223] TO THE LITTLE RIRDS. 15 entertaining her with their melodious notes, which afforded her a source of inexhaustible pleasure. Hail, lovely power! whose bosom heaves a sigh, When fancy paints the scene of deep distress: Whose tears spontaneous chrystalize the eye, When rigid fate denies the power to bless. Not all the sweets Arabia’s gales convey From flow’i j meads can with that sigh compare; Not dew-drops glitt’rhng in the morning ray, Seem near so beauteous as that falling tear. Devoid of fear the fawns around thee play; Emblem of peace, the dove before thee flies; No blood-stain’d traces mark thy blameless way, Beneath thy feet no helpless insect dies. Come, lovely nymph! and range the mead with me, To spring the partridge from the guileful foe, From secret snares the struggling b.trd to free, , ■■
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