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LAND-BIRD AT SEA.
Bird of the land! what dost thou here?
Lone wanderer o'er a trackless bound,
With nought but frowning skies above,
And wild, unfathomed seas around.
Amid the shrouds, with panting breast
And drooping head, I see thee stand,
While pleased the hardy sailor climbs
To clasp thee in his roughened hand.
Say, didst thou follow, league on league,
Our pointed mast, thine only guide,
When but a fleeting speck it seemed
On the broad bosom of the tide?
Amid Newfoundland's misty bank
Hadst thou a nest, and nurslings fair?
Or cam'st thou from New-England's vales?
Speak! speak! what tidings dost thou bear?
