GRAHAME. THE WILD DUCK AND HER BROOD. OW calm that little lake! no breath of wind Sighs through the reeds; a clear abyss it seems, Held in the concave of the inverted sky,— In which is seen the rook's dull flagging wing Move o'er the silvery clouds. How peaceful sails Yon little fleet, the wild duck and her brood! Fearless of harm, they row their easy way; The water-lily, 'neath the plumy prows, Dips, re-appearing in their dimpled track. Yet, even amid that scene of peace, the noise Of war, unequal, dastard war, intrudes. Yon revel rout of men, and boys, and dogs, Boisterous approach; the spaniel dashes in; Quick he descries the prey; and faster swims, And eager barks; the harmless flock, dismayed, Hasten to gain the thickest grove of reeds, All but the parent pair; they, floating, wait To lure the foe, and lead him from their young; But soon themselves are forced to seek the shore. Vain then the buoyant wing; the leaden storm Arrests their flight; they, fluttering, bleeding fall, And tinge the troubled bosom of the lake. BRYANT. HITHER, 'midst falling dew, W While glow the heavens with the last steps. of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's 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 plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,— Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fann'd, 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, He, who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, PRINTED BY C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON. |