THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
179 
Thou, Linnet 1 in thy green array, 
Presiding spirit here to-day, 
Dost lead the revels of the May, 
And this is thy dominion. 
While birds, and butterflies, and flowers, 
Make all one band of paramours. 
Thou, ranging up and down the bowers, 
Art sole in thy employment ; 
A life, a presence, like the air. 
Scattering thy gladness without care. 
Too bless'd with any one to pair. 
Thyself thy own enjoyment. 
Upon yon tuft of hazel trees, 
That twinkle to the gusty breeze. 
Behold him perch'd in ecstasies. 
Yet seeming still to hover ; 
There ! where the flutter of his wings 
Upon his back and body flings 
Shadows and sunny glimmerings 
That cover him all over. 
