SEC. IV ANA TOMY OF BIRDS 307 



" Sweet, sweet, sweet, Pan, 



Piercing sweet by the river ! 

 Blinding sweet, great good Pan ! 

 The sun on the hill forgot to die, 

 And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly 



Came back to dream on the river." 



But the sad sequel, felt by Keats, vrhen poor Psyche has seen 

 and known, and Eros has found his wings — 



" So did he feel who pulled the boughs aside, 

 That we might look into a forest wide, 

 To catch a glimpse of Fauns and Dryades 

 Coming with softest rustle through the trees ; 

 And garlands woven of flowers wild and sweet, 

 Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet ; 

 Telling us how fair trembling Syrinx fled 

 Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread. 

 Poor Nymph, — poor Pan, — how he did weep to find 

 Naught but a lovely sighing of the wind 

 Along the reedy stream ! a half-heard strain 

 Full of sweet desolation, balmy pain." 



The blessed bluebird, " bearing the sky upon her back," is 

 burthened with the same " light load of song " — 



Have you listened to the carol of the bluebird in the spring ? 

 Has her gush of molten melody been not poured forth in vain ? 

 Ah ! then the pulse has quickened, and a sigh, perhaps, has risen, 

 From the breast the bluebird's music stirs to thoughts that lack 



expression — 

 So tender, so tumultuous are the fancies thus aroused. 

 The bluebird's song breathes gladness — breathes the sweet and 



solemn triumph 

 Love feels when all love's passion melts in its own fruition. 

 Exquisitely subtile are the chords the bluebird touches — 

 Chords that quiver now in ecstasy, now thrill in fond expectancy. 

 Now die in dreams of all that might have been. 

 Hers is language to interpret, and translate in accents rhythmic. 

 All the yearning of young love to claim his own — 

 Of young love that trembles on the threshold of the passions. 

 And shrinks before the images his ardour calls to life. 

 Thus to the maiden musing come thronging thoughts imbidden. 

 When she hears this speaking echo of the hopes that glow within; 

 And the tell-tale blushes redden to the rose-tint on the bosom 

 Of the bird that dares to breathe her secret joy. 

 Thus to the youth impetuous, whose life is set to music — 

 Let love but laugh and beckon from afar — 

 Fulfilment sends a greeting in the soft voluptuous languor 

 That steals upon the senses if the bluebird's song be heard — 



