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THE

CANARY - BIRD.

CHAP. I.

His plumes the beauties of the king-cup show,
Mixed with the whiteness of descending snow;
His glossy wings delightfully unfold,

Like evening clouds bestreaked with liquid gold;
Smooth on his breast the downy feathers lay,
No down so smooth, no fleece so soft as they;
More sweet, more various, are his pleasing strains.
Than rising flowers that deck untrodden plains,

ANON.

MIRA's Canary-Bird has left his cage: let us amuse ourselves, Melanthe, by imagining his adventures. If we look but for an hour on nature, the sweet sight will improve our understandings,

and

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