itfully swept through the sedge and the trees,
And plaintively whisper'd with musical power,
O'er the "soft-flowing Avon," at evening hour.

And now the fair parties, with Mirth for their guide,
And light-hearted Laughter, a moment divide,
And gaze on the _Eagles_, the _old ruin'd wall_,
The _Boat-house_, the _Temple_, the _Hermitage_, all;
Reproved, when their pleasure too freely they quaff,
By that _memento mori_, the Afric _Giraffe_.[1]

[Illustration]

Some visit the laughing-bird, called _Cockatoo_,
Who drops them a courtesy, and cries "How d' ye do?"
Or Mungo, the _negro_, who quaintly and sly
Takes his tea, Cayenne pepper, and cold apple-pie.
Some gaze on the _Cygnets_ that glide like a dream,
And bend down to admire their fair forms in the stream;
Some laugh at their fancies, or muse on a flower,
And all are delighted, so happy the hour.
Wouldst thou gaze with emotions far purer than mirth
On one of the fairest creations of earth,
Go at even, and breathe the pure breath of the breeze,
From the _seat_ by the _Lake_, 'neath those wild _Willow-trees_.

[Illustration]

New pleasures succeeded; the spell was of power
That Variety threw o'er the varying hour,
And a change of enjoyment was found by the train
In losing and finding each other again.
The _dancing_ commenced, and the Fair, beyond praise,
As light as the gossamer, tripp'd through the maze.
What warm salutations! what laughing aloud!
What sounds of enjoyment were heard in the crowd!
But who were the worthies who moved with a grace
And demeanour, as though they belong'd to the place?
Prince Eglantine _Eagle_, with lightning-like glare,
Threw a glance all around him to see who was there;
To the _Pelican_ Princesses bent his head low,
As they proudly pass'd by with their bosoms of snow.
Duke _Emu_, too, gazed on the heart-cheering sight,
And Earl Hildebrand _Harpy_, so famous in fight;
While the figure that walk'd so erect, I suppose,
Was Sir Peregrine _Penguin_,--I judge by his nose.
Viscount _Stork_, as he strutted about, gave a beck
To Earl _Vulture_, who wears no cravat round his neck;
And the _Bishop_ was there, though he stood rather back,
Array'd in his robes of red, orange, and black,
Sir Archibald _Ostrich_ moved on rather chary,
And lean'd on his cousin the Count _Cassowary_,
Discoursing of _Java_, and far distant lands,
And African _Deser