182 THE PELICAN ISLAND, 
Amidst the golden evening ; pearly-white, 
But ruby-tinctured. On the loftiest cliff 
They settled, hovering ere they touch’d the ground, 
And uttering, in a language of their own, 
‘Yet such as every ear might understand, 
And every bosom answer, notes of joy, 
And gratulation for that resting-place. 
Stately and beautiful they stood, and clapt 
Their van-broad pinions, streak’d their ruffled plumes, 
And ever and anon broke off to gaze, 
With yearning pleasure, told in gentle murmurs, 
On that strange land their destined home and 
country. 
Night round them threw her brown transparent 
gloom, 
Through which their lonely images yet shone, 
Like things unearthly, while they bow’d their heads 
On their full bosoms, and reposed till morn. 
I knew the Pelicans, and cried—‘ All hail! 
Ye future dwellers in the wilderness !” 
At early dawn I mark’d them in the sky, 
Catching the morning colours on their plumes ; 
Not in voluptuous pastime revelling there, 
Among the rosy clouds, while orient heaven 
Flamed like the opening gates of Paradise, 
Whence issued forth the Angel of the sun, 
And gladden’d Nature with returning day : 
—Eager for food their searching eyes they fix’d 
On ocean’s unroll’d volume, from an height, 
That brought immensity within their scope ; 
