Limps patiently about;
And round the basin’s edge, o’er stones and sand,
And many a fringing weed,
He steals, or on the rocky ledge doth stand,
Crying, with none to heed.
But sometimes from the distance he can hear
His comrades’ swift reply;
Sometimes the air rings with their music clear,
Sounding from sea and sky.
And then, oh, then, his tender voice, so sweet,