158 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
And, as his dying struggles broke 
The all unruffled tide, 
His voice in keen reproaches spoke, 
The barbarous sport to chide. 
A swallow^ that, in frolic way, 
Was gaily glancing by. 
Marked where the wounded sufferer lay. 
And heard his piercing cry. 
Sudden he checked his swift career, 
To pity's summons true ; 
And back, his drooping mate to cheer, 
With rapid wheel he flew. 
Then hov'ring, twittering, strove in vain 
The wounded bird to raise ; 
And, softened by his friendly pain, 
I turned awhile to gaze. 
He touched his beak, he raised his head, 
Then slowly flew before. 
And back returned, and gently led. 
To strive to gain the shore. 
