THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 317 
The Scandian shore 
We leave in despair ; 
Our days glided o'er 
So blissfully there ! 
We there built our nest 
Among bright blooming trees ; 
There rockM us to rest 
The balm -bearing breeze :— 
But now to far lands we must traverse the seas. 
With rose-crown all bright 
On tresses of gold, 
The midsummer night 
It was sweet to behold ! 
The calm was so deep, 
So lovely the ray. 
Who could not then sleep \ 
But were tranced on the spray 
Till wakenM by beams from the bright car of day. 
The trees gently bent 
O'er the plains in repose ; 
With dew-drops besprent 
Was the tremulous rose ! 
The oaks now are bare, 
The rose is no more ; 
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