Familiar with the waves and free And such a brightness in his eye, We were not cruel, yet did sunder His white wing from the blue waves under, We bore our ocean bird unto A grassy place, where he might view But flowers of earth were pale to him The green trees round him only made Then One her gladsome face did bring, In ocean's stead his heart to move To a Skylark He lay down in his grief to die 1519 Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] TO A SKYLARK Up with me! up with me into the clouds! Up with me, up with me into the clouds! With clouds and sky about thee ringing, That spot which seems so to thy mind! I have walked through wildernesses dreary Had I now the wings of a Fairy, Up to thee would I fly. There is madness about thee, and joy divine In that song of thine; Lift me, guide me high and high To thy banqueting-place in the sky. Joyous as morning Thou art laughing and scorning; Thou hast a nest for thy love and thy rest. And, though little troubled with sloth, Drunken Lark! thou would'st be loth To be such a traveler as I. Happy, happy Liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river Alas! my journey, rugged and uneven, I, with my fate contented, will plod on, And hope for higher raptures, when life's day is done. William Wordsworth (1770-1850] TO A SKYLARK ETHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler!-that love-prompted strain Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam- THE SKYLARK BIRD of the wilderness, Blithesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Blest is thy dwelling-place— O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud, The Skylark Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the rainbow's rim, Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Blest is thy dwelling-place O to abide in the desert with thee! 1521 James Hogg [1770-1835] THE SKYLARK How the blithe Lark runs up the golden stair That leans through cloudy gates from Heaven to Earth, And all alone in the empyreal air Fills it with jubilant sweet songs of mirth; How far he seems, how far With the light upon his wings, Is it a bird, or star That shines, and sings? What matter if the days be dark and frore, Under cloud-arches vast He peeps, and sees behind And now he dives into a rainbow's rivers, In streams of gold and purple he is drowned, Shrilly the arrows of his song he shivers, As though the stormy drops were turned to sound; He scales a cloudy tower, His fast notes shower. Let every wind be hushed, that I may hear All Heaven to men! So the victorious Poet sings alone, And fills with light his solitary home, And through that glory sees new worlds foreshown, With thrills of golden chords, What if his hair be gray, his eyes be dim, If wealth forsake him, and if friends be cold, Wonder unbars her thousand gates to him, Truth never fails, nor Beauty waxes old; More than he tells his eyes Behold, his spirit hears, Of grief, and joy, and sighs 'Twixt joy and tears. Blest is the man who with the sound of song |