THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
191 
Well knows the clear-toned blackbird how to sing, 
And with sweet sounds to hail the welconrie spring ; 
Charm'd with the song, the silent swain, the while. 
Leans on his staff, and listens with a smile ; 
Yet must the jetty songster's sweetest note 
Yield to the strains that tremble in thy throat. 
Oft have I markM the active skylark rise, 
On soaring wings, ambitious of the skies; 
Oft have I stood the ascending song to hear, 
Till the last songster lessened into air; 
Much have I prais'd the lively melody — 
But more I prize the notes that flow from thee ! 
When the fall'n sun but faintly streaks the sky. 
And softer colours soothe the pensive eye ; 
The plaining chantress of the night I love, 
Warbling her sadness to the silent grove ; 
Thro' the calm air the lone mellifluous song 
Pours its full tide of harmony along ; 
Low it begins, while all is hush'd around. 
And gently steals from silence into sound ; 
With gradual rise ascends the skilful lay, 
Prolongs the liquid swell, and slowly melts away ; 
Sweet is the strain, as Hammond's tender line, 
Dear is the song— but not so dear as thine ! 
