THE GULL. 209 



THE SEA-GULL. 



On the far rolling breaker's snowy breast, 

 The sea-gull presses her silvery breast : 

 The wave is a pillow of down to her, 

 She heeds not the element's stormy stir : 

 She has peace within, and tranquil repose, 

 As lightly over the ocean she goes. 

 Her wing in the billowy surges she laves, 

 Composed in the tempest, at rest on the waves. 



Wild, wild as the wind is the sea-bird's cry, 

 As far over the ocean-cliffs they fly : 

 It were discord, if heard in the forest glade, 

 Where mavis and merle sweet music have made ; 

 But it mingles well with the breaker's roar, 

 And the blast that sweeps round the rocky shore, 

 While the tranquil bird in the billow laves, 

 Composed in the tempest, at rest on the waves. 



Did I wish for the lot of birds of the air, 

 Or long in their fleeting perfections to share ; 

 It is not the strength of the strongest wing, 

 It is not the sweetest songs that they sing, 

 Nor the sapphire gleam of their gem-like hues 

 It is not all these that my heart would choose : 

 My spirit the sea-bird's serenity craves, 

 Composed in the tempest, at rest on the waves. 



