THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
177 
Should any of my fair readers be so unfortunate 
as to lose a favourite bird, I here present her with a 
few lines to inscribe as a memento :— • 
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVOURITE LINNET. 
Silent and cold, beneath this mould, 
A lovely linnet lies ; 
And now no more, as heretofore, 
With neighbour Dickie vies. 
His little throat, with many a note. 
Once charm 'd the ravish 'd ear. 
While w^anton plays, and pretty ways, 
Made every note more dear. 
His early song was loud and long. 
His ev'ning lays the same ; 
Cheerful and gay, he past the day 
Without reproach or blame. 
But what defence was innocence. 
Or music's softest airs. 
Against a fate that, soon or late, 
Nor lord nor linnet spares? 
