THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
261 
Sing, pretty birds, the leaves are green, 
The skies are bright and blue, 
And gaily shines the sylvan scene 
With strings of pearly dew ; 
The primrose and the cowslip flower, 
The rose and pimpernel, 
Unfold their cups in every bower, 
And sweeten every dell. 
Sing, pretty birds, the lilies bend 
Upon the open lea ; 
The woodbine and the hawthorn send 
Sweet tidings to the bee ; 
There^s not a cloudlet in the sky 
To dim the face of heaven. 
Whose tint is like the deepening dye, 
To crouching violets given. 
Wilson gives a very interesting account of the 
humming-bird in America, a few extracts from which 
I beg leave to present to my readers. {Trochilus 
Colubris.) " Though this interesting and beautiful 
genus of birds comprehends upwards of seventy 
species, all of which, with a very few exceptions. 
