POETRY

THE M0cKlNGBIRp.
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Every one will appreciate the descriptive truth and poetic beauty of the following lines upon the polYglol songster of the American forest, which we take ffom the Southern Lie rary Messenger for June, lSe8 The extatie pleasure and indeiatigablc zeal with which the hlockinghird eNetts it's marvellous talent, especially when aware of observation, is very happily described in these spirited and grace lul verses.

 Cone HStan--oh harlS 10 that soft dyina s'rain eli my Mockingbird, upon the houss.top again: She cones every night to these old ruin d walls, Where, soft as the moonlight, her melody falls oh, what cansthe huibul or nightingale chant, In me chnes which they love and the groves which they haunt.

 More thrilling ana wild, than the songs have

 heard,

 h tn, stiffness of ght, from my syvee. ockiae

 bird? 1 saw her to-day, on her ftvorite tree,

 Where she cons snty cones in her glory aud g'ee Pareh'd on limb, which was staadnr out fir Above all the rast, hks tall taper spar

 The wind, it was waiting that limb to and fro, And she rod, up and down, like ski in . blow When il sinks with the pillow, and mounts witi

 it's swell;

 She knaw was watching--shc knsw it full well

 

 And mimick'd each bird in it's own native note, The Thrush, and tha Robin, the k dbigd and all - And the Partridge would whistle and answer hei

 call:

 Then stopping her carol she seemed to prapare By the ilirt of her win ss, for flight in the air, When rising sheer upwafds, she wheeled dow 1 again,

 And took up her song where she lift or the strain Wonld you cage such creature, and draggle ks plum2s--

 Condemn her to prison, the worst Of all dooms-- Take from her the pleasure of flying so free--- And dsny her her ride en the wind waited tree } Would you force her to droop within mercil sblrs When earth is all sunshine or heaven al stars! Forbid it. oA mercy! and grant her the boon 0fa sail in the sun and song to the moon. What a gift she possesses of throat and of lungs The gift apo.tolic-the gift of all tongues. Ah could she but utter the lessons of love, To wsan IS from earth and wait us above, hat siren could tempt us to wander again' We'd seek but the siren, outpousing that strain Would listen to neught but her soft dying fall, As she sat all alone on some old ruined wall