136 THE HEALING OF THE DAUGHTER OF JAIRUS. Her hair had been unbound, and falling loose Her polished neck, scarce touching it, they hung TO A CITY PIGEON. STOOP to my window, thou beautiful dove! I watch thy coming, and list the note To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. Why dost thou sit on the heated eaves, And forsake the wood with its freshen'd leaves? Why dost thou haunt the sultry street, When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? How canst thou bear This noise of people-this sultry air? Thou alone of the feather'd race Dost look unscared on the human face; Dost love with man in his haunts to be; Has become a name for trust and love. A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! Thou'rt nam'd with childhood's earliest word! Thou'rt link'd with all that is fresh and wild In the prison'd thoughts of the city child, And thy glossy wings Are its brightest image of moving things. It is no light chance. Thou art set apart, Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. Come then, ever, when daylight leaves Lessons of Heaven, sweet bird, in thee! ON A PICTURE OF A BEAUTIFUL BOY. "Thou who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, readst the eternal deep, WORDSWORTH. A BOY! yet in his eye you trace The watchfulness of riper years, And tales are in that serious face And in that tranquil gaze There lingers many a thought unsaid, Shadows of other days, Whose hours with shapes of beauty came and fled. |