O plumeless bird, O legless mouse; Between the night and day, Flitting around my summer-house In quest of insect prey. In thee a type of man is seen, Half ape, half angel he, Hope chases the dim hours between Blank and eternity. But when his twilight course is o'er, Freed from the bestial clay, Above the angels he shall soar In everlasting day. [Illustration] WATERFALL BY THE SEA. This little fountain night and day So far from all the flowers, Chants to itself, and flings away A wealth of diamond showers. Incessantly without demand, Here Nature's purest gift Moistens the unproductive sand, Or floats the base sea-drift. So from the living Rock above, On stony hearts and ears The message falls of Gospel love, Where not a fruit appears. Judge not, O stranger, thus, but know There many a thirsty fleet Has filled its casks to overflow, And found the water sweet. Though hearts awhile may stony prove, And fruitless as the main, God's mingled stream of truth and love Has never flowed in vain. THE DYING SWAN. _Host._ Tell me, O pilgrim! for my soul is stirred, On what far shore the willing winds prolong The melody of that imperial bird Which sings to chill-eared death its only song. _Pilgrim._ Not mine Ogygian secrets to impart; But this they said where vague Meander shone, That only he who hath the poet's heart May hear the music of the dying swan. THE PEACOCK. O paragon of feathered grace, What charms thy neck enfold, Backed by that glorious orbed space Thick starred with eyes of gold. Though Philomela soothe the night, 'Tis thine to paint the day; And each a splendour and delight Sheds on our earthly way. So in thy beauty I rejoice, Nor flout thy tuneless cries; Peacocks with Philomela's voice, Sing but in Paradise. [Illustration] THE HUNTER. True Faith. A royal boon for man's delight We deem this noble steed, So great in his enduring might Of courage, spring, and speed. And as from coronet to crest I muse the creature o'er, There rises freely in my breast One happy emblem more. 'Tis Faith, the spirit-steed so strong, God's gift to our poor race, Which bears the soul of man along Through duty's arduous chase. With reason's rein his fervour guide O soul, he'll carry thee Safe up the jagged mountain's side As on the level lea. Alike to him the morn outspread, Or midnight on his way, The fields of light where he was bred Know neither night nor day. The floods in vain lift up their voice, No slough makes him despond; His rider smiles at ocean's voice, And cries, "Beyond! beyond!" He leaps with a sublime delight O'er æther's flaming zones, And cheers the rider with the sight Of Heaven and all its thrones.