Stop, lonely wanderer, and tell me why mateless,
Tell me the story of your solitude;
God, e'en a bird has not left so fateless
But somewhere there lives a companion for you.
Tell me if death has robbed you of treasures
That sweetened the tone of your vesper song;
Tell me if fears have destroyed all the pleasures
Which justice and right say to you should belong.
Tell me, yes, tell me, and tell me most truly,
Is there just cause why your flight is alone?
Is there some stain whereby you are duly
Debarred from the pleasures that should be your own?
Still but your wing and confide me the story,
Chant it to me in a short plaintive song;
Perhaps it may speak of a sweet transient glory
That faded and died 'mid disaster and wrong.
Perhaps I may speak some word that has healing
For solitude's wounds, e'en sweet tho' they be,
For sorrows augment by sacred concealing,
And steal from the heart ev'ry wish to be free.
Dear blessed bird! you have stopped at my pleading,
My soul aids my ears to catch your sweet tone:
"If life is not sweetened by presence and breeding,
'Tis better by far to travel alone.
"I have learned as my wings have borne me thro' groves
Where gods their ambrosial nectar sip,
That the heart's best experience ever proves,
Joy comes not from presence, but companionship."
A LESSON FROM NATURE.
O who has not felt his gay heart beat with gladness,
As forth he has wandered some morning in May?
It drives away care and relieves us from sadness,
It cheers the lone heart and makes us feel gay.