The Camp- Fire 23 



tions with us. The sweetly plaintive song of the 

 sparrow suggested an interpreter — that its "fancies 

 into fancies linking" should be transferred from the 

 leaves of the forest to the leaves of memory — that 

 the bird should be asked to confess all that was in 

 its little overful heart; therefore: 



the poet and the white-throated sparrow. 

 The Poet : 



Sweet sprite of the forest unseen 

 'Mid its canopies somber and green, 



Art thou Love that is baffled and crossed ? 

 Is the cry that we hear, 

 So plaintive and clear, 

 Sweet Love in the wilderness lost ? 

 Ah me — me — me ! 



The Sparrow : 



And dost thou not know, my sweet swain. 

 That Love's the twin brother of Pain, 



And reaches the heart through a wound ? 

 I'm not Love that is crossed, 

 I'm not Love that is lost, 

 I am Love in the wilderness found. 

 Ah me — me — me ! 



The Poet : 



Aphrodite was born of the sea, 

 And so it has happened for me — 



My white lily bloomed on the tide; 

 Her sweet-breathed charms 

 Floated up to my arms — 

 Fate must have decreed her my bride. 

 Blest me — me — me ! 



