THE BELFRY PIGEON

NATHANIEL PARKER WILLIS

On the cross-beam under the Old South bell,
The nest of a pigeon is builded well.
In summer and winter, that bird is there,
Out and in with the morning air.

I love to see him track the street
With his wary eye and active feet;
And I often watch him, as he springs,
Circling the steeple with easy wings,
Till across the dial his shade has passed,
And the belfry edge is gained at last.

'Tis a bird I love, with its brooding note,
And the trembling throb in its mottled throat;
There's a human look in its swelling breast,
And the gentle curve of its lowly crest;
And I often stop with the fear I feel,
He runs so close to the rapid wheel.
Whatever is rung on that noisy bell,
Chime of the hour, or funeral knell,
The dove in the belfry must hear it well.

When the tongue swings out to the midnight moon,
When the sexton cheerily rings for noon,
When the clock strikes clear at morning light,
When the child is waked with "nine at night,"
When the chimes play soft in the Sabbath air,
Filling the spirit with tones of prayer,
Whatever tale in the bell is heard,

He broods on his folded feet unstirred,

Or, rising half in his rounded nest,
He takes the time to smooth his breast;
Then drops again, with filméd eyes,
And sleeps as the last vibration dies.

Sweet bird! I would that I could be
A hermit in the crowd, like thee!
With wings to fly to wood and glen,
Thy lot, like mine, is cast with men;
And, daily, with unwilling feet,
I tread, like thee, the crowded street;
But, unlike me, when day is o'er,
Thou canst dismiss the world, and soar;
Or, at a half-felt wish for rest,

Canst smooth the feathers on thy breast,
And drop, forgetful, to thy nest.

I would that, on such wings of gold,
I could my weary heart upfold;

I would I could look down unmoved
(Unloving as I am unloved),

And while the world throngs on beneath,
Smooth down my cares and calmly breathe;
And, never sad with others' sadness,
And never glad with others' gladness,
Listen, unstirred, to knell or chime,
And, lapped in quiet, bide my time.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biographical and Historical Note. Nathaniel Parker Willis (1806-1867) was a native of Portland, Maine, and a graduate of Yale College. He was born one year earlier than Longfellow, and lived most of his life in New York City, being one of a small group' of writers known as "The Knickerbockers," who for many years made New York the literary center of the country. His father, the Rev. Nathaniel Willis, established in Boston The Youth's Companion.

“Old South” is the name of a church in Boston, in which public meetings were held at the time of the Revolutionary War. It is now used as a museum of historic collections.

10

15

Discussion. 1. What do the first two stanzas tell you about the bird? 2. Name the various sounds of the bell that the poet mentions. 3. What comparison is found in the fifth stanza? 4. Compare the last stanza of "The Sandpiper" with the last stanza of this poem and tell which you like the better. 5. Can you give a reason why the pigeon is made the hero of this poem?

Across the lonely beach we flit,
One little sandpiper and I;
And fast I gather, bit by bit,

The scattered driftwood, bleached and dry.

The wild waves reach their hands for it,
The wild wind raves, the tide runs high,
As up and down the beach we flit,

One little sandpiper and I.

Above our heads the sullen clouds
Scud, black and swift, across the sky;
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds
Stand out the white lighthouses high.
Almost as far as eye can reach
I see the close-reefed vessels fly,
As fast we flit along the beach.,

One little sandpiper and I.

I watch him as he skims along,

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry:
He starts not at my fitful song,
Nor flash of fluttering drapery.
He has no thought of any wrong,

He scans me with a fearless eye;
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong,
The little sandpiper and I.

Comrade, where wilt thou be tonight,
When the loosed storm breaks furiously?
My driftwood fire will burn so bright!
To what warm shelter canst thou fly?
I do not fear for thee, though wroth
The tempest rushes through the sky;
For are we not God's children both,
Thou, little sandpiper, and I?

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. Celia Thaxter (1835-1894), whose father was a lighthouse keeper on White Island, one of the rocky isles known as the “Isles of Shoals," off the coast of New Hampshire, had the ocean for her companion in her early years. She studied the sunrise and the sunset, the wild flowers, the birds, the rocks, and all sea life. This selection shows how intimate was her friendship with the bird life of the ocean.

Discussion. 1. The poet and the sandpiper were comrades; in the first stanza, what tells you this? 2. Which lines give you a picture that might be used to illustrate this poem? 3. What common experiences did the poet and the bird have? 4. Give a quotation from the poem that describes the sandpiper and his habits. 5. What effect have the repetitions of the second line of the poem at the end of the first and second stanzas and the variations of it at the end of the third and fourth stanzas? 6. Which lines express confidence in God's care for His children? 7. What classes of "God's children" do "little sandpiper" and "I," respectively, represent? 8. Pronounce the following stanch; loosed; wroth.

Phrases

silent ghosts in misty shrouds, 47, 11.
close-reefed vessels, 47, 14.
my fitful song, 48, 3.

flash of fluttering drapery, 48, 4. loosed storm breaks furiously, 48, 10 wroth the tempest rushes, 48, 13.

THE THROSTLE

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

"Summer is coming, summer is coming,

I know it, I know it, I know it.

Light again, leaf again, life again, love again!"
Yes, my wild little Poet.

Sing the new year in under the blue.

Last year you sang it as gladly.

"New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new
That you should carol so madly?

"Love again, song again, nest again, young again!"
Never a prophet so crazy!

And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend,
See, there is hardly a daisy.

"Here again, here, here, here, happy year!"
O warble unchidden, unbidden!

Summer is coming, is coming, my dear,
And all the winters are hidden.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-1892) was poet laureate of England, succeeding Wordsworth. This means that he was appointed to write poems about matters of national interest, such as his ode on the death of the Duke of Wellington; and that he also expressed something of the national spirit of England, as in his poems about King Arthur (The Idylls of the King) and in many poems about his native land. He was born in Lincolnshire and studied at Trinity College, Cambridge. He lived a quiet life and devoted himself to poetry, in which he excelled in beauty of expression and choice of words. You will learn to know him as a teller of tales in verse, these tales being both modern ballads and romances about King Arthur; as a writer of many lovely song-poems or lyrics; and as a poet of religious faith.