On our New England commons,—whom the Fiend,
Encouragement-of-Native-Talent, feeds,
With windy provender, in Waverley,
And Flag, and Ledger, weakly manger-racks.
Months passed: the catbird on the elm-tree sang
What “Free from Ahab!” seemed, and I believed.
But, issuing forth one autumn morn, that shone
As earth were made October twenty-seventh
(Some ancient Bible gives the date), he shot
Across my path as sped from Ensign’s bow,