NATURE AND THE POETS 



are found intact ; so do some other birds. Again 

 the hawthorn, or whitethorn, field-fares, belong to 

 English poetry more than to American. The ash 

 in autumn is not deep crimsoned, but a purplish 

 brown. "The ash her purple drops forgivingly," 

 says Lowell in his "Indian-Summer Reverie." 

 Flax is not golden, lilacs are purple or white and 

 not flame-colored, and it is against the law to go 

 trouting in November. The pelican is not a wader 

 any more than a goose or a duck is, and the golden 

 robin or oriole is not a bird of autumn. This stanza 

 from " The Skeleton in Armor " is a striking one : 



"As with his wings aslant, 

 Sails the fierce cormorant, 

 Seeking some rocky haunt, 



With his prey laden, 

 So toward the open main, 

 Beating to sea again, 

 Through the wild hurricane, 

 Bore I the maiden." 



But unfortunately the cormorant never does any- 

 thing of the kind ; it is not a bird of prey : it is 

 web-footed, a rapid swimmer and diver, and lives 

 upon fish, which it usually swallows as it catches 

 them. Virgil is nearer to fact when he says : 



"When crying cormorants forsake the sea 

 And, stretching to the covert, wing their way." 



But cormorant with Longfellow may stand for any 

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