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Where, in his bed of wool and matted leaves,
181.-INVITATION TO BIRDS.
Ye gentle warblers! hither fly,
And shun the noontide heat;
My groves a safe retreat.
And weave the mossy nest;
At night here sweetly rest.
Amid this cool transparent rill,
That trickles down the glade,
And revel in the shade.
Here shews his ruddy face-
 Perks-raises, tosses up.
Hither the vocal thrush repairs,
Secure the linnet sings;
To clog her painted wings.
Sweet nightingale! oh quit thy haunt,
Yon distant woods among,
Thy sadly-pleasing song.
Let not the harmless redbreast fear,
Domestic bird, to come, And seek a safe asylum here,
With one that loves his home.
My trees for you, ye artless tribe,
Shall store of fruit preserve ;
Come feed without reserve.
For you these cherries I protect,
To you these plums belong ;
: See the soft, green willow springing,
Where the waters gently pass, Every way her free arms flinging
O'er the moist and reedy grass.
Long ere winter blasts are fled,
Patiently she droops awhile,
Wears again her willing smile.
183.–THE ARAB TO HIS FAVOURITE
My beautiful ! my beautiful! that standest meekly
by, With thy proudly arch'd and glossy neck, and
dark and fiery eye, Fret not to roam' the desert now, with all thy
winged speed, I may not mount on thee again—thou’rt sold,
my Arab steed! Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the
· breezy wind The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind :
 The Catkin—see note (1), p. 3.
 These lines represent the grief of an Arab, who had been induced by poverty to sell his favourite steed.
The stranger hath thy bridle-rein-ë thy master
hath his goldFleet-limb’d and beautiful, farewell! thou’rt sold,
my steed, thou’rt sold !. Farewell! those free, untired limbs full many a
mile must roam, To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds
the stranger's home ; Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn
and bed prepare, Thy silky mane, I braided once, must be another's - care ! The morning sun shall dawn again, but never
more with thee Shall I gallop through the desert paths, where
we were wont to be : Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the
sandy plain Some other steed, with slower step, shall bear me
home again. Yes, thou must go ! the wild, free breeze, the
brilliant sun and sky, Thy master's house--from all of these my exild
one must fly; Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy
step become less fleet, And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck, thy master's
hand to meet. Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye, glancing
bright; Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm
And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or
cheer thy speed, Then must I, starting, wake to feel,—thou’rt sold,
my Arab steed!
Ah! rudely, then, unseen by me, some cruel hand
may chide, Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, along
thy panting side : And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy
indignant pain, Till careless eyes, which rest on thee, may count
each starting vein. Will they ill-use thee? If I thought-but no, it
• cannot be Thou art so swift, yet easy curb’d; so gentle, yet . so free: And yet, if haply, when thou’rt gone, my lonely
heart should yearn Can the hand which casts thee from it now com
mand thee to return?
Return ! alas! my Arab steed! what shall thy
master do, When thou, who wast his all of joy, hast vanish'd
from his view ? When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and,
through the gathering tears, Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false
mirage  appears; . .
. (1) Mirage--a deception of the sight, by which objects on the earth or water appear raised into the air.