of 
“Gi N those perfect days of early 
June, when 
“Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, 
And over it softly her warm ear lays,” 
what a grateful and multitudinous response 
is hers in the choral of the birds! Begun 
long before the dawn, to cease only with the 
starlight, nor hardly then, for the vesper-spar- 
row, the whippoorwill, the chat, and the owl 
still hold the diminuendo for the awakening ! 
auroral choir. 
If it is true—and the poet but vitalizes 
a natural law as pertinent to sound-waves 
as to rippling water—that 
“Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, 
Or dip thy paddle in the lake, 
But it carves the bow of beauty there, \ 
And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake,” 
then what a bewildering maze is this pal- 
i pitating vault, where the very haze seems all 
j / a tremor to the trilling throats! 
