BIKDS AND POETS. 155 



palette, and at a single stroke, dash off such a profile of 

 our Shynx-headed Mother in her eternal youth, that the 

 very Raven of the ark said to be now abroad will re- 

 cognize it for the same face it saw lifted above the flood ! 



That would be Miss Barrett-izing with a " line effect," es- 

 pecially if by the one effort we could throw in, as an acces- 

 sory, the old fellow's croak of greeting, hoarse with the 

 phlegm of ages. 



But we are mournfully fain to confess we may not be a 

 Seer for as yet we have seen no sights 



" Of calling shapes and beckoning shadows dire," 



worth talking about ; though, in equal humility, we are 

 ready to acknowledge that, all this while, it may be 



" true I talk of dreams 



Which are the children of an idle brain, 

 Begot of nothing but vain fantasy." 



Be our similitudes veritable, or this the "base and fabric of 

 a vision," still we reiterate our " weakness" for them ! Sure 

 this wondrous wide ocean of Analogy (had we not as well 

 have said Truth f) has some sunny spots in it green islands 

 where we love to stop and play upon the pebbly verge 

 with the weird Albatross it brings us "whispering shells" 

 from the deep, deep sea. Eebuke not our toying fancy, and 

 you shall hear them, too ! 



But has not Earth, as well as Man, a yet more exalted 

 and exalting Poetry than that of which the Bird of Battle 

 is a sign ? We, ourselves, can vouch for this for have we 

 not heard it ? not alone in strains such as 



-Bottomless conceit 



Can comprehend in still imagination," 

 but through this carnal sense in our own pricked ears have 



