152 PEOSB HALIEUTICS, 



Beat with long fins the agitated spray, 

 Too weai for flight, and flap their noisy way; 

 Till gasping, faint, and litter'd o'er the brine. 

 They drop into their tomb, and mate no sign. 



Moore has written some lines on the flying-iish, 

 which, though doubtless familiar to most readers, are too 

 pretty not to quote. 



Wlien I have seen thy snowy wing 



O'er the blue ware at evening spring. 



And give those scales of silvery white 



So gaily to the eye of light, 



(As if thy frame were form'd to rise 



And Hve amid the glorious skies ;) 



Oh ! it has made me proudly feel 



How like thy wings' impatient zeal 



Is the pure soul that scorns to rest 



Upon the world's ignoble breast. 



But spreads the plume that God has given, 



And rises into light and heaven. 



But when I see that wing so bright 

 Grow languid with a moment's flight. 

 Attempt the paths of air in vain. 

 And sink into the waves again, 

 Alas, the flatterer's pride is o'er : 

 Like that awhile the soul may soar. 

 But erring men must blush to think. 

 Like thee again, the soul may sink. 



Oh, virtue, when thy clime I seek. 

 Let not my spirit's flight be weak ; 

 Let me not, Kke this feeble thing. 

 That spreads awhile its splendid wing. 

 Just sparkle 'mid the solar glow. 

 And plunge again to depths below ; 

 But when I leave the grosser throng 

 With whom my soul hath dwelt so long. 

 Let me in that aspiring day 

 Cast every lingering stain away. 

 And panting for thy purer air. 

 Fly up at once and fix me there. 



