Sweet bird! I would that I could be A hermit in the crowd, like thee! With wings to fly to wood and glen, Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men; And, daily, with unwilling feet, I tread, like thee, the crowded street; But, unlike me, when day is o’er, Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar; Or, at a half-felt wish for rest, Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast, And drop, forgetful, to thy nest. I would that, on such wings of gold, I could my weary heart upfold; I would I could look down unmoved (Unloving as I am unloved), And while the world throngs on beneath, Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe; And, never sad with others’ sadness, And never glad with others’ gladness, Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime, And, lapped in quiet, bide my time. NOTES AND QUESTIONS =Biographical and Historical Note.= Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806-1867) was a native of Portland, Maine, and a graduate of Yale College. He was born one year earlier than Longfellow, and lived most of his life in New York City, being one of a small group of writers known as “The Knickerbockers,” who for many years made New York the literary center of the country. His father, the Rev. Nathaniel Willis, established in Boston _The Youth’s Companion._ “Old South” is the name of a church in Boston, in which public meetings were held at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is now used as a museum of historic collections. =Discussion.= 1. What do the first two stanzas tell you about the bird? 2. Name the various sounds of the bell that the poet mentions. 3. What comparison is found in the fifth stanza? 4. Compare the last stanza of “The Sandpiper” with the last stanza of this poem and tell which you like the better. 5. Can you give a reason why the pigeon is made the hero of this poem? =Phrases= track the street, 45, 5 wary eye, 45, 6 easy wings, 45, 8 nine at night, 45, 23 filméd eyes, 46, 3 hermit in the crowd, 46, 6 thy lot is cast with men, 46, 8 with unwilling feet, 46, 9 dismiss the world, 46, 12 half-felt wish for rest, 46, 13 weary heart upfold, 46, 17 throngs on beneath, 46, 20 lapped in quiet, 46, 25 bide my time, 46, 25 THE SANDPIPER CELIA THAXTER Across the lonely beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I; And fast I gather, bit by bit, The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry. The wild waves reach their hands for it, The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, As up and down the beach we flit, One little sandpiper and I. Above our heads the sullen clouds Scud, black and swift, across the sky; Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds Stand out the white lighthouses high. Almost as far as eye can reach I see the close-reefed vessels fly, As fast we flit along the beach, One little sandpiper and I.