THE LANGUv^GE OF BIRDS. 
Its sweetness vanished from the scene 
Like odour on the wind ; 
Or dying melody, that leaves 
But sorrow's dream behind. 
And beauty, all too bright for earth, 
And love that would not stay ; 
A charm with life's delightful spring, 
That came and passed away. 
The dove that wander'd from the ark. 
Above a boundless main ; 
No sweet green spot of rest could see, 
And soon returned again. 
Youth, love, and spring, thus find on earth 
No home where they may dwell ; 
On angel-wings they come and go. 
Bid welcome and farewell. 
John Malcolm. 
