THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
1 
Their hardy broods to forage in all weathers ; 
Others, more gorgeously apparell'd, dwelt 
Among the woods, on nature's dainties feeding, 
Herbs, seeds, and roots ; or, ever on the wing. 
Pursuing insects through the boundless air ; 
In hollow trees or thickets these concealed 
Their exquisitely-woven nests, where lay 
Their callow offspring, quiet as the down 
On their own breasts, till from her search the dam 
With laden bill, returned, and shared the meal 
Among her clamorous suppliants, all agape ; 
Then, cowering o*er them with expanded wings. 
She felt how sweet it is to be a mother : 
Of these, a few, with melody untaught. 
Turned all the air to music, within hearing, 
Themselves unseen ; while bolder quiristers, 
On loftiest branches, strained their clarion pipes, 
And made the forest echo to their screams 
Discordant, — yet there was no discord there, 
But tempered harmony ; all tones combining. 
In the rich confluence of ten thousand tongues. 
To tell of joy, and to inspire it. Who 
Could hear such concert, and not join in chorus ? 
Not I. Sometimes, entranced, I seemed to float 
