62 BY-WAYS AND BIRD-NO TES. 



that lamp-oil is the better medium, but just 

 now I am writing from the saddle of a tricycle 

 with the spell of all out-doors upon me. 



How precious is the pleasure now-a-days of 

 coming upon a really good stanza of verse, one 

 that breaks pen, so to speak, like a fragrant 

 bud, and distils into one s mind the quintes 

 sence of genuine originality ! I do not speak 

 of such originality as Poe s or Baudelaire s or 

 Rossetti s, but such as Swinburne has shown 

 in a choice few of his simpler lyrics, where he 

 has forgotten himself ; for Swinburne is a 

 master when French and Greek influences do 

 not master him. His music is haunting, and 

 there are, scattered through his poems, pic 

 tures sketched from nature with a hand as free 

 and firm as Shakespeare s : 



&quot; Where tides of grass break into foam of flowers, 

 Or where the wind s feet shine along the sea.&quot; 



It is not hard to find good out-door poetry if 

 we go back to the beginning of English verse. 

 Chaucer, with the language fresh in his hands, 

 so to speak, coined his phrases with a pen 

 dipped in dew. See how he begins his pro 

 logue : 



&quot; When that Aprille with his schowres swoote 



The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote, 

 And bathed every veyne in swich licour, 

 Of which vertue engendred is the flour.&quot; 



From Chaucer s day down to this no poet, 

 save Chaucer himself, has written four lines so 

 full of the subtle flavor of Spring as these. I 

 must add another stanza : 



&quot; And the river that I sat upon, 

 It made such a noise as it ron, 



