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THE MESSENGER BIRD.
Thou art come from the spirits' land, thou bird!
Thou art come from the spirits' land : Through the dark pine grove let thy voice be heard,
And tell of the shadowy band!
We know that the bowers are green and fair In the light of that summer shore, [there,
And w; know that the friends we have lost are They are there — and they weep no more!
And we know they have quenched their fever's From the fountain of youth ere now ;
For there must the stream in its freshness burst Which none may find below!
And we know that they will not be lured to earth From the land of deathless flowers,
By the feast, or the dance, or the song of mirth, Though their hearts were once with ours.
Though they sat with us by the night-fire's blaze.
And bent with us the bow, And heard the tales of our fathers' days,
Which are told to others now !
But tell us, thou bird of the solemn strain!
Can those who have loved forget ? We call — and they answer not again —
Do they love — do they love us yet?
Doth the warrior think of his brother there,
And the father of his child? And the chief of those that were wont to share
His wandering through the wild?
We call them far through the silent night, And they speak not from cave or hill;
We know, thou bird! that their land is bright, But say, do they love there still ?