Expectation

 ("Moune, écureuil.") 
 
 {xx.} 


 Squirrel, mount yon oak so high, 
 To its twig that next the sky 
 Bends and trembles as a flower! 
 Strain, O stork, thy pinion well,— 
 From thy nest 'neath old church-bell, 
 Mount to yon tall citadel, 
 And its tallest donjon tower! 
 To your mountain, eagle old, 
 Mount, whose brow so white and cold, 
 Kisses the last ray of even! 
 And, O thou that lov'st to mark 
 Morn's first sunbeam pierce the dark, 
 Mount, O mount, thou joyous lark— 
 Joyous lark, O mount to heaven! 
 And now say, from topmost bough, 
 Towering shaft, and peak of snow, 
 And heaven's arch—O, can you see 
 One white plume that like a star, 
 Streams along the plain afar, 
 And a steed that from the war 
 Bears my lover back to me? 
 
 JOHN L. O'SULLIVAN. 


 

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