Birds

Chaste are their instincts, faithful is their fire,

No foreign beauty tempts to false desire;

The snow-white vesture, and the glittering crown,

The simple plumage, or the glossy down,

Prompt not their love: the patriot bird pursues

His well-acquainted tints, and kindred hues.

Hence, through their tribes no mix’d polluted flame,

No monster-breed to mark the groves with shame;

But the chaste blackbird, to its partner true,

Thinks black alone is beauty’s favourite hue;

The nightingale, with mutual passion blest,

Sings to its mate, and nightly charms the nest;

While the dark owl to court his partner flies,

And owns his offspring in their yellow eyes.