Wordsworth'' s Verses on the Thrush. 



25 



thrush, which, perfect as it is, saddensyou, as being so wholly out 

 of place. Yet who can say how the song of that bird may 

 speak to the soul of many a town-imprisoned passer-by ? Words- 

 worth thus touchingly describes an incident of this kind: — 



At the corner of Wood Street, when dayHght appears, 

 Hangs a thrush that sings loud ; it has sung for three years : 

 Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard. 

 In the silence of morning, the song of the bird. 



Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, 

 Down which she so often has tripped with her pail. 

 And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's. 

 The one only dwelling on earth which she loves. 



'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? she sees 

 A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; 

 Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide. 

 And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. 



She looks, and her heart is in heaven : but they fade — 

 The mist and the river, the hill, sun, and shade : 

 The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise. 

 And the colours have all passed away from her eyes. 



^6f^ 



