With our gay orchards here so much delighted,
It makes thee musical, thou airy rover?
Or are those buoyant notes the pilfer’d treasure
Of fairy isles, which thou hast learn’d to ravish
Of all their sweetest minstrelsy at pleasure,
And, Ariel-like, again on men to lavish?
They tell sad stories of thy mad-cap freaks,
Wherever o’er the land thy pathway ranges;
And even in a brace of wandering weeks,
They say alike thy song and plumage changes;