330 
THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
And a mark oiith^ floor, as of life-drops spilt— 
Nought looks the same, save the nest we built ! 
Oh, joyous birds, hath it still been so ! 
Through the halls of kings doth the tempest go ! 
But the huts of the hamlet lie still and deep. 
And the hills o'er their quiet a vigil keep. 
Say w^hat have ye found in the peasant's cot. 
Since last ye parted from that sv^eet spot ? 
<^ A change v^^e have found there, and many a change, 
Faces, and footsteps, and all things strange ! 
Gone are the heads of the silvery hair, 
And the young that v^ere, have a brow of care. 
And the place is hushed where the children play'd — 
Nought looks the same, save the nest we made 
Sad is your tale of the beautiful earth. 
Birds that o'ersweep it in power and mirth ! 
Yet through the wastes of the trackless air, 
Ye have a guide, — and shall we despair ? 
Ye over desert and deep have pass'd — 
So shall we reach our bright home at last ! 
Mrs. Hemans. 
