Fly away to my native land;
And bear these lines to my lady-love,
I have traced with a feeble hand.
She marvels much at my long delay,
A rumor of death she has heard,
She thinks, perhaps, I have falsely strayed;
Fly away to her bower, sweet bird.
I read in a book about pigeons that, when Brutus was besieged in Mutina 43 B. C. by Mark Antony, by setting free carrier pigeons that flew over the heads of the besiegers and defied the blockade, he communicated with the Roman consuls who came to raise the siege.
A certain shrewd Mohammedan ruler of Syria and Egypt who reigned in A. D. 1145 had a pigeon postal service from one end of his dominions to the other. Towers were built for the protection of the little messengers, and from these towers watchmen strained their eyes to see that no hostile power attacked the birds in the service of the monarch.
To-day, in spite of telegraphy, telephones, and wireless communication, the brave birds hold their own. They are the messenger-boys of the air. Let us mention some of the errands they do.