CHRISTOPHER IN HIS SPORTING JACKET 



as impious as to have killed a sacred Ibis stalking in 

 the shade of an Egyptian temple. Yet it is fortunate 

 for thee — folded up there, as thou art, as motionless 

 as thy sitting-stone — that at this moment we have no 

 fire-arms — for we had heard of a fish-like trout in 

 that very pool, and this — O Heron — is no gun but a 

 rod. Thou believest thyself to be in utter solitude — 

 no sportsman but thyself in the chasm — for the otter, 

 thou knowest, loves not such very rocky rivers; and 

 fish with bitten shoulder seldom lies here — that epi- 

 cure's tasted prey. Yet within ten yards of thee lies 

 couched thy enemy, who once had a design upon thee, 

 even in the very egg. Our mental soliloquy disturbs 

 not thy watchful sense — for the air stirs not when the 

 soul thinks, or feels, or fancies about man, bird, or 

 beast. We feel, O Heron! that there is not only hu- 

 manity — but poetry, in our being. Imagination haunts 

 and possesses us in our pastimes, colouring them even 

 with serious — solemn — and sacred light — and thou 

 assuredly hast something priest-like and ancient in 

 thy look — and about thy light-blue plume robes, 

 which the very elements admire and reverence — the 

 waters wetting them not — nor the winds ruffling — 

 and moreover we love thee — Heron — for the sake of 

 that old castle, beside whose gloom thou utteredst thy 

 first feeble cry! A Ruin nameless, traditionless — sole, 

 undisputed property of Oblivion ! 

 [67] 



