228 ADVENTURES AMONG BIRDS 



drop, but in this lady's works there is a little poem 

 entitled "The Child and the Bird," which if not pre- 

 cisely a translation, strikes me as a very close imitation 

 of the "Phyllis and her Goldfinch" of Melendez, or of 

 some other Continental poet, probably Spanish, who has 

 treated the same subject. At all events, the incident 

 related is the same, except that a little girl has been 

 substituted for the girl wife of the original. Here is 

 the first stanza: 



Wherefore pinest thou, my bird ? 

 Thy sweet song is never heard. 

 All the bird's best joys surround thee, 

 Ever since the day I found thee. 

 Once thy voice was free and glad, 

 Tell me why thou art so sad? 

 If this coarse thread cause thee pain, 

 Thou shalt have a silken chain. 



What poor, artificial stuff it is! How it bumps you, 

 each line ending with the dull, hard, wooden thud of 

 the rhyme! Doubtless if a better poet had written it 

 the result would not have been so bad; my sole reason 

 for quoting it is that I can find no other translation 

 or version in our literature. We abound in bird poems, 

 some of them among the most beautiful lyrics in the 

 language; but I confess that, for the reasons already 

 given, even the best, such as those of Wordsworth, 

 Hogg, Shelley, Meredith, and Swinburne himself, par- 

 ticularly In his splendid ode to the sea-mew, fail to give 

 me entire satisfaction. 



I am bad at translating, or paraphrasing, anything, 



