CHAPTER VII. 



THE SKYLARK. 



The Skylark, that beautiful singer, which carries its joy up to 

 the very gates of heaven, as it were, has inspired more poets to 

 sing about it than any other bird living. 



Wordsworth says, as in an ecstasy of delight : — 



Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 



For thy song, lark, is strong ; 

 Up with me ! up with me into the clouds ! 



Singing, singing. 



With clouds and sky about me ringing, 

 Lift me, guide me till I find 

 That spot that seems so to my mind. 



Shelley, in an ode which expresses the bird's ecstasy of 

 song, also thus addresses it, in a strain of sadness peculiar to 

 himself: — 



Hail to thee, blithe spirit ! 

 Bird, thou never wert — 

 That from heaven, or near it, 

 Pourest thy full heart 

 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art ! 



Higher, still, and higher 



From the earth thou springest. 

 Like a cloud of fire ; 



The deep blue thou wingest, 

 And singing still doth soar, and soaring ever singest ! 



