A Paradise of Birds. 73 



through the twilight air ! How sharply cut their drift- 

 ing figures 



On broad wings steering home ; 

 As they seem to sink o'er the shadowy brink 



Of the sea of fiery foam, 

 Where the sun has flung his golden shield 



Over the margin grey ; 

 And the cloudy shore is flooded o'er 



With a line of gleaming spray. 



