44
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
And day was closing as I paced
Alone beside my tent;
When suddenly upon my hand
A bird sank down to rest,—
The falcon,—but its head was droop'd,
And soil'd and stain'd its breast
A light glanced through the trees: I knew
His courser's snowy hide,—
But that was dash'd with blood; one bound,
And at my feet it died.
I rush'd towards my sword,—alas,
My arm hung in its sling;
But, as to lead my venture,
The falcon spread its wing.
I met its large beseeching eye
Turn'd to mine, as in prayer;
