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MOCKING-BIRD. By
Sidney Lamer. With Siz-

teen Illustrations in Color

Charles Scribner’s Sons

New York, A.D.Mdccccii

Copyright, 1883, by The Independe
Hi NO aN tae Ee, 1899, by Mary Day Lar

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D. C. Public Library

FEB 26 1938

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Prefatory Note

HE poet Stdney Lanier loved to swing in
full-muscled walks through the fields and

woods ; to take the higgest how and quiver

out of the archery tmplements provided for

himself and his hrood of hoys, and with them trail-
ing at his heels, to tramp and shoot at rovers ; to he-
stride a springy horse and ride through the mountains
and the valleys, noting what they were pleased to
show of tree and hird and heast life. He could feel
the honest savage instinct of the hunter ( and lose tt
in hes first sight of a stag’s death-eyes_). A rare
hird’s nest with eggs produced tn him the rapture
vouchsafed to harharian Boy, along with the divine
suggestions vouchsafed to the Poet. This may he
worth while to say to those of Lanier’s readers who

may think of him as a sensitive, delicate man of

letters, and who must see in most of his writing
evidences of extreme sensthility. It was thts hahit of
a prathcal, face-to-face conversation with nature
which, joined with the artist’s tnstintté, makes the

fe 2 > POP TEM
f Public. Li
REGEIVED

JUN 141907

\\_ Washington, D,0, 4

sr ee aa

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sketch of “ Bob” so veractous a pitiure of a hird-tndi-
vidual and a hird-spectes. Lanier’s wife and chil-
dren remember well the delight the hird had for his
hrother artist; how the amused flute would trill with
extravagant graces to the silent hut heedful wonder
of the caged one. Every surprising token of intelli
gence, of affettion, of valor displayed hy Boh was
hailed hy Mr. Lanier with a hoy’s ecstacy over a
pet, and a poet’s thankfulness of a heautiful work
of the Creator.

There 7s, doubtless, no need to assure the reader
that the events of Bok’s life as hereinafter depitied
are historically true; he was acquired hy one of the
poet’s hoys, who, forhidden to rob nests, remembers
his fear, on the way home with Boh tn hés straw hat,
that the account of the hird’s helpless condition would
not serve as a fair and reasonahle excuse for keep-
ing him as a pet.

The dllustrations which form so important a part
of the effort to make a pitiure of Boh, are unusual
in their ortgin and tn their method. Mr. Dugmore
made photographic studies of a young mocking-hird,

or, rather, of a number of young mocking-hirds, the
photographs were colored hy him, and the plates
from these photographs were printed in color. The
variety of rare tints in any hird’s plumage, their
extreme delicacy, and the infinitely fine gradations
of shading have almost always haffled the artist
and the printer. The present attempt to reproduce
Mr. Dugmore’s masterly pittures tn color shows at
least a handsome advance tn the difficult art.

Charles Day Lanier.

Ofioher, 1899.

a Wise ‘

eet
NOM RESET
an

List of Illustrations

From Photographs made from Life
and colored hy A. R. Dugmore

“ Boh lying in a lump” To face page 4

“To increase the volume of his rudimentary
feathers”

“Throw his head hack and open his yellow-
lined heak”

“He scrambled to the hars of the cage which
his feeble companion was unable to do”

“For it was his own image in the looking-
glass of a hureau”

“Hes hath”
“When he smoothed his feathers”

“And as many times slid down the smooth
surface of the mirror and wounded himself
upon the perilous pin-cushton”

“The most elegant, trim . .. little dandy”

“A sidelong, inquiring posture of the head,
.. . Is she gone?”

“ He eats very often”

“Boh never negletts to wipe his heak after
each meal”

“ He stretches hts hody until he seems incredt
bly tall”

“When he ts cold he makes himself into a
round hall of feathers”

“When his feathers fall. He ¢s then uns peak-
ably dejetted. . . . every feather dropped
from his tail”

“We have only to set Boh’s cage where a spot
of sunshine will fall on tt. . . . up goes his
heak, and he ts off”

42

58

q |
The Mocking-Bird

Superh and sole, upon a pluméd spray

That oer the general leafage holdly grew,

He summ’d the woods in song ; or typic drew

The watch of hungry hawks, the lone dismay

Of languid doves when long their lovers stray,
And all hirds’ passion-plays that sprinkle dew
At morn tn hrake or hosky avenue.

