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SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS

ON

BIRDS, INSECTS, AND FLOWERS.

HUMMING BIRDS.

THE insect birds that suck nectareous juice
From straightest tubes of curly-petaled flowers,
Or catch the honey-dew that falls profuse

Through the soft air, distill'd in viewless showers,
Whose colours seem the
souls of gems,
Or parting rays of fading diadems :—-

very

I have but seen their feathers,—that is all.
As much as we can know of poets dead
Or living; but the gilded plumes that fall

Float on the earth, or in the wind dispread

Go everywhere to beautify the breeze.

Sweet wind, surcharged with treasures such as these,

I

may not feel :-I never may behold

The spark of life, that trimmed in garb so bright

That flying quintessence of ruby, gold,

Mild emerald, and lucid chrysolite.

Yet am I glad that life and joy were there,

That the small creature was as blithe as fair.

VOL. II.

G

THE CRICKET.

The Naturalist of the Supplement to the British Almanack tells me that Crickets rusticate in Summer, and return to their firesides in Winter. I would I knew this for a fact.

WHERE art thou, merry whistler of the hearth?
What time the grate is stuffed with arid moss,
I miss thy shrill monotony of mirth,

And do not love the bar's ferruginous gloss,

When summer nights are blinking-dark and cold,
And the dim taper cheerless to behold.

I thought thee sleeping in some cranny snug,
Insensible to human weal or woe,

Till earlier night bids shake the lazy rug,
And lifts the poker for decisive blow.

But thou hast left thy ashy winter mansion

To air thy crisp cased wings in wide expansion.

If I should see thee in thy summer dress,

'Tis odds if I should know thee, winter friend!

The love I have not, but revere no less,

That can so closely to thy ways attend.

And glad am I the cricket has a share

Of the wide summer, and the ample air.

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