TO A WATER FOWL. 



Whither, 'midst falling dew 



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, 

 Or where the rocky billows rise and sink 



On the chafed ocean side. 



There is a Power whose care 



Teaches thy way along that pathless coast 

 The desert and illimitable air 



Lone wandering, but not lost. 



All day thy wings have fanned, 



At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere, 

 Yet stooprnot, weary, to the welcome land 



Though the dark night is near. 



And soon that toil shall end; 



Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and nest, 

 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 

 Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, 



And shall not soon depart. 



He who, from zone to zone, 



Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, 

 In the long way that I must tread alone, 



Will lead my steps aright. 



WIGWAM GULDEN BRYANT. 



