The Sea-bird's Cry

'Tis harsh to hear, from ledge or peak,
The cruel cormorant's tuneless shriek ;
Fierce songs they chant, in pool or cave,
Dark wanderers of the western wave.
Here will the listening landsman pray
For memory's music, far away ;
Soft throats that nestling with the rose,
Soothe the glad rivulet as it flows.

Cease, stranger ! cease that fruitless word,
Give eve's hush'd bough to woodland bird :
Let the winged minstrel's valley-note,
'Mid flowers and fragrance, pause and float.
Here must the echoing beak prevail,
To pierce the storm, and cleave the gale ;
To call, when warring tides shall foam,
The fledgeling of the waters home.

Wild things are here of sea and land,
Stern surges and a haughty strand ;
Sea-monsters haunt yon cavern'd lair,
The mermaid wrings her briny hair.
That cry, those sullen accents sound
Like native echoes of the ground.
Lo ! He did all things well Who gave
The sea-bird's voice to such a wave.