1 78 BY- WA YS AND BIRD-NO TES. 



cheek and the sharp fragrance of the salt 

 marshes in my nostrils. 



Some say that the poetry of the future will 

 be the songs of science, that we are now in 

 the state of transition from romance to the 

 real. So be it if it must ; but after all I should 

 rather sing with my face to the front, if I were 

 a poet. Science is noble and good, but the 

 progress of the soul is better. Genius is a 

 bird of morning, and its song is always the ex 

 ponent of the most recent pulse of human pas 

 sion, human knowledge of beauty, human 

 sympathy with the joys and sorrows of the 

 world. The rocks may give up the last secret 

 of their hearts ; the sea, too, may disgorge its 

 treasures ; but at last it is the soul of man that 

 is the poet s field of study the soul that 

 walked with God upon chaos in the dark hour 

 before the dawn of creation, the soul that still 

 walks with him as the morning twilight slowly 

 broadens into perfect day. It is this soul that 

 longs backward and longs forward for the un 

 known, haunted all the time with some dreamy 

 memory of its ancient chrysalis state, and feel 

 ing all the time how close it is approaching to 

 the hour when its wings shall be full-grown. 



Much has been spoken and written to dem 

 onstrate that the revelation of the rocks is or is 

 not in conflict with the revelations of the Bible. 

 To me the whole discussion has the ring of 

 blasphemy. Let science go on enlightening 

 our minds and let Christianity go on making 

 glorious the paths of men. There is room 

 and great need for both. Walking between 

 the two, with a hand on the shoulder of either, 

 let poesy gather the bird-songs and perfumes 



