180 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
While thus before my eyes he gleams, 
A brother of the leaves he seems ; 
When, in a moment, forth he teems 
His little song in gushes : 
As if it pleased him to disdain 
And mock the form which he did feign, 
While he was dancing with the train 
Of leaves among the bushes. 
Wordsworth. 
