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THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
And I can listen to thee yet ; 
Can lie upon the plain, 
And listen, till I do beget, 
That golden time again. 
O blessed bird 1 the earth we pace 
Again appears to be 
An unsubstantial, fairy place. 
That is fit home for thee ! 
Wordsworth. 
THE sea-bird's TALE. 
Far, far o'er the wave is my island throne. 
Where the sea-gull roams and reigns alone ; 
Where nought is seen but the beetling rock, 
And nothing is heard but the ocean's shock ; 
And the scream of birds when the storm is nigh. 
And the crash of the wreck, and the fearful cry 
Of drowning men in their agony. 
I love to sit when the waters sleep. 
And ponder the depths of the glassy deep, 
