1844-54. AN INVALID'S LONGING. 355 



THE WINGS OF THE DOVE AND THE EAGLE. 



PSALM Iv. 6 ; ISAIAH xl. 31. 



As I lay upon my bed, 



Weeping and complaining, 

 Turning oft my weary head, 



Hope and help disdaining ; 

 Lo ! before mine eyes there stood, 



Vision of an ancient wood, 

 Full of happy birds pursuing 



Each the other with keenest zest ; 

 And I heard the plaintive cooing 



Issuing from the turtle's nest, 

 Till I murmured at the sight, 



And forgot God's high behest ; 

 " Had I but your wings, I might 



Fly away and be at rest." 



Then the low, sweet, plaintive cooing 



Of the fond maternal birds, 

 Seemed itself with thoughts imbuing, 



And at length flowed forth in words. 



" Plumes of doves and fluttering wings 

 Are but vain and feeble things, 



Timidly the air they fan ; 

 Scarcely would they serve to raise thee 

 Need the truth at all amaze thee ? 



O'er this earth a little span. 

 Look thou there !" and, lo ! an eagle, 



From his nest amid the stars, 

 Stood before me, with his regal 



Front, and venerable scars. 

 In a moment, wide extending 



His great wings (so seem'd my dream), 

 He was in the air ascending 



With a wild, exulting scream. 

 Fiercest winds, and rude blasts blowing, 



Could not stop his bold careering, 

 Higher still and higher going 



He kept ever upwards steering, 

 Till I lost him in the zenith, 



Far above the mid-day sun, 

 Where he seemed like one that winneth 



Rest in heaven when work is done. 



" Judge thou, then," the voice said, " whether 



This or that's the better thing 

 Rainbow-tinted dove's soft feather, 



Or the eagle's ruffled wing ?" 

 " That's the better !" " Rest then still ! 



Tn thy heart of hearts abase thee ; 



