342 WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIRDS. 



Talks not. the tempests too raging and loud 



When your delicate form to the leafy twig clings ? 



And is there no hurricane-death where it sings ? 



Art never fearful where the hoarse beasts do growl ? 



Is your little heart with you when the gray wolves do howl ? 



Is Panther your choice when his sweet voice comes out ? 



Or dost sing when soft-wing'd owls are about ? 



When they hoot in answer to savages' whoop 



While making dark ravages with silent swoop 



And snapping their horny beaks in that dull gloom, 



Do they scare thee with thoughts of too warm a tomb, 



Beneath yellow light from their great staring eyes ? 



Is it where things are gentle, night murder flies ? 



Have angels' bright songs any sweeter than thine 



Or angel art thou, then, my sweet bird, in fine ? 



Thy notes are too mellow for coarse words of mine, 

 Thou art braver than conqueror of any bad li ne ; 

 Thou sing'st midst terrors a sad world to refine ; 

 The hiss and the horror, the howl and the roar 

 When thy song is triumphing saddens no more ; 

 Tell me then, gentle bird, how can you sing so ? 



Ye twitter, and twitter, and twitter a song, 

 But will the world let ye go twittering long ? 

 While killing the gentle and pampering wrong, 

 They go for cowards and the brutes that are strong ; 



Mean ye a time of lofty story, 



Mean ye a time of peaceful glory ? 



Mean ye a time when hope shall see 



A thought and a deed of benignity ? 



When twittereth, twittereth that small song, 



Bring'st thou the graces and flowers along ? 



Art thou an aeolian joy from on high, 



That cometh here singing that men may not die ? 



Knowest thou aught that is gentle and good 



