I've seen a Pheasant from a brake Start up, spring forth, and soar on high; Its golden plumage, wide display'd, Splendid, when cowering on the ground; But when upsprung, and stretch'd for flight, Oh, never did my wondering eyes In nature see so fair a sight! Then rapid as the lightning's gleam, Of joys I since had learn'd to prize. In vain I stretch'd my eager hands THE HUMMING-BIRD. MINUTEST of the feather'd kind, A proof within how little space Rendering thy lovely fairy race Beauty's epitome. Those burnish'd colours to bestow, Her pencil in the heavenly bow She dipp'd, and made thy plumes to glow With every hue That in the dancing sunbeam plays, And with the ruby's vivid blaze, Then placed thee under genial skies, And bade thee pass thy happy hours There, lovely Bee-bird, may'st thou rove There rapid fly, more heard than seen, There feed, and take thy balmy rest, There weave thy little cotton nest, Thy timid bride; Nor those bright, changeful plumes of thine Nor may her sable lover's care Add to the baubles in her hair Thy dazzling feathers, rich and rare ; For this inhuman purpose bleed, While gentle hearts abhor the deed, Oh! bid the thoughtless triflers know, And that not half so lovely seems As the pure gem that sweetly beams TO THE CROW, THAT FLIES HOME AT NIGHT. SAY, weary bird, whose level flight, The wren, within her mossy nest, Has hush'd her little brood to rest; The wild wood-pigeon, rock'd on high, Has coo'd his last soft notes of love, And fondly nestles by his dove, [sky. To guard her downy young from the inclement Haste, bird, and nurse thy callow brood, Fit hour for rest for me and thee. |