT SEA.

———

BY LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY.

———

Bird of the land! what dost thou here?

Lone wanderer o’er a trackless bound,—

With nought but frowning skies above,

And cold, unfathom’d seas around;

Among the shrouds, with heaving breast

And drooping head, I see thee stand,

And pleased the coarsest sailor climbs,

To grasp thee in his roughen’d hand.

And didst thou follow, league on league,

Our pointed mast, thine only guide,

When but a floating speck it seemed

On the broad bosom of the tide?

On far Newfoundland’s misty bank,

Hadst thou a nest, and nurslings fair?

Or ’mid New England’s forests hoar?

Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear?

What news from native shore and home,

Swift courier o’er the threatening tide?—

Hast thou no folded scroll of love

Prest closely to thy panting side?

A bird of genius art thou? say!

With impulse high thy spirit stirred—

Some region unexplored to gain,

And soar above the common herd?

Burns in thy breast some kindling spark

Like that which fired the glowing mind

Of the adventurous Genoese,

An undiscovered world to find?

Whate’er thou wert, how sad thy fate

With wasted strength the goal to spy,

Cling feebly to the flapping sail,

And at a stranger’s feet to die.

Yet, from thy thin and bloodless beak,

Methinks a warning sigh doth creep—

To those who leave their sheltering home,

And lightly dare the dangerous deep.