W hate’ er hirds did or dreamed, this hird could say.
Then down he shot, hounced atrély along

The sward, twitched in a grasshopper, made song
Midjight, perched, prinked, and to hes art again.
Sweet Science, this large riddle read me plain:
How may the death of that dull tnsett he

The life of yon trim Shakspere on the tree ?

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( SE OT that his

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: ro name ought

968° to be Bob at all.
In respect of his behavior
during a certain trying pe-

riod which I am presently

to recount, he ought to be
called Sir Philip Sidney :
yet, by virtue of his con-

duct in another very trou-

F O B | blesome business which I

will relate, he has equal

claim to be known as Don
Quixote de la Mancha:
while, in consideration that
he is the Voice of his whole
race, singing the passions
of all his fellows better

than any one could sing

his own, he ts clearly en-
titled to be named Wil-
liam Shakspere.

For Bob is our mocking-

bird. He fell to us out of Bo B
the ton of a certain great

fine in a certain small city
on the sea-coast of Georgia.
In this tree and a host of
his lordly fellows which
tower over that little city,
the mocking-birds abound
in unusual numbers. They
love the prodigious masses
of the leaves, and the gen-
erous breexes from the

neighboring Gulf Stream,

8 oR | and, most of all, the nfi-
nite flood of the sunlight
which ts so rich and cor-
dial that it will make even
aman lifthis head towards | _
the sky, as a mocking-bird
lifis his beak, and try to
sing something or other.
About three years ago, in
a sandy road which skirts

a grove of such tall pines,
a wayfarer found Bob ly-
ing ina lump. It could not

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have been more than a few
days since he was no bird
at all, only an egg with
possibilities. The finder
brought him to our fence
and turned him over to a
young man who had done
us the honor to come out of
a Strange Country and live

at our house about six years
before. Gladly received by
this last, Bob was brought

within, and family discus-

Bo RB | sions were held. He could
not be put back into a tree:
the hawks would have had
him in an hour. The origi-
nal nest was not tobe found.
Westruggled hard against
committing the crime—as
we had always considered
it—of caging a bird. But
finally it became plain that
there was no other resource.
In fact, we were obliged to

recognize that he had come

tous from the hand of Pro-
vidence, and, though we
areamong the most steady-
going democrats of this
Republic, we were yet suf-
ficiently acquainted with

the etiquette of courts to}

know that one does not re-
Suse the gift of the King.

Dimly hoping, therefore,
that we might see our way
clear to devise some means

of giving Bob an education

es OB | thatwould fit him for a for-

ester, we arranged suitable
accommodations for him,
and he was tended with
motherly care.

He repaid our attentions

Jrom the very beginning.
He immediately began to
puck up in flesh and to tn-

crease the volume of his ru-
dimentary feathers. Soon
he commenced to call for
his food as lustily as any

spotled child. When it was
brought, he would throw
his head back and open
his yellow-lined beak to a
width which no one would
credit who did not see it.
Into this enormous cavity,
whichseemedalmost larger
than the bird, his protec-
tress would thrust—and

the more vigorously the bet-

ter he seemed to like it—

ball after ball of the yolk

of hard-boiled egg mashed
up with Irish potato.

How, from this dry com-
pound which was his only
Jare except an occasional
worm off the rose-bushes,

Bob could have wrought

the surprising nobleness of
spirit which he displayed
about six weeks after he
came tous ...ts a matter
which I do not believe the
most expansive application

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theory of the genesis of
emotion could even remote-
ly account for. I refer to
the occasion when he fairly
earned the title of Sir Philip
Sidney. A short time after
he became our guest a cou-
ple of other fledgelings
were brought and placed

in his cage. One of these

soon died, but the other con-

tinued pfOr some time longer

of Mr. Herbert Spencer’s Bo B

Bo p |to drag out a drooping ex-

istence. One day, when Bob
was about six weeks old,
his usual ration had been
delayed, owing to the pres-
sure of other duties upon his
attendant. He was not slow
to make this circumstance
known by all the language
available to him. He was
very hungry indeed and

was squealing with every

appearance of entreaty and

the lady of the house was
able to bring him his break-
Jast. He scrambled to the
bars of the cage—which

his feeble companion was
unable to do—took the prof-
Jered ball of egg-and-po-
tato fiercelyin his beak, and

then, instead of swallowing
it, deliberately flapped back

to his sick guest in the cor-

nerand gave him the whole

of indignation when at last Bo B

Bor

of it without tasting a mor-

sel.
Now when Sir Philip Sid-
ney was being carried off
the battle-field of Zutphen
with a fearful wound in
his thigh, he became very

thirsty and begged for wa-
ter. As the cup was handed
him, a dying soldier who

lay near cast upon tt a look |

of great longing. This Sid-

ney observed : refusing the

cup, he ordered that i
should be handed to the
soldier, saying, ‘*His ne-
cessity 1s greater than
mine.””

