6 
WILD SCENES AND SONG-BIRDS. 
no Freedom but wlieels and rushes tameless through the un- 
bounded fields of air — no ecstasy of Faith, but like 
" The lark whose notes do beat 
The vanity heaven, so high above our heads,' 
— " singeth at Heaven's gate !" — no spiritual Warning but 
comes and goes, inexplicably, quick as the shadow of some 
'^full-winged bird," glides across our path upon a summer's 
day — no Visitation but comes like a fierce swooper of the 
sky, the moan of arrowy wings and stroke at once — no 
Shudder from the charnel but the frowsy flap of owlet and 
of bat, '• chasing the lagging night-shades," or the cloud- 
dropped croak of " sad presaging Raven" going by must 
bring it — no dash of " mirthful Phantasie" but that sparkles 
from the jewelled wings of restless Hummers, light it amidst 
the flowers. 
All the mysteries of hope, of joy, of hate, of love, are 
winged, and to the tameless pulsing of this winnowed air our 
life must beat ! 
Winging and singing through the spring-time with the 
birds our Childhood goes — and ever, while that 
" Infantine 
Familiar clasp of things divine," 
lingers in freshness with the years — ^keeping the wise youth 
of our hearts unhackneyed — shall living be a joyful thing, 
and the cycling moons wheel blithely with us ! 
Ah, those times! — with the yellow-haired, blue-eyed, bloom- 
mg maidens, in their white pinafores and pantalettes 1 — 
"Lightsome, then, as April shadows, 
"With bees and merry birds at play, 
Chasing sutdight o'er the meadows," 
were we ! 
Bounding and carrolling through the flower-starred, odorous 
grass — scaring the fire-flies back to the moon, whence their 
