The Dove's Errand

Under cover of the night,
Feather'd darling, take your night!
Lest some cruel archer fling
Arrow at your tender wing,
And your white, unspotted side
Be with crimson colour died: —
For with men who know not love
You and I are living, Dove.
Now I bind a perfumed letter
Round your neck with silken fetter;
Bear it safely, bear it well,
Over mountain, lake, and dell.
While the darkness is profound
You may fly along the ground,
But when morning's herald sings,
Mount ye on sublimer wings;
High in heaven pursue your way
Till the fading light of day,
From the palace of the west,
Tints with fleckering gold your breast,
Shielded from the gaze of men,
You may stoop to earth again.
Stay, then, feather'd darling, stay,
Pause, and look along your way:
Well I know how fast you fly,
And the keenness of your eye.
By the time the second eve
Comes, your journey you'll achieve,
And above a gentle vale
Will on easy pinion sail.
In that vale, with dwellings strown,
One is standing all alone:
White it rises mid the leaves,
Woodbines clamber o'er its eaves,
And the honeysuckle falls
Pendant on its silent walls.
'T is a cottage, small and fair
As a cloud in summer air.
By a lattice, wreathed with flowers
Such as link the dancing hours,
Sitting in the twilight shade,
Envied dove, behold a maid!
Locks escaped from sunny band,
Cheeks reclined on snowy hand,
Looking sadly to the sky,
She will meet your searching eye.
Fear not, doubt not, timid dove,
You have found the home of love!
She will fold you to her breast —
Seraphs have not purer rest;
She your weary plumes will kiss —
Seraphs have not sweeter bliss!
Tremble not, my dove, nor start,
Should you feel her throbbing heart;
Joy has made her bright eye dim —
Well she knows you came from him,
Him she loves. O, luckless star!
He from her must dwell afar.
From your neck her fingers fine
Will the silken string untwine;
Reading then the words I trace,
Blushes will suffuse her face;
To her lips the lines she 'll press,
And again my dove caress.
Mine, yes, mine — O, would that I
Could on rapid pinions fly!
Then I should not send you, dove,
On an errand to my love:
For I'd brave the sharpest gale,
And along the tempest sail;
Caring not for danger near,
Hurrying heedless, void of fear,
But to hear one tender word,
Breathed for me, my happy bird!
At the early dawn of day,
She will send you on your way,
Twining with another fetter
Round your neck another letter.
Speed ye, then, O, swiftly speed,
Like a prisoner newly freed:
O'er the mountain, o'er the vale,
Homeward, homeward, swiftly sail!
Never, never poise a plume,
Though beneath you Edens bloom:
Never, never think of rest,
Till night's shadow turns your breast
From pure white to mottled gray,
And the stars are round your way, —
Love's bright beacons, they will shine,
Dove, to show your home and mine!