And each worn wing hath regain’d its home,
Under peasant’s roof-trees or monarch’s dome.”
And what have ye found in the monarch’s dome,
Since last ye traversed the blue sea’s foam?—
“We have found a change, we have found a pall,
And a gloom o’ershadowing the banquet’s hall,
And a mark on the floor as of life-drops spilt—
Naught looks the same, save the nest we built!”
O joyous birds! it hath still been so;
Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go!