May — Sa in t-L amber t. 141 



seem like waxen pearls at a little distance, suggest some 

 rather painful reflections. The birds plant the mistletoe 

 on the branches of trees by depositing its seeds there, 

 undigested ; man comes and makes bird-lime from this 

 very mistletoe, which by a strange fatality causes the 

 destruction of the very creatures to whom its own propa- 

 gation is due. Could any poet rejoice over their miser- 

 able fate, and think those moments sweet when his 

 victims are hopelessly struggling ? Yes, M. Saint- Lam- 

 bert, whose poem of ' The Seasons ' is, to say the least, 

 a piece of beautiful versification, sometimes rising into 

 more elevated regions, expresses the keenest delight in 

 that exquisitely cruel business of bird-catching, and avows 

 his crimes in verses of the most finished harmony : — 



' Cent fois, dans ma jeunesse, aux rives des ruisseaux 

 J'ai sem6 les buissons d'innombrables r£seaux : 

 Avec quel mouvement d'espe>ance et de joie 

 Vers la fin d'un beau jour, j'allais chercher ma proie I 

 A present meme encor, sous les rameaux naissans ; 

 De l'oiseau de la nuit imitant les accents, 

 Des habitans des bois j'entends la troupe ail£e 

 S'avancer, voltiger autour de ma feuillee. 



" J'ecoute, en palpitant, leur vol precipite ; 

 D'un transport vif et doux mon coeur est agit6 

 Quand je les vois tomber sur ces verges perfides 

 Qu'infectade ses sues l'arbrisseau des druides, 

 O doux emploi des jours ! agr^ables momens ! ' 



It would be difficult to find any thing more gently 

 heartless and amiably selfish than these last well-polished 

 verses It is like the gentleness of the mild-minded 

 angler enjoying the pleasant sunshine and the purling 



