OF BIRDS. 
V 
1&7 
But truft me, love, the Raven’s wing 
Is not to be compar’d with mine; 
Nor can the Lark fo fweetly Ting, 
As I, who drength with fweetnefs join. 
O ! let me all thy deps attend ! 
I’ll point new treofures to thy fight; 
Whether the grove thy wifh befriend, 
Or hedge-rows green, or meadow’s bright. 
I’ll fliew my love the cleared rill. 
Whole dreams among the pebbles dray j 
Thefe will we dp, and dp our dll. 
Or on the flow’ry margin play. 
I’ll lead her to the thicked brake. 
Impervious to the fchool-boy’s ey#j 
For her the plaider’d ned I’ll make, 
And on her downy pinions lie. 
When, prompted by a mother’s care, 
Her warmth (hall form th’ imprifon’d young ; 
The pleading talk I’ll gladly (hare. 
Or cheer her labours with my fong. 
To bring her food I’ll range the belds, 
And cull the bed of every kind ; 
Whatever nature’s bounty yields, 
And love’s afliduous care can .find. 
K 6 And 
