The Birds in the Thickets 1 25 



For that is conveyed away by the devil-on-two-sticks, 

 He who can show us all up, the spirit Asmodeus, 

 He of all others the coldest, unkindest diviner, 

 Making oneself to oneself at every turn most odious, 

 And without modulation transposing our confident major 

 to minor. 



Ah yes ! ye birds that flit in the shadowy hemlocks, 



Ye mountain sparrows, ye chickadees, buntings and jun- 



cos, 



Trust us not. Time was that the gemboks, 

 Unsuspecting their imminent need was to shun foes, 

 Came to the call of the hunter, rested their chins on his 



shoulder, 

 Followed him close as o er the South African wilds he 



wandered, 



Trusted him, till at last, grown meaner, not bolder, 

 The man turned and slew the poor fools, basely 



squandered 



Their fond, silly faith, and their innocent friendship. 

 Trust us not, why trust me ? Hast not seen such an 

 other 



Steal carefully on, and rest, so ! Let the end skip, 

 I might be that man, I am that man s brother. 



Ay, dear little birds in the fir trees, 

 Be shy of me too, though I love ye ; 



Prudently, cautiously skirt these 

 Thickets that border in birches 



The forests in summer that grove ye ; 

 Come not too nigh, lest a savage 



Spring from my silent devotion, 



