THE SONG OF THE SEA-BIRD. 



T 1 



I. 



JHE wind is awaking, 



The tall trees are shaking, 

 The sand on the seashore is driven like snow ; 

 Arouse from your resting, 

 'T is time to be breasting 

 The gale that is now leaping up from below. 



II. 



Up, every bold feather ; 



What care we for weather? 

 The sea-bird is happiest when storms round him play ; 



To him the huge billows 



Are like softest pillows, 

 And he screams with delight in the midst of the spray 



III. 



When the green waves come dashing, 



With thunderous lashing, 

 Against the bold cliffs that defend the scared earth, 



He wheels through the roaring, 



Where foam-flakes are pouring, 

 And flaps his broad wings in a transport of mirth. 

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