Gbe TOarbler 53 



The stream never dries on m\ sock; 

 As I dream of it, drink of it, bathe on the brink of it, 

 All to that spray-jewelled sock. 



I love it, I love it, that torrent above it, 



That draught so deliciously rool; 

 1 look and i listen where icicles glisten, 



And plunge open-eyed in the pool: 

 I sing to the naiad, the nymphian naiad, 



As the scarf from her shoulder she flings; 

 Bor the song she doth carol in shining apparel, 



Is the song that the water- fall sings; 

 As I dip in it, dart in it, lose all my heart in it, 



All to the song that it sings. 



Cold water, cold water, cold, icy cold water, 



That quenches the lever of thirst; 

 O try it, O take it, O never forsake it, 



For the cup that the syren hath curst; 

 Come hither, come hither, where cheeks never wither, 



Come hither with hfe-givmg vow, 

 Where the eras - as it tosses the spray on the mosses, 



Baptizes with rain-bows thy brow; 

 Then dream of it, drink of it, think, only think of it, 



Come to the Dipper, come now. 

 To that snow-printed slipper, that spiay-jewelled slippei, 



That gleams by the cataract s blow. 



We are glad to say that this unique volume of " Bird-Songs " has been 

 added to our Ornithological Library, and it is probable that in future num- 

 bers of The Warbler, or in some other way, part or all of these " Bird- 

 Songs " will be published. The work is prized more than any other book 

 in our library. 