Bos

Mocking - bird
is called Bob

As ust as a goat
is called Billy or Nan, as
a parrot ts called Poll, as
a squirrel is called Bunny,
or as a cat is called Pussy
or Lom. In shite of te
suggestions forced upon us
by the similarity of his be-
havior to that of the sweet
young gentleman of Zut-

fhen, our bird continued

to bear the common appel-

lation of his race and no
efforts on the part of those
who believe in the fitness
of things have availed to
change the habits of Bob’s
Jriends in this particular.
Bob he was, is, and will
probably remain.

Perhaps under a weight-
ier title he would not have
thriven so prosperously.
His growth was amazing

Bo RB \in body and in mind. By
the time he was two months
old he clearly showed that
he was going to be a singer.
About this period certain
little feeble trills and ex-
jerimental whistles began

to vary the monotony of his

absurd squeals and chir-
rups. The musical busi-
ness, and the marvellous
work of feathering him-
self, occupied his thoughts

continually. I cannot but
suppose that he superin-
tended the disposition of
the black, white and gray

markings on his wings and

his tail as they succes-

sively appeared: he cer- |

tainly manufactured the

pigments with which those

colors were laid on, some-

where within himself, —

and all out of egg-and-

potato. How he ever got

Bo p | the idea of arranging his
feather characteristics ex-
actly as those of all other

male mocking-birds are

arranged—1s more than I
know. It is equally beyond
me to conceive why he did
not—while he was about
it—exert his individuality
to the extent of some little
a peculiar black dot or white
strine whereby he could at
least tell himself from any

other bird. His failure to Bo B
attend to this last matter
was afterwards the cause
ofa greatbattle from which
Bob would have emerged

in a plight as ludicrous as
any of Don Quixote’s,—_

considering the harmless

and unsubstantial nature
of his antagonist—had not
this view of his behavior
been changed by the cour-
age and spirit with which

he engaged his enemy, the
gallantry with which he
continued the fight, and the
good faithful blood which
he shed while tt lasted. In
all these particulars his
battle fairly rivalled any

encounter of the much-

bruised Knight of la Man-

cha.

| He was about a year old
when it happened, and
the fight took place a long

way from his native heath. bse B
- | He was spending the sum-

mer at a pleasant country

home in Pennsylvania. He

had appeared to take gust

as much delight in the

clover fields and mansion-

studded hills of this lovely

region as in the lonesome
Jorests and sandy levels of
his native land. He had
sung, and sung: even in his
dreams at night his sensi-

| Bo B | tive litle soul would ofien
| get quite too full and he
would pour forth raptur-

| ous bursts of sentiment at

any time between twelve
o’clock and daybreak. If
our health had been as
little troubled by broken
slumber as was his, these
melodies in the late night
would have been glorious ;
but there were some of us
who had gone into the coun-

try especially to sleep; and a OB
we were finally driven to
swing the sturdy songster
highupinour outside porch
at night, by an apparatus |
contrived with careful re-

JSerence to cats. Several

of these animals in the
neighborhood had longed
unspeakably for Bob ever
since his arrival. We had
seen them eyeing him from
behind bushes and through

Bo R | windows, and had once
rescued him from one who
had thrust a paw between

the very bars of his cage.

That cat was going to eat
him, art and all, with no
compunciion in the world.’
His music seemed to make
no more impression on cats
than Keats’s made on cril-
ics. If only some really
discriminating person had
been by with a shot-gun

when The Quarterly thrust
its paw into poor Endym-
ton’s cage!

| One day at this country-
house Bob had been let out
of his cage and allowed
to fly about the room. He
had cut many antics, to
the amusement of the com-
pany, when presently we
left him, to go down to din-
ner. What occurred afier-

ward was very plainly told

by circumstantial evidence
when we returned. As soon
as he was alone, he had

| availed himself of his un-

usual freedom to go explor-

ing about the room. In the

course of his investigation
he suddenly found himself
confronted by ... um
impossible to say what he
considered it. If he had
been reared in the woods

he would probably have re-

garded it as another mock-
_ing-bird, —for it was his
| own wmage in the looking-
glass of a bureau. But he
had never seen any member
of his race except the for-
lorn little unfledged speci-
men which he had fed at six
weeks of age, and which
bore no resemblance to this
tall, gallant, bright-eyed
figure in the mirror. He
had thus had no opportu-

