THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
329 
On such a night of June ? 
With that beautiful soft half-moon, 
And all these innocent blisses, 
On such a night as this is ! 
Wordsworth. 
THE BIRDS OF PASSAGE. 
Birds, joyous birds of the wand'ring wing ! 
Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring ? 
— We come from the shores of the green old Nile, 
From the land where the roses of Siiaron smile. 
From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, 
From the myrrh -trees of glowing Araby, 
We have swept o'er cities in song renown'd — 
Silent they lie, with the deserts round ! 
We have cross'd proud rivers, whose tide hath roll'd. 
All dark, with the warrior-blood of old ; 
And each worn wing hath regained its home, 
Under peasant's roof tree or monarch's dome. 
— And what have ye found in the monarch's dome. 
Since last ye traversed the blue sea's foam ? 
— " We have found a change, we have found a pall. 
And a gloom o'ershadowing the banquet's hall, 
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