The Poet And The Caged Turtledove[672]

Composed 1830.--Published 1835

[Written at Rydal Mount. This dove was one of a pair that had been given to my daughter by our excellent friend, Miss Jewsbury, who went to India with her husband, Mr. Fletcher, where she died of cholera. The dove survived its mate many years, and was killed, to our great sorrow, by a neighbour's cat that got in at the window and dragged it partly out of the cage. These verses were composed extempore, to the letter, in the Terrace Summer-house before spoken of. It was the habit of the bird to begin cooing and murmuring whenever it heard me making my verses.--I.F.]

One of the "Poems of the Fancy."--ED.

As often as I murmur here My half-formed melodies, Straight from her osier mansion near, The Turtledove replies: Though silent as a leaf before, The captive promptly coos; Is it to teach her own soft lore, Or second my weak Muse?

I rather think, the gentle Dove Is murmuring a reproof, Displeased that I from lays of love Have dared to keep aloof; That I, a Bard of hill and dale, Have carolled, fancy free, As if nor dove nor nightingale, Had heart or voice for me.

If such thy meaning, O forbear, Sweet Bird! to do me wrong; Love, blessed Love, is every where The spirit of my song: 'Mid grove, and by the calm fireside, Love animates my lyre-- That coo again!--'tis not to chide, I feel, but to inspire.