THE WHITE BIRD OF THE TROPICS.

St. Pierre.

BIRD of the Tropic! thou, who lov'st to stray, Where thy long pinions sweep the sultry Line, Or mark'st the bounds which torrid beams

confine

By thy averted course, that shuns the ray
Oblique, enamour'd of sublimer day :

Oft on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline, And drop those snowy feathers Indians twine, To crown the warrior's brow with honours gay. O'er trackless oceans what impels thy wing?

Does no soft instinct in thy soul prevail? No sweet affection to thy bosom cling,

And bid thee oft thy absent nest bewail? Yet thou again to that dear spot canst spring,

But I my long-lost home no more shall hail!

TO THE MORNING LARK.

Mrs. Opie.

FEATHER'D Lyric! warbling high,

Sweetly gaining on the sky,
Opening with thy native lay,
Nature's Hymn, the eve of day;
Teaching soul on early wing
Thus to soar and thus to sing ;

While the bloom of orient light Guides thee in thy tuneful flight, May the day-spring from on high, Seen by Faith's religious eye, Cheer me with its vital ray, Promise of eternal day.

H

ON THE NIGHTINGALE'S DEPARTURE.

Charlotte Smith.

SWEET poet of the woods-a long adieu !
Farewell, soft minstrel of the early year!
Ah! 't will be long ere thou shalt sing anew,
And pour thy music on the night's dull ear."
Whether on Spring thy wandering flights await,
Or whether silent in our groves you dwell,
The pensive muse shall own thee for her mate,
And still protect the song she loves so well.
With cautious step the love-lorn youth shall glide
Through the lone brake that shades thy mossy

nest;

And shepherd girls from eyes profane shall hide
The gentle bird, who sings of pity best:
For still thy voice shall soft affections move,
And still be dear to sorrow, and to love!

9

AN INVITATION TO THE FEATHERED RACE.

Graves.

AGAIN the balmy Zephyr blows,
Fresh verdure decks the grove,
Each bird with vernal rapture glows,
And tunes his notes to love.

Ye gentler warblers! higher fly,
And shun the noontide heat;
My shrubs a cooling shade supply,
My groves a safe retreat.

Here freely hop from spray to

spray,

Or weave the mossy nest;

Here rove and sing the live-long day,
At night here sweetly rest.

Amidst this cool translucent rill,

That trickles down the glade,

Here bathe your plumes, here drink your fill,
And revel in the shade.

No school-boy rude, to mischief prone,

E'er shews his ruddy face,

Or twangs his bow or hurls a stone
In this sequester'd place.

Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet sings,

The goldfinch dreads no slimy snares,
To clog her painted wings.

Sad Philomel! ah, quit thy haunt
Yon distant woods among,

And round my friendly grotto chant
Thy sweetly plaintive song.

Let not the harmless redbreast fear,
Domestic bird, to come,

And seek a sure asylum here

With one that loves his home.

My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve;

Oh, let me thus your friendship bribe!
Come, feed without reserve.

For

you

these cherries I protect,

To you these plums belong :