To a Waterfowl

Whither, ’midst falling dew,While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursueThy solitary way?Vainly the fowler’s eyeMight mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong,As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,Thy figure floats along.Seek’st thou the plashy brinkOf weedy lake, or marge of river wide,Or where the rocking billows rise and sinkOn the chafed ocean side?There is a Power whose careTeaches thy way along that pathless coast,—The desert and illimitable air,—Lone wandering, but not lost.,All day thy wings have fann’dAt that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,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 bendSoon o’er thy sheltered nest.Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heavenHath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heartDeeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,And shall not soon depart.He, who, from zone to zone,Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone,Will lead my steps aright.