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PROVIDENCE :---MIGR.ITION OF BIRDS.
they departed, and find nothing but a few feathers, marks of their passage, already dispersed by the wind.
Concordances with the scenes of nature, or reasons of utility to man, determine the different migrations of animals. The birds that appear in the months of storms have dismal voices and savage manners, like the season which brings them; they come not to be heard, but to listen; there is something in the dull roaring of the woods that charms their ears. The trees, which mournfully wave their leafless summits, bear only black legions, which have associated for the winter; they have their sentinels and their advanced guards : frequently a crow, who has seen a hundred winters, the ancient sybil of the deserts, who has survived several generations, remains singly perched on an oak which has grown old with her; there, while all her sisters maintain a profound silence, motionless, and, as it were, full of thought, she delivers prophetic monosyllables, from time to time, to the winds. It is very remarkable that the teal, the duck, the goose, the woodcock, the plover, the lapwing, which serve us for food, all arrive when the earth is bare; while, on the contrary, the foreign birds by which we are visited in the season of fruits, administer only to our pleasures; they are musicians sent to heighten the delights of our banquets. We must, however, except a few, such as the quail and the wood-pigeon, the season for taking which does not commence till after the harvest, and which fatten on our corn, that they may afterwards supply our tables.--Chateaubriand.
HENRY KIRKE WHITE.
BORN, 1785; DIED, 1806. Principal Works.-Clifton Grove, Melancholy Hours, Letters,
Hymns, Poems, and Sonnets.
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.
The glittering host bestud the sky;
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye:
From every host, from every gem,
It is the star of Bethlehem !
The storm was loud, the night was dark ;
The wind that tossed my foundering bark:
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
It was the star of Bethlelem !
It bade my dark forebodings cease;
It led me to the port of peace :
I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
The starthe star of Bethlehem !
N. P. WILLIS.
Is red within the cup !
Her tempting beaker up!
They say 'tis pleasant on the lip,
And merry on the brain;
And dulls the tooth of pain.
Its rosy lights will turn to fire,
Its coolness change to thirst; And by its mirth, within the brain
A sleepless worm is nursed. There's not a bubble at the brim That does not carry food for him.
Then dash the brimming cup aside,
And spill its purple wine: Take not its madness to thy lip
Let not its curse be thine. "Tis red and rich—but grief and woe Are hid those rosy depths below.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
In happy homes he saw the light
Try not the Pass,” the old man said; “Dark lowers the tempest overhead, The roaring torrent is deep and wide !" And loud that clarion voice replied,
* Iligher, in the sense of progress heavenward.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
“O stay,” the maiden said, " and rest
“Beware the pine-tree's withered branch :
At break of day, as heavenward
A traveller, by the faithful hound,
There in the twilight cold and gray,