'midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last ,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost pursue
Thy solitary way?
Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,
As, darkly painted on the
Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the brink
Of weedy lake, or of river wide,
Or where the rocking rise and sink
On the ocean side?
There is a whose care
Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,--
The desert and illimitable air,--
Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fann'd
At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere:
Yet stoop not, weary, to the ,
Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end,
Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy nest.
Thou'rt gone, the
Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart
Deeply hath sunk
And shall not soon depart.
who, from zone to zone,
Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread
Will lead my steps aright.
Web Resources: Matthew
Brady gallery: Bryant's picture, brief bio, link to Thomas Cole
of Bryant: a searchable collection