Volume Iii Part 48 (2/2)

When my Mimus Carolinensis, (That's his Latin name,) When my warbler wild commences Song's hilarious rhapsody, Just to please himself and me!

Primo Cantante!

Scherzo! Andante!

Piano, pianissimo!

Presto, prestissimo!

Hark! are there nine birds or ninety and nine?

And now a miraculous gurgling gushes Like nectar from Hebe's Olympian bottle, The laughter of tune from a rapturous throttle!

Such melody must be a hermit-thrush's!

But that other caroler, nearer, Outrivaling rivalry with clearer Sweetness incredibly fine!

Is it oriole, redbird, or bluebird, Or some strange, un-Auduboned new bird?

All one, sir, both this bird and that bird, The whole flight are all the same catbird!

The whole visible and invisible choir you see On one lithe twig of yon green tree.

Flitting, feathery Blondel!

Listen to his rondel!

To his lay romantical!

To his sacred canticle!

Hear him lilting, See him tilting His saucy head and tail, and fluttering While uttering All the difficult operas under the sun Just for fun; Or in tipsy revelry, Or at love devilry, Or, disdaining his divine gift and art, Like an inimitable poet Who captivates the world's heart And don't know it.

Hear him lilt!

See him tilt!

Then suddenly he stops, Peers about, flirts, hops, As if looking where he might gather up The wasted ecstasy just spilt From the quivering cup Of his bliss overrun.

Then, as in mockery of all The tuneful spells that e'er did fall From vocal pipe, or evermore shall rise, He snarls, and mews, and flies.

William Henry Venable [1836-1920]

THE HERALD CRANE

Oh! say you so, bold sailor In the sun-lit deeps of sky!

Dost thou so soon the seed-time tell In thy imperial cry, As circling in yon sh.o.r.eless sea Thine unseen form goes drifting by?

I cannot trace in the noon-day glare Thy regal flight, O crane!

From the leaping might of the fiery light Mine eyes recoil in pain, But on mine ear, thine echoing cry Falls like a bugle strain.

The mellow soil glows beneath my feet, Where lies the buried grain; The warm light floods the length and breadth Of the vast, dim, s.h.i.+mmering plain, Throbbing with heat and the nameless thrill Of the birth-time's restless pain.

On weary wing, plebeian geese Push on their arrowy line Straight into the north, or snowy brant In dazzling suns.h.i.+ne, gloom and s.h.i.+ne; But thou, O crane, save for thy sovereign cry, At thy majestic height On proud, extended wings sweep'st on In lonely, easeful flight.

Then cry, thou martial-throated herald!

Cry to the sun, and sweep And swing along thy mateless, tireless course Above the clouds that sleep Afloat on lazy air--cry on! Send down Thy trumpet note--it seems The voice of hope and dauntless will, And breaks the spell of dreams.

<script>