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To spicy groves where he had won
His plumage of resplendent hue,
His native fruits, and skies, and sun,
He bade adieu.

For these he changed the smoke of turf,
A heathery land and misty sky,.
And turned on rocks and raging surf
His golden eye.

But petted in our climate cold,

He lived and chattered many a day;
Until with age, from green and gold
His wings grew gray.

At last, when blind, and seeming dumb,
He scolded, laughed, and spoke no more,
A Spanish stranger chanced to come
To Mulla's shore;

He hailed the bird in Spanish speech;
The bird in Spanish speech replied,

Flapped round the cage with joyous screech,
Dropped down, and died.

T. CAMPBELL

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Thrice welcome, darling of the spring!

Even yet thou art to me

No bird, but an invisible thing,

A voice, a mystery;

The same that in my school-boy days

I listened to; that cry

Which made me look a thousand ways,
In bush, and tree, and sky.

To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green;
And thou wert still a hope, a love,-
Still longed for, never seen!

And I can listen to thee yet, —

Can lie upon the plain And listen, till I do beget That golden time again.

O blessed bird! the earth we pace
Again appears to be

An unsubstantial, fairy place,

That is fit home for thee !

WORDSWORTH.

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WHITHER, midst falling dew,

While glow the heavens with the last steps of day. Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?

Vainly the fowler's eye

Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky,

Thy figure floats along.

Seekest thou the plashy brink

Of weedy lake, or marge1 of river wide,
Or where the rocking billows rise and sink
On the chafed ocean side?

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There is a Power whose care

Teaches thy way along that pathless coast

The desert and illimitable air

Lone wandering, but not lost.

All day thy wings have fanned,

At that far height, the cold thin atmosphere;
Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land,
Though the dark night is near.

And soon that toil shall end,

Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest,
And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend
Soon o'er thy sheltered nest.

Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven

Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart
Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given,
And shall not soon depart.

He who, from zone to zone,

Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,
In the long way that I must tread alone,

Will lead my steps aright.

1 des'ert, empty, pathless.

BRYANT,

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1. IT is difficult to tell how Thomas Edward became a naturalist. He himself says he could never tell. Va

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