122 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
Learned parrots to conduct ye. 
When ye wander back again ? 
Smiling at my dreams, I see thee ; 
Nature, in her chainless will, 
Did not fetter thee, but free thee— 
Pour thy hymns of rapture still ! 
Plumed in pomp and pride prodigious, 
Lo ! the gaudy peacock nears ; 
But his grating voice, so hideous. 
Shocks the soul and grates the ears. 
Finches may be trained to follow 
Notes which dexterous arts combine, 
But those notes sound vain and hollow, 
When compared, sweet bird, with thine. 
Classic themes no longer courting, 
Ancient tongues I'll cast away, 
And, with Nightingales disporting, 
Sing the wild and woodland lay. 
But however highly modern writers may celebrate 
this minstrel, we are very far behind the ancients. 
Pliny says, " The Nightingale that, for fifteen days 
and nights, hid in the thickest shades, continues her 
note without intermission, deserves our attention and 
