Ode XIII. to a Parrot

Offspring of the solar clime, Round whose gaily-painted frame The golden lustre of the prime, And vivid purple gleam: The glossy jet's refulgent night, Of driven snow the virgin white, The vernal meadows emerald dye, The azure of the noonday sky.

When she whose amiable toil Tends the pleasures of thy day, And tutors oft thy mimic lay, Shall greet thee with her smile; O, by the roses of the spring, Let Love thy docil throat diffuse, And teach with equal strain to sing The dictates of the sportive Muse.

His, the Grace's lute who o'er Waved erewhile his fair array, And charmed the Seine's enamel'd shore With accents sagely gay; The bird's whom Venus knew of eld, So may, and his whom Julia held, And his whom Arnaud taught to plead, The splendor of thy fame exceed.

'Mark, my fair, yon laughing flower, 'Lady of the fragrant vale, 'That dances to the warbling gale, 'And wooes the summer shower: 'The airs of morn around her play, 'And educate each blooming grace, 'As to the sun's enamoured ray 'She rears aloft her lovely face.

'But when noon with sultry beam 'Dares her sovereign pride invade, 'Deprived of health's enlivening stream, 'She droops the sickly head: 'She droops the sickly head till Eve 'Her last expiring sigh receive, 'And Night with sullen duty cold 'Conceal her transitory mold.

'Gather then the buds of joy 'Ere at life's full noon they fade, 'Ere chilled by Death's destroying shade, 'Their balmy treasures fly. 'At Spring's glad call the flowers arise 'And hold their happy hour anew, 'But we when our brief season dies 'No more the realms of light shall view.'