SKY-LARK. 125 



To where thy mate, 



Amid the springing spears of em'rald grass, 

 Sits on her nest; whilst thou with heart elate 



Doth upward pass, 



And wait the hour 

 When, with her young and thee, she'll seek 



again, 



With swelling soul and wing of freshen'd power, 



Yon azure plain. 



Sweet bird, farewell ! 



Thine is the flight of genius, which awhile 

 Doth Lark-like mount beneath Fame's sunny 

 spell 



And fortune's smile. 



But soon the storm ! 



Then with the swiftness of thy downward 



flight, 

 It passes from the vision, and its charm 



Is lost in night. 



To proceed. In confinement, a piece 

 of elevated green-sod should always be 

 kept in his cage, to afford him a stand- 

 ing place when singing, as he never 

 perches like other birds. The bottom 



