THE WOUNDED EAGLE.

Mrs. Hemans.

EAGLE! this is not thy sphere!

Warrior-bird, what seek'st thou here?

Wherefore, by the fountain's brink,

Doth thy royal pinion sink?

Wherefore, on the violet's bed,
Layest thou thus thy drooping head?
Thou, that hold'st the blast in scorn,
Thou, "that wear'st the wings of morn."

Eagle! wilt thou not arise!

Look upon thine own bright skies!

Lift thy glance! the fiery sun

There his pride of place has won ;

And the mounting lark is there,
And sweet sound hath fill'd the air:
Hast thou left that realm on high?
-Oh, it can be but to die!

Eagle Eagle thou hast bow'd
From thine empire in the cloud!
Thou that hadst etherial birth,

Thou hast stoop'd too near the earth,

And the hunter's shaft hath found thee: -Wherefore didst thou leave thy place, Creature of a kingly race?

Wert thou weary of thy throne?
Was the sky's dominion lone?

Chill and lone it well might be,

Yet that mighty wing was free!

Now that chain is o'er thee cast;
From thy heart the blood flows fast;
-Woe for gifted souls and high!
Is not such their destiny?

BALTIMORE ORIOLE.

Alex. Wilson.

HIGH on yon poplar, clad in glossiest green,
The orange, black-capp'd Baltimore is seen;
The broad extended boughs still please him best,
Beneath their bending skirts he hangs his nest;
There his sweet mate, secure from every harm,
Broods o'er her spotted store, and wraps them warm;
Lists to the noontide hum of busy bees,

Her partner's mellow song, the brook, the breeze;
These day by day the lonely hours deceive,
From dewy morn to slow descending eve.
Two weeks elapsed, behold! a helpless crew
Claim all her care, and her affection too;
On wings of love the assiduous nurses fly,
Flowers, leaves, and boughs, abundant food supply;
Glad chants their guardian as abroad he goes,
And waving breezes rock them to repose.

THE LARK.

Bernard de Ventadour.

WHEN I behold the Lark

up spring

To meet the bright sun joyfully, How he forgets to poise his wing

In his gay spirit's revelry;

Alas! that mournful thoughts should spring E'en from the happy songster's glee! Strange, that such gladdening sight should bring Not joy, but pining care to me.

I thought my heart had known the whole
Of love, but small its knowledge proved;

For still the more my longing soul

Loves on, itself the while unloved : She stole my heart, myself she stole, And all I prized from me removed;

She left me but the fierce control

Of vain desires for her I loved.

All self-command is now gone by,

E'er since the luckless hour when she Became a mirror to my eye,

Whereon I gazed complacently.

Thou fatal mirror! there I spy

Love's image; and my doom shall be, Like young Narcissus, thus to sigh, And thus expire, beholding thee.

THE REDBREAST.

John Jones.

SWEET Social bird, with breast of red,
How prone's my heart to favour thee!

Thy look oblique, thy prying head,
Thy gentle affability;

Thy cheerful song in winter's cold,
And, when no other lay is heard,
Thy visits paid to young and old,
Where fear appals each other bird.