Bos |

Al OB |nity to generalize his kind;
and he knew nothing what-
ever of his own personal
appearance except the par-
tial hints he may have
gained when he smoothed
his feathers with his beak
after his bath in the morn-
ing. It may therefore very
well be that he took this
sudden apparition for some
Chimera-—or dire monster

which had taken advan-

tage of the family’s tempo-
rary absence to enter the
room, with evil purpose.
Bob immediately deter-
mined to defend the prem-
uses. He flew atthe invader,
literally beak and claw.
But beak and claw taking

no hold upon the smooth
glass, with each attack he

slid struggling down to the
foot of the mirror. Now tt
so happened that a pin-

Bo RB | cushion lay at this point,
which bristled not only
with pins but with needles
which had been tempora-
rily left in it and which

were nearly as sharp at the

eye-ends as at the points.

Upon these Bob’s poor

claws came down with
fury: he felt the wounds
and saw the blood: both he
attributed to the strokes of
his enemy, and this roused

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him to new rage. In order

to give additional momen-
tum to his onset he would
retire towards the other
side of the room and thence
Sly at the foe. Again and
again he charged: and as
many times slid down the
smooth surface of the mir-
ror and wounded himself
ufion the perilous pin-cush-
ton. As I entered, being
first up from table, he was

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deat a? Jet B® HD,

JUN 1 41907

Bo

in the act of fluttering
down against the glass.

Lhe counterpane on the
bed, the white dimity cover
of the bureau, the pin-cush-
ion, all bore the bloody re-
semblances of his feet in
various places,and showed
how many times he had
sought distant points in or-
der to give himself a run-
ning start. His heart was
beating violently; and-ht

ee a

Jeathers were ludicrously
tousled. And all against
the mere shadow of him-
self! Never was there such
a temptation for the head
of a family to assemble his
people and draw a prodi-
gious moral. But better
thoughts came: for, after
all, was it not probable
that the poor bird was de-
Jending —or at any rate

believed he was defending

Bos

Bor

—the rights and proper-
ties of his absent masters
against a foe of unknown
| fower? All the circum-
stances go to show that he
/made the attack with a
faithful valor as reverent
as that which steadied
the lance of Don Quixote
against the windmills: In
after days, when his cage
has been placed among the
boughs of the trees, he has

not shown any warlike
fee ings against the robins
and sparrows that passed
about, but only a friendly

interest.

At this present writing,
Bob is the most elegant,
trim, electric, persuasive,
cunning, tender, coura-
geous, artistic little dandy
of a bird that mind can im-
agine. He does not confine
himself to imitating the

Bor

| BZ OB | songs of his tribe. He ts a
creative artist. I was wit-
ness not long ago to the se-
leétion and adoption by him
of a rudimentary whistle-
language. During an ill-
ness it fell to my lot to sleep
ina room alone with Bob.
Inthe early morning, when
a lady—to whom bob is
jasstonately attached —
would make her appear-
ance in the room, he would

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fa hag em:

joyful chirrup which ap-
pears to belong to him pe-
culiarly. I have not heard
it from any other bird. But
sometimes the lady would
merely open the door, make
an inquiry, and then re-
lire. It was now necessary
Jor his artistic soul to find
some form of expressing
grief. For this purpose he

selected a certain cry al-

salute her with a certain B OB

B QB |\most identical with that
of the cow-bird—an inde-
scribably plaintive, long-

drawn, thin whistle. Day
after day I heard him
make use of these expres-
sions. He had never done
so before. The mournful
one he would usually ac-
company, as soon as the
door was shut, with a side-
long inquiring posture of

the head, which was a

.
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.

clear repetition of the lov-
er’s Is she gone? Is she

Bos|

really gone?

be recommended. He eats
very often. In fact if Bob
should hire a cook, it would
be absolutely necessary for
him to write down his
hours for her guidance;
and this writing would look

very much like a time-table

of the Pennsylvania, or
the Hudson River, or the

RONG

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Old Colony, Railroad. He
would have to say: ** Brid-
get will be kind enough
to get me my breakfast at
the following hours: 5,
5-30, 5-40, O, 0.75;
oO, 0:75, 7, 7520;
7.40, 8 (and so on, every

