Oh, brilliant beauty of the bough!—(Scarlet Tanager.)
18. The melody is trickling from thy beak,
And silver whistlings help thy voice to speak.
Oh, singer, famed by thousands, clear the strain
Which ripples from thy pulsing throat like rain.—(Nightingale.)
19. Bird of the night,
Thy round eyes are aglow
With all the learning
Which the sages know.—(Owl.)
20. The mother hen must watch her little brood