AMONG THE POETS. 179 



most of our readers : not so familiar, perhaps, is his in- 

 terpretation of the song of this bird which commences 

 thus : 



Oh my love is bonny and mild to see, 

 And sweetly she sits on the dewy lea, 

 And turns up her cheek and clear grey eye, 

 To list what 'a saying within the sky ! 

 For she thinks my morning hymn so sweet 

 Wi' the streamers of heaven aneath my feet, 

 Where the proud Goshawk hath never won, 

 Between the grey cloud and the sun, 

 That she thinks her love a thing of the skies, 

 Sent down from the holy Paradise, 

 To sing to the world at morn and even, 

 The sweet love songs of the bowers of heaven. 



Passing over many glorious poetical tributes to the Lark, 

 and a host of sweet singers, who have been often quoted, 

 we conclude with a spirited lyric, less known, by our friend 

 W. C. Bennett : 



Quiverer up the golden air 



Nested in a golden earth 

 Mate of hours when Thrushes pair 



Hedges green and blooms have birth; 

 Up, thou very shout of joy, 



Gladness wert thou made to fling 

 O'er all moods of Earth's annoy 



Up through morning, soar and sing. 



Shade by shade hath gloom decreast, 



Westward stars and night have gone, 

 Up and up the crimsoning east 



Slowly mounts the golden dawn ; 

 Up thy radiant life was given 



Kapture over Earth to fling 

 Morning hushes hushed is heaven. 



Dumb to hear thee soaring sing. 



Up thy utterance, silence, robs 



Of the ecstacies of Earth, 

 Dowering sound with all the throbs 



Of its madness of its mirth ; 

 Tranced lies its golden prime, 



Dumb with utter joy oh fling 

 Listening air the raptured time 



Quivering gladness, soar and sing. 



