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THE CONDOR 
Vol. XIII 
thology, to close the present essay without some reference, at least, to the highest 
of all forms of literature would be to leave it in a sense incomplete. Although it 
has often’ been stated to the contrary I hope to show that the posses.sion of the 
poetic temperament does not neces.sarily incapacitate one for scientific work. Many 
instances in proof of this could be given, but a few will perhaps suffice as well. One 
of these is the ca.se of Alexander Wilson, whose standing as an ornithologist is un- 
questioned. A poem by Wilson is reprinted in The Osprey, vol. iii, p. 98. 
Here in our own club we have Mr. Lyman Belding who has done much conscien- 
tious bird w'ork. He is a poet as well, and verse entitled “The Sierras in June” 
appeared in vol. ii of The Condor. Still another case is that of Hudson Maxim, 
the great English inventor, who is also a poet of no mean order. The Literary 
Digest, vol. 41, no. 14, in reviewing Maxim’s “The Science of Poetry and the 
Philosophy of Language,” states in part as follows: “The mere fact of his writing 
such a work, is in. itself intere.sting; for, apart from its distinctive merits, it gives 
new evidence of the versatility which so frequently characterizes high intellectual 
talents. That an eminent .scientific inventor .should appear as an expert critic of 
poetics will, undoubtedly, surprise many minds; but many others will remember 
how philosophers have come to recognize it as axiomatic that men of large capacity 
are capable of varying their achievements according to volition in many directions 
* * *. It is somewhat startling to find a foremost 'scientist affirming that poetry 
lias a stronger hold on us than science itself * * *. But the chief charm of the 
literary feat, for mo.st readers, may be found in the plunges made by the author 
himself into poetical composition.” 
Birds, ever especial favorites of the poets, have inspired such immortal master- 
pieces as Shelley’s “To a Skylark”, and Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale”, and no 
one I think can hear tlie song of the Water Ouzel amid the roar and spray of some 
mountain torrent, or the cold, pure music of the lone Hermit Thrush in some dark 
wooded canyon, music like that of the masters, apparently simple but profoundly 
deep, and not become appreciative to some extent of the sentiment that moves the 
poet. At times I have felt this spell myself, but poetical composition does not 
come easily to me and I have written but little, while that published is limited to 
a few lines in The Auk of October, 1906, and those given at the end of this article. 
For these latter lines I make little claim for merit, and no doubt those who have 
taken up this branch of literature will be of the opinion they should have been 
written in the octosyllabic couplet rather than in blank verse. In this instance, 
however, the latter .serves my purpose best as I desire to show that it is the metre 
and rhythm, and not necessarily the rhyme that gives the word pictures their senti- 
mental setting. Poetry at its best excells in the indelible imprint it leaves on the 
minds of those susceptible to its influences, and there are certain famous passages 
that haunt one’s memory forever. Great condensation too is another of its virtues 
and to take a very modest example, this closing poem, for instance, would no 
doubt tax twice the number of words in prose. I may say in explanation I spent 
two weeks on the Farallon Islands in May and June of 1904, and anyone interested 
will find the birds and particularly the remarkable nests of the Rock Wren described 
at length in the October Auk of the same year. 
BIRDS OF THE FARALLONES 
And while it yet was spring the sea-bird hordes 
Would come, to make the isles their summer home; 
The laughing mnrres that crowded shelving cliff 
