the Year. 



months hence in sun-gold beauty. The wood- At the 

 thrush will be its flute. Already I have to- 

 day cut a slip from a garden-laburnum, for a 

 friend who wants ' a flute of the April-Tree ' 

 (feadan na Craobh Abraori) . . . for there is 

 no timber better for the whistle wood of the 

 bagpipe than this. And what more fit for 

 the Strayed Pan, if perchance he follow the 

 Phantom Call in the Hills of the North ? But 

 see . . . the mist has gone like a haze from 

 blue water. I hear starling-music over yonder 

 in the Talamh nan Ramh, as Ossian calls the 

 Country of the Woods. The Flute of the April- 

 Tree, and snow at my feet ! ' The Flute of 

 the April-Tree ' : it has the yellow and white 

 magic of spring in it. 



