Kichard Henry Dana THE LITTLE BEACH-BIRD THOU little bird, thou dweller by the sea, O, rather, bird, with me Through the fair land rejoice! Thy flitting form comes ghostly dim and pale, As driven by a beating storm at sea; The doom of us: Thy wail, Thou call'st along the sand, and haunt'st the surge, Restless and sad; as if, in strange accord With the motion and the roar Of waves that drive to shore, One spirit did ye urge The Mystery - the Word. THE CHANTING CHERUBS - A GROUP BY GREENOUGH That with the stream they seemed to flow; They told me that his heart was broke. WHENCE come ye, Cherubs ? from the They said the world he fain would shun, And seek the still and twilight wood, His spirit, weary of the sun, In humblest things found chiefest good; That I was of a lowly frame, And far more constant than the flower, Which, vain with many a boastful name, But fluttered out its idle hour; |