NATURE AND HER HARMONIES. 
7 
bright showers fell — driving the sad, plaining, ill-omened 
whippoorwill farther awaj — what cared we on summer even- 
ings? 
" Rigor now is gone to bed — 
Strict Age and sour Severity 
AVith their grave saws in slumber lie!" 
Go listen, we may, to the Mocking-Bird down in the val- 
ley, on the lone thorn tree — singing gleefully — singing 
quaintly — singing mournfully now and wildly : 
And gushing then such a nielodie 
As harp-strings make wlien a Sprite goes by !" 
Ha ! ha ! what a hotch-potch of minstrelsy he is pouring ! — 
while the stars glint on the green leaves, and they are seem- 
ing to glint back those silver points earthwise, barbing his 
bright notes more keenly — what a dividing asunder of the 
joints and marrow the sharp delight of those loud quaver- 
ings doth bring ? 
Many a time have we kissed the white innocence of an 
upturned forehead, and felt the light pressure of a " flower- 
soft hand" return the questioning of our gaze into the " fringed 
windows" of the soul — large, open, dewy, tremulous with ec- 
stasy beneath that song. 
How could the earth-walking angel fail to think of Heaven 
when those rare snatches of her natal roundelays went by ? 
Would that our kiss might be as pure and our spirit as appre- 
ciative now of these ''better symphonies!" 
The years ! the years ! what changes do they bring ! The 
heated walls, the din of wheels, the dust and smoke of the 
great city are around us, and we are toiling wearily with the 
weary toiling crowd — while away by the scented woods this 
Mocking-Bird — our Philomel 
''singing in summer's front! 
Now when her mournful hymns do hush the night, 
And that wild music burdens every bough !" 
