THE HERON. 21 
Whene’er I see thee, Heron, 
Thy cheer is silent still; 
Solemnly watching by the wave, 
Or o’er the dusky hill, 
Waving thy shadowy wings 
In motion grave and slow, 
Like a spirit of the solemn past 
That museth on its woe! 
Like one that in all present joy 
Finds no congenial tone, 
For his heart is in the perished past, 
And seeketh that alone! 
Then hail to thee, old Heron, 
Flt on from dream to dream ; 
Be yet the watcher on the shore, 
The spirit of the stream ; 
For still at sight of thee come back 
The storied times of old; 
The jovial hawking-train, the chase, 
The sturdy bowmen bold. 
