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THE STORMY PETREL (Procellaria Pelagica). 1. THIS is the bird that sweeps over the seaFearless, and rapid, and strong is he; He never forsakes the billowy roar To dwell in calm on the tranquil shore, Save when his mate, from the tempest's shocks, Protects her young in the splintered rocks.

2. Up and down! up and down!

From the base of the wave to the billow's crown,
And amidst the flashing and feathery foam,
The Stormy Petrel finds a home-

A home, if such a place may be,

For her who lives on the wide, wide sea,
On the craggy ice, in the frozen air,
And only seeketh her rocky lair1

To warm her young, and teach them to spring
At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!

3. All over the ocean, far from land,

Where the storm-king rises, dark and grand,

The mariner2 sees the Petrel meet

The fathomless3 waves with steady feet,

And a tireless wing, and a dauntless1 breast,
Without a home or a hope of rest.

4. O'er the deep! o'er the deep!

Where the whale, and the shark, and the swordfish sleep: Outflying the blast and the driving rain,

The Petrel telleth her tale-in vain ;

For the mariner curseth the warning bird,

Which bringeth him news of the storm unheard!

Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still:
Yet he never falters: so, Petrel, spring

Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!

5. So, 'mid the contest and toil of life,

My soul, when the billows of rage and strife
Are tossing high, and the heavenly blue

Is shrouded by vapors of sombre hue—
Like the Petrel, wheeling o'er foam and spray,
Onward and upward pursue thy way!

1 LAIR, resting-place.

2 MAR'-I-NER, seaman; a sailor.

14 DÄUNT'-LESS, bold; fearless.

5 SHROUD'-ED, covered; concealed.

3 FATH'-OM-LESS, the depth of which can not 6 Soм'-BRE, dull; cloudy; gloomy. be measured.

NOTE. The first, third, and fifth verses of the foregoing are by Park Benjamin, and the second and fourth by B. W. Proctor. The several changes in metre render it a difficult but useful reading exercise.





WHITHER, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through the rosy depths, dost thou pursue

Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's1 eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.







Seek'st thou the plashy2 brink
Of weedy lake, or marge3 of river wide,
Or where the rocky billows rise and sink
On the chafed1 ocean's side?

There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast—
The desert and illimitable air-

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end;

Soon shalt thou find a summer, home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou'rt gone! the abyss of heaven
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given,

And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

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Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone

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1. "WHAT is that, mother?"

"The lark, my child;

The morn has but just looked out and smiled,
When he starts from his humble, grassy nest,
And is up and away, with the dew on his breast,
And a hymn in his heart, to yon pure, bright sphere,
To warble it out in his Maker's ear.

Ever, my child, be thy morn's first lays
Tuned, like the lark's, to thy Maker's praise."

2. "What is that, mother?"

"The dove, my son;

And that low, sweet voice, like the widow's moan,

Is flowing out from her gentle breast,

Constant and pure, by that lonely nest,

As the wave is poured from some crystal urn,
For her distant dear one's quick return.
Ever, my son, be thou like the dove;

In friendship as faithful, as constant in love."


3. "What is that, mother?"

"The eagle, my boy,

Proudly careering his course of joy;

Firm, on his own mountain vigor relying;

Breasting the dark storm; the red bolt defying:
His wing on the wind, and his eye on the sun,

He swerves not a hair, but bears onward, right on.

Boy, may the eagle's flight ever be thine,
Onward, and upward, and true to the line."

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"The swan, my love.

He is floating down from his native grove;
No loved one now, no nestling nigh;
He is floating down, by himself, to die.
Death darkens his eye, and unplumes his wings:
Yet his sweetest song is the last he sings.
Live so, my love, that when death shall come,
Swanlike and sweet it may waft thee home."




1. HARK to Nature's lesson, given
By the blessed birds of heaven'!
Every bush and tufted tree

Warbles sweet philosophy:

"Mortal', fly from doubt and sorrow';
God provideth for the morrow.

2. "Say', have kings more wholesome fare
Than we, poor citizens of air'?

Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal', fly from doubt and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow.

3. "One there lives, who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall` :
Pass we blithely, then, the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,

Free from doubt and faithless sorrow:
God provideth for the morrow."


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