326 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
Nor those bright changeful plumes of thine 
Be offered on the unfeeling shrine, 
Where some dark beauty loves to shine 
In gaudy pride. 
Nor may her sable lover's care 
Add to the baubles in her hair, 
Thy dazzling feathers rich and rare ; 
And thou, poor bird, 
For this inhuman purpose bleed ; 
While gentle hearts abhor the deed, 
And Mercy^s trembling voice may plead, 
But plead unheard. 
Such triflers should be brought to know. 
Not all the hues thy plumes can shew 
Become them like the conscious glow 
Of modesty; 
And that not half so lovely seems 
The ray that from the diamond gleams 
As the pure gem that trembling beams 
In Pity's eye. 
Smith. 
