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Those burnish'd colours to bestow,
With halcyon blue.
Then placed thee under genial skies,
By her endued ;
There, lovely Bee-bird, may'st thou rove
With plume so bright;
Of purest white.
There feed, and take thy balmy rest,
Thy timid bride;
In gaudy pride.
her sable lover's care
And thou, poor bird,
But plead unheard.
Oh! bid the thoughtless triflers know,
Of modesty :
In Pity's eye.
TO THE CROW, THAT FLIES HOME AT
Say, weary bird, whose level flight,
Thus, at the dusky hour of night, Waves through the midway air,
Why thus beyond the verge of day
Is lengthen'd out thy dark delay, Adding another to the hours of care ?
The wren, within her mossy nest,
Has hush'd her little brood to rest; The wild wood-pigeon, rock'd on high,
Has coo'd his last soft notes of love,
And fondly nestles by his dove, [sky. To guard her downy young from the inclement
Haste, bird, and nurse thy callow brood,
That wait thy slow return for food, On some bleak cliff's neglected tree;
Haste, weary bird, thy lagging flight,
This is the chilly hour of night, Fit hour for rest for me and thee.
Pack clouds away, and welcome day,
With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft, mount, larks, aloft,
To give my love good morrow! Wings from the wind, to please her mind,
Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, plume thy wing, nightingale, sing,
To give my love good morrow.
Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast,
Sing, birds in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill Give
my fair love good morrow! Blackbird and thrush, in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! You pretty elves, among yourselves
Sing my fair love good morrow !