OUR HOME BIRDS. 
187 
A thousand thousand humming-birds 
Are glancing to and fro. 
‘ Like living fires they flit about, 
Scarce larger than a bee, 
Among the dusk palmetto leaves 
And through the fan-palm tree. 
( And in the wild and verdant woods, 
Where stately moras tower — 
Where hangs from branching tree to tree 
The scarlet passion-flower — 
‘ Where, on the mighty river-banks, 
La Plate or Amazon, 
The cayman, like a fallen tree, 
Lies basking in the sun — 
‘ There builds her nest the humming-bird 
Within the ancient wood, 
Her nest of silky cotton down, 
And rears her tiny brood. 
1 She hangs it to a slender twig, 
Where waves it light and free, 
As the campanero tolls his song, 
And rocks the mighty tree. 
1 All crimson is her shining breast, 
Like to the red, red rose; 
Her wing the changeful green and blue 
That the neck of the peacock shows. 
