And strew life's shores with dearer wrecks
Than perish from our wave-washed decks.
The fowler laid a cunning snare:
The timid bird was fluttering there,
And paused on half-suspended wing,
To hear the subtle charmer sing;
Close to the brink, with dizzy sense,
She hung upon his eloquence;
Lured by the magic of his eye,
She quite forgot her power to fly,