Poems (Allen)/The Sparrow at Sea

by Elizabeth Chase Allen

THE SPARROW AT SEA.

GAINST the baffling winds, with slow advance,
  One drear December day,
Up the vexed Channel, toward the coast of France,
  Our vessel urged her way.

Around the dim horizon's misty slopes
  The storm its banners hung;
And pulling bravely at the heavy ropes,
  The dripping sailors sung.

A little land-bird, from its home-nest warm,
  Bewildered, driven, and lost,
With wearied wings, came drifting on the storm,
  From the far English coast.

Blown blindly onward, with a headlong speed
  It could not guide or check,
Seeking some shelter in its utter need,
  It dropped upon the deck.

Forgetting all its dread of human foes,
    Desiring only rest,
It folded its weak wings, and nestled close
    And gladly to my breast.

Wherefore, I said, this little flickering life,
   Which now all panting lies,
Shall yet forget its peril and its strife,
    And soar in sunny skies.

To-morrow, gaining England's shore again,
    Its wings shall find their rest;
And soon, among the leaves of some green lane,
    Brood o'er a summer nest.

And when, amid my future wanderings,
    My far and devious quest,
I hear a warbling bird, whose carol rings
    More sweetly than the rest,—

Then I shall say, with heart awake and warm,
    And sudden sympathy,
"It is the bird I sheltered in the storm,
    The life I saved at sea!"

But when the morning fell across the ship,
    And storm and cloud were fled,
The golden beak no longer sought my lip,—
    The wearied bird was dead.

The bitter cold, the driving wind and rain,
    Were borne too many hours;
My pity came too late: and all in vain
    Sunshine on frozen flowers.

Thus many a heart which dwells in grief and tears,
    Braving and suffering much,
Bears patiently the wrong and pain of years,
    But breaks at Love's first touch!