3o8 GENERAL ORNITHOLOGY part ii 



This song of wondrous gladness, ever bubbling, welling, gushing, 



From a fountain full of promise, inexhaustible, divine ! 



Sweeter far these liqiiid accents when the buds of hope are blighted, 



And the tree of knowledge bears its bitter fruit ; 



When memory sits brooding on the ashes of her Ijirthi-ight, 



And sackcloth shrouds a heart that once was young ; 



For a silver chord is quickened where was greedy, silent sorrow — 



Responding to a sympathetic touch : 



The bird sings true and tender, with a precious burden laden, 



With the tidings of a love that never dies. 



So in the timid siiring-time, when the world wears wreaths of roses. 



Ring clear the joyous melodies of hope ! 



So in the summer season, when the wine of pleasure reddens, 



Ring passionate the triumphs of the heart ! 



So in the sad, still autumn, when life bends beneath its burden. 



When what might have been has never come to pass, 



Rings once again this music on the crushed and wounded spirit, 



Bringing light where all was dark and drear before : 



All is not lost if the music that the bluebird bears be heeded. 



For her mission is to tell us love is God. 



Though it is a fact that " the Clicnomorplia'. are not provided 

 with intrinsic syringeal muscles," there may be much truth in 

 treatises de cantu Cyeni morituri which have appeared from time to 

 time, and to the number of which I may be pardoned for adding — 



How sadly sweet, how soft and low 



Is the music born of pain — 

 How mournful sounds the ebb and flow. 

 What measured beats, what throb and throe, 



In the wild swan's dying strain ! 



The archer, Death, and the twanging bow, 



And the fateful shaft on-sped, 

 All state and grace and pride laid low. 

 Disordered plumes and crimson flow — 



For the white swan's heart has bled. 



But hear the mournful cry that rings 



On the startled air of night ! 

 As a spirit form in the darkness wings 

 Its way unseen, the wild swan sings 



His psalm of life and light. 



How sadly sweet the solemn strain — 



The dirge of the dying swan ! 

 That wondrous music, child of pain. 

 That requiem, sounding once again — 



And a bird's soul passes on. 



