From that deep shelter'd solitude, Where in some quarry wild and rude, Your feather'd mother reared her brood, Why, pilgrim, did you brave The upland winds so bleak and keen, To seek these hills? -- whose slopes between Wide stretch'd in grey expanse is seen, The Ocean's toiling wave? Did instinct bid you linger here, That broad and restless Ocean near, And wait, till with the waning year Those northern gales arise, Which, from the tall cliff's rugged side Shall give your soft light plumes to glide, Across the channel's refluent tide, To seek more favoring skies? Alas! and has not instinct said That luxury's toils for your are laid, And that by groundless fears betray'd You ne'er perhaps may know Those regions, where the embowering vine Loves round the luscious fig to twine, And mild the Suns of Winter shine, And flowers perennial blow. To take you, shepherd boys prepare The hollow turf, the wiry snare, Of those weak terrors well aware, That bid you vainly dread The shadows floating o'er the downs, Or murmuring gale, that round the stones Of some old beacon, as it moans, Scarce moves the thistle's head. And if a cloud obscure the Sun With faint and fluttering heart you run, And to the pitfall you should shun Resort in trembling haste; While, on that dewy cloud so high, The lark, sweet minstrel of the sky, Sings in the morning's beamy eye, And bathes his spotted breast. Ah! simple bird, resembling you Are those, that with distorted view Thro' life some selfish end pursue, With low inglorious aim; They sink in blank oblivious night, While minds superior dare the light, And high on honor's glorious height Aspire to endless fame! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALIFORNIA CITY LANDSCAPE by CARL SANDBURG EPITHALAMION MADE AT LINCOLNES INNE by JOHN DONNE THE EVE OF BUNKER HILL [JUNE 16, 1775] by CLINTON SCOLLARD TO SAN FRANCISCO by SAMUEL JOHN ALEXANDER RELIGIOUS ISOLATION, TO A REPUBLICAN FRIEND by MATTHEW ARNOLD THE COMET by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |