29.12.2010, 18:56
THE PLEA OF THE SHOT SWALLOW.
In Teos once, bedew'd with odours fine,
The happy dove slept on his master's lyre ;
A little homelesss swallow clings to mine,
A spirit-bird—he looks for something higher
Than songs and odours ; pity and remorse
He claims—an elegy of words and tears :
He asks me why they swept him from his peers,
When wheeling gaily in his wondrous course ;
And noAv he comes, with trembling wings, to plead
For some brief record of his cruel fate ;
Some note of tuneful sorrow for the deed
Which struck him from the side of his dear mate.
Poor bird ! had I the Teian's melody.
Sweet as his dainty Ode thy dirge should be.
In Teos once, bedew'd with odours fine,
The happy dove slept on his master's lyre ;
A little homelesss swallow clings to mine,
A spirit-bird—he looks for something higher
Than songs and odours ; pity and remorse
He claims—an elegy of words and tears :
He asks me why they swept him from his peers,
When wheeling gaily in his wondrous course ;
And noAv he comes, with trembling wings, to plead
For some brief record of his cruel fate ;
Some note of tuneful sorrow for the deed
Which struck him from the side of his dear mate.
Poor bird ! had I the Teian's melody.
Sweet as his dainty Ode thy dirge should be.