74 MIGRATION OF BIRDS.
But what a strange clamour on elm and oak,
From a bevy of brown-coated mocking-birds' broke ;
The theme of each separate speaker they told
In a shrill report, with such mimicry bold,
That the eloquent orators started to hear
Their own true echo, so wild and clear.
Then tribe after tribe, with its leader fair, Swept off, thro' the fathomless depths of air. Who marketh their course to the tropics bright ? Who nerveth their wing for its weary flight ? Who guideth that caravan's trackless way By the star at night and the cloud by day ?
Some spread o'er the waters a daring wing,
In the isles of the southern sea to sing,
Or where the minaret, towering high,
Pierces the blue of the Moslem sky,
Or amid the harem's haunts of fear
Their lodges to build and their nurslings rear.
The Indian fig, with its arching screen, Welcomes them in to its vistas green, And the breathing buds of the spicy tree Thrill at the burst of their melody, And the bulbul starts, 'mid his carol clear, Such a rushing of stranger-wipgs to hear.
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