THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
203 
When beasts of prey retire, that all night long, 
Urg'd by necessity, had ranged the dark, 
As if their conscious-ravage shunned the light, 
Ashamed. Not so the steady tyrant Man, 
Who, with the thoughtless insolence of power 
Inflamed, beyond the most infuriate wrath 
Of the worst monster that e'er roamed the waste, 
For sport alone, pursues the cruel chase, 
Amid the beamings of the gentle days/' 
I once told a gentleman who was going out to 
shoot larks, expressly for a present to a fair lady to 
whom he was paying attention, that I was confident 
one live bird would be a more acceptable assurance 
of his love and regard, than two dozen of those dear 
little creatures whose lives he was about to take. He 
seemed much pleased with the idea, and immediately 
procured a fine bird, which was of course very highly 
prized, — more especially as the giver was obliged, 
shortly after, to go abroad, where he was detained for 
a considerable time. His fair friend often told me 
that her dear little songster was the greatest consola- 
tion to her in the absence of one, she so fondly loved, 
and that often, while listening to his clear and melo- 
dious notes, she had almost persuaded herself to 
