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To the Curlew
#1
Soothed by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore,
His dun-gray plumage floating to the gale,
The Curlew blends his melancholy wail,
With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour -

Like thee, congenial bird! my steps explore
The bleak lone sea-beach, or the rocky dale,
And shun the orange bower, the myrtle vale,
Whose gay luxuriance suits my soul no more.

I love the ocan's broad expanse, when dressed
In limpid clearness, or when tempest blow;
When the smooth currents on its placid breast

Flow calm as my past moments used to flow;
Or, when its troubled waves refuse to rest,
And seem the symbol of my present woe.
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