Each water-drop he close inspects,
And every single seed dissects;
Nay, swears with a suspicious rage,
He’ll shut the air out of the cage.
The Blackbird, with a look, replies,
That flash’d majestic from his eyes;
Not sprung of Eagle-brood, the Kite
Falls prostrate, grovelling, at the sight.
A Hero thus, with awful air
(If birds with heroes may compare),