GOLDFINCHES AT RYME INTRINSICA 229 



and the subject of the Spanish poem is one pccuHarly 

 suited to verse; if taken out of that subhmated emijticnial 

 lan^uia^^e, I fear it must seem flat, if not ridiculous. 

 Nevertheless, I will venture to give here a simple prose 

 translation of the anecdote, and will ask the reader to 

 retranslate it in imagination into swift-flowing verse, 

 in a languaj^e perhajis unknown to him which repro- 

 duces to the eye and ear of the mind the sights and 

 sounds described — the disordered motions, the flutter- 

 ings and piercing cries of the agitated bird, and the 

 responsive emotions of its tender-hearted mistress, which 

 come, too, in gusts, like those of her captive, and have, 

 too, their own natural rhythm. 



The poem tells that one day Phyllis finds her pet 

 goldfinch in a strangely excited state, in revolt against 

 its destiny, at war with the wires of its cage. 



Phyllis of the tender heart, the simple tastes, the 

 lover of little birds from a child, who, though now a 

 wife, finds in them still her dearest, most intimate 

 happiness. 



What ails her bird? He strikes his little beak on 

 the wires, then strikes again; he clings to the side of 

 his cage; he flits, above, below, to this side and to that, 

 then grasping a wire with his small mandibles, tugs 

 and tugs as if he hoped by putting forth all his little 

 strength to break it. He cannot break nor bend it, nor 

 can he rest, but tired of tugging he thrusts his head 

 through the close bars and strives and strains to force 

 his way out, beating on them with his wings. Then, 



