THE LANGUAGE OF- BIRDS. 
45 
Lie in their splendid plumage, and their tones 
Are sweeter than the music of the lute, 
Or the harp's melody, or the notes that gush 
So thrillingly from beauty's ruby lip. 
S. McLellan, Jun., American Poet. 
SUMMER. 
The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose ; 
See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, 
With all the incense of the breathing spring. 
In that soft season, when descending show'rs 
Call forth the greens, and wake the rising flow'rs ; 
When opening buds salute the welcome day. 
And earth, relenting, feels the genial ray ; 
The beauteous landscape, ravishingly gay. 
With love and joy, inspires the tender lay; 
In sweet confusion. Nature's charms appear. 
With ev'ry glory of the smiling year ; 
Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray. 
With joyous music wake the dawning day. 
