The Prairie Dove - An 1858 Nebraska Poem

By A.L.D.; written for the Bellevue Gazette.

Oh, fly away, o'er the prairies roam

Thou beautiful bird of the West;

Oh, fly away, to my native home,

Thou'll be a welcomed guest.

 

Bear a message from us sweet dove,

To that long-loved cheerful spot,

For there are friends whom we dearly love,

That shall never be forgot.

 

Oh, tell them we oft grow sad and lone,

When we think of the days of yore,

We miss the familiar smile and tone,

Of the friends we loved before.

 

Oh, tell them that absence, or change of clime,

Can sever the sacred ties,

Of love, of friendship, for is not ours

A love which never dies.

 

Oh, tell them, we would be happy here,

Yes, we would be content,

If those we loved in youth were near,

Pleasantly would time be spent.

 

Then fly away to my once sweet home,

Thou bird of the airy wing,

Bear this message to that loved dome,

And hear the songs they sing.

 

Oh, then return with the speed of love,

When night grows dark and chill,

And tell, O, tell us thou innocent dove

Do they love, do they love us still.

 

We know there are some in that distant home,

We love and remember us yet;

And though in the far off west we roam

We know the chain it cannot sever.

 

Though we many never meet on earth,

There is a brighter home

Where we may meet, and ever dwell,

In that celestial dome.

 

Oh, may we soar on wings of love,

Beyond the azure vaulted sky;

Reign with the angelic hosts above,

Around God's throne on high.

August 5, 1858. Bellevue Gazette 2(37): 1.