THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
While thou ! the leader of the band, 
Fearless salut'st the opening year ; 
Nor stay^st till blow the breezes bland 
That bid the tender leaves appear ! 
But on some tow'ring elm or pine, 
Waving, elate, thy dauntless wing, 
Thou joy'st thy love-notes wild to sing. 
Impatient of St. Valentine ! 
Oh, herald of the spring ! while yet 
No harebell scents the woodland lane, 
Nor starwort fair, nor violet, 
Braves the bleak gust and driving rain, 
'Tis thine, as, through the copses rude. 
Some pensive wanderer sighs along. 
To soothe him with a cheerful song. 
And tell of Hope and Fortitude 1 
Still may thy nest, with lichin lin'd, 
Be hidden from the invading jay ; 
Nor truant boy its covert find. 
To bear thy callow young way ; 
