To warm her young, and to teach them to spring At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing!

Over the deep! over the deep!

Where the whale, and the shark, and the swordfish sleep,

Outflying the blast, and the driving rain, \
The Petrel telleth her tale in vain ;

For the mariner curseth the warning bird,
Who bringeth him news of the storm unheard!
Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill
Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still:
Yet he ne'er falters :-Lo, Petrel! spring
Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing!

THE PARROT AND THE WREN.

A CONTRAST.

Wordsworth.

WITHIN her gilded cage confined,

I saw a dazzling belle,

A Parrot of that famous kind,

Whose name was "Nonpareil."

Like beads of glossy jet her eyes;
And, smooth'd by Nature's skill,
With pearl or gleaming agate vies
Her finely-curvéd bill.

Her plumy mantle's living hues,
In mass opposed to mass,
Outshine the splendour that imbues
The robes of pictured glass.

And, sooth to say, an apter mate
Did never tempt the choice
Of feathered thing, most delicate
In figure and in voice.

But, exiled from Australian bowers,

And singleness her lot,

She trills her song with tutor'd powers,

Or mocks each casual note.

No more of pity for regrets

With which she may have striven;

But now in wantonness she frets,

Or spite, if cause be given.

Arch, volatile, a sportive bird,
By social glee inspired;

TO A REDBREAST THAT FLEW IN AT MY

WINDOW.

Graham.

FROM Snowy plains, and icy sprays,
From moonless nights, and sunless days,
Welcome, poor bird! I'll cherish thee;
I love thee, for thou trustest me.
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest!
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast,-
How quick thy little heart is beating!
As if its brother flutterer greeting.
Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom;
No! freely flutter round my room;
Perch on my lute's remaining string,
And sweetly of sweet summer sing.

That note, that summer note, I know : It wakes at once, and soothes my woe; I see those woods, I see that stream, —ah, still prolong the dream! Still with the songs those scenes renew, Though through my tears they reach my view.

I see

No more now, at my lonely meal, While thou art by, alone I'll feel: For soon, devoid of all distrust,

Thou 'lt nibbling share my humble crust; Or on my finger, pert and spruce,

Thou 'It learn to sip the sparkling juice,

And when (our short collation o'er)
Some favourite volume I explore,

Be't work of poet, or of sage,

Safe thou shalt hop across the page ; Uncheck'd shalt flit o'er Virgil's groves, Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves.

Thus, heedless of the raving blast,

Thou 'lt dwell with me till winter 's past;
And when the primrose tells 't is spring,
And when the thrush begins to sing,
Soon as I hear the woodland song,
Freed, thou shalt join the vocal throng.

BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs, that shed Their snow-white blossoms on my head, With brightest sunshine round me spread Of spring's unclouded weather;

In this sequester'd nook how sweet

To sit upon my orchard-seat,

And birds and flowers once more to greet, My last year's friends together.

One have I mark'd, the happiest guest

In all this covert of the blest;

Hail to thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion,