BIRDS OF THE POET 



Here is a sight familiar to all who have sought 

 the eggs of the wild duck amidst the underwood 

 of some lonely islet. 



" The o'ershadowing yew-tree bough 

 And dimly gleaming nest : a hollow crown 

 Of golden leaves inlaid with silver down 

 Fine as the mother's softest plumes allow." 



Over and over again in Wordsworth one is 

 struck by some poetical snap-shot, as it were, 

 which gives us the bird exactly as it lives and 

 moves. 



' ' The darkUng wren that tunes its simple lay on Dudden's side. 

 The cuckoo, ' ' with its twin notes inseparably paired." 

 The flock of mallard passing at night. 



' ' I hear their wings 

 Faint — faint at first, and then an eager sound. 

 Past in a moment, and as faint again." 



And SO on, well through the range of British 

 bird Hfe. 



In Tennyson, again, the bird-lover finds in- 

 numerable pictures, each bearing the mark of 

 close observation. 



' ' I^ook how they tumble the blossom, the mad little tits." 

 ' ' In the spring a fuller crimson comes upon the robin's breast." 

 " In the spring the wanton lapwing gets himself another 



crest.' ' 

 " The many -wintered crow that leads the clanging rookery 



home.' ' 



' ' As the thistle shakes 



When three grey linnets wrangle for the seed." 



Here is the golden eagle to the life — 



" He clasps the crag with crooked hands. 

 Close to the sun in lonely lands. 

 Ringed with the aznte world he stands. 

 The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls, 

 He watches from his mountain walls. 

 And like a thunder bolt he falls." 



Here, again, is surely the very voice and spirit 

 of the thrush's early song. 



" Summer is coming — Summ,er is coming, 

 I know it — I know it — I know it ; "^ 



Light again — leaf again — life again — love again, 

 Yes ; my wild little poet." 



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