BIRD of the Tropic! thou, who lov'st to stray Where thy long pinions sweep the sultry Line, Or mark'st the bounds which torrid beams confine By thy averted course, that shuns the ray Oblique, enamour'd of sublimer day: Oft on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline, And drop those snowy feathers Indians twine,
To crown the warrior's brow with honours gay. O'er trackless oceans what impels thy wing? Does no soft instinct in thy soul prevail? No sweet affection to thy bosom cling, And bid thee oft thy absent nest bewail?-- Yet thou again to that dear spot canst spring, But I no more my long-lost home shall hail!