228
STANZAS.
Upon the Ganges regal stream
The suns bright splendours rest—
And gorgeously the noon-tide beam
Reposes on its breast.
But in a small secluded nook
Beyond the western sea,
There rippling glides a narrow brook
That's dearer far to me.
The loory perches on my hand
Caressing to be fed—
And spreads its wings at my command,
And bends its purple head.
But where the robin—humble guest
Comes flying from the tree,
Which bears its unpretending nest,
Alas! I'd rather be.
