THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
A bird new-made, about the bank she plies, 
Not far from shore, and short excursions tries ; 
Nor seeks in air her humble flight to raise. 
Content to skim the surface of the seas : 
Her bill, though slender, sends a creaking noise, 
And imitates a lamentable voice. 
Now lighting where the bloodless body lies, 
She, with a funVal note, renews her cries ; 
At all her stretch, her little wings she spread, 
And, with her feather'd arms, embraced the dead 
Then, flickering to his pallid lips, she strove 
To print a kiss, the last essay of love. 
Whether the vital touch revived the dead, 
Or that the moving waters raised his head 
To meet the kiss, the vulgar doubt alone ; 
For sure a present miracle was shewn. 
The gods their shapes to winter-birds translate. 
But both obnoxious to their former fate. 
Their conjugal affection still is ty'd, 
And still the mournful race is multiply 'd : 
— Alcyone compressM, 
Sev'n days sits brooding on her floating nest — 
A wintry queen : her sire, at length, is kind. 
Calms ev'ry storm, and hushes ev'ry wind ; 
