DOVES. 271 



Why perch ye here? 

 Where mortals to their Maker bend ! 



Can your pure spirits fear 

 The God ye never could offend? 



Ye never knew 

 The crimes for which we come to weep: 



Penance is not for you, 

 Blessed wanderers of the upper deep. 



9- 



To you 'tis given 

 To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays; 



Beneath the arch of heaven 

 To chirp away a life of praise. 



Then spread each wing, 

 Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands, 



And join the choirs that sing 

 In yon blue dome not reared with hands. 



Or, if ye stay 

 To note the consecrated hour, 



Teach me the airy way, 

 And let me try your envied power. 



Above the crowd, 

 On upward wings could I but fly, 



I'd bathe in yon bright cloud, 

 And seek the stars that gem the sky. 