Jjifieen or twenty minutes,
until 72 M.); my dinner
e727 2.50, 12.40, Fe
I.I5, I.370 (and so on
every fifteen or twenty

Bo Rp | minutes until 6 p.m.); my
supper is irregular, but I
wish Bridget particularly
to remember that I always
eat whenever I awake in
the night, and that I usu-
ally awake four or five
times between bedtime and
daybreak.” With all this
eating, Bob never neglects

to wipe his beak afier

each meal. This he does by

drawing it quickly, three

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or four times on each side,

against his perch.
I never tire of watching |
his motions. ‘here does not
seem to be the least friction
between any of the com-
ponent parts of his sys-
tem. They all work, give,
flay in and out, stretch,
contract, and serve his
desires generally with a

smoothness ANd SOfL [T= sree ohn me

cision truly admirable. “A. ¥akee

Bo B| Merely to see him leap
Jrom his perch to the floor
of his cage 1s to me a never-
failing marvel. It is so
instantaneous, and yet so
quiet: clin, and he ts down,
with his head in the Jood-
cup: I can compare tt
to nothing but the stroke
of Fate) It is perhaps a

strained association of the

large with the small: but

when he suddenly leaps

down in this instantaneous Bo B

way, I always feel as if, |
while looking down ufon
the three large Forms of
the antique Sculpture, ly-
ing in severe postures along
the ground, I suddenly
heard the clip of the fatal
shears. |

-| His repertory of songs ts
extensive. Perhapsit would
have been much more so

if his life had been in the ae | aa ar

8 0 B | woods where he would have
had the opportunity to hear
the endlessly-various calls
of his race. So far as we
can see, the stock of songs
which he now sings must
have been brought in his

own mind from the egg, or
Jrom some further source

whereof we know nothing.
He certainly never learned
these calls: many of the
birds of whom he gives per-

JSectimitationshave been al-
ways beyond his reach. He
does not apprehend readily
a new set of tones. He has

caughttwoor three musical
phrases from having them
whistled near him. No sys-
tematic attempt, however,
has been made to teach
him anything. His proce-
dure in learning these few
tones was peculiar. He
would not, on first hearing

Bo Rp | them, make any sign that

he desired to retain them,
beyond a certain atr of at-
tention in his posture. Up-
on repetition on a differ-
ent day, his behavior was
the same: there was no
attempt at imitation. But
sometime afterward, quite
unexpectedly, in the hila-
rious flow of his birdsongs
would appear a perfect re-
production of the whistled

ae a ee

he was rather above futile

and amateurish efforts. He

took things into his mind,

turned them over, and,

when he was perfectly sure
of them, brought them forth
with perfection and with
unconcern.

He has his little joke. His

favorite response to the en-

dearing terms of the lady

whom he loves is to scold

tones. Like a great artist Bo B

& OB | her. Of course he under-

| stands that she under-
stands his wit. He uses
Jor this purpose the angry
warning cry which mock-
ing-birds are in the habit
of employing to drive away
intruders from their nests.
At the same time he ex-

presses his delight by a

peculiar gesture which he

always uses when pleased.

He extends his right wing

the inner surface of it as
Jar as he ts able.

He has great capacities in
the way of elongating and
contracting himself. When
he is curious, or alarmed,
he stretches his body until
he seems incredibly tall and
of the sixe of his neck all the
way. When he ts cold, he
makes himself into a round

ball of feathers.

and stretches his leg along ¥ OB

goes to sleep. He
takes up one leg somewhere
into his bosom, crooks the
other a trifle, shortens his
neck, closes his eyes, —and
it is done. He does not ap-
pear to hover a moment
in the borderland between

sleeping and waking but
hops over the line with the
same superb decision with

perch to the floor. [ do not
think he ever has anything

on his mind after he closes
his eyes. It ts my belief that

he never committed a sin of

any sort in his whole life.

There is but one time when

he ever looks sad. This is
during the season when
his feathers fall. He ts
then unspeakably dejected.

| Never a note do we get

which he drops from his Bo B

| B OB Jrom him until it 1S over.
Nor can he be blamed. Last

summer not only the usual
loss took place, but every
feather dropped from his |
tail. His dejection during
this period was so extreme
that we could not.but be-

lieve he had some idea of

his personal apfpéarance

under the disadvantage of
no tail. This was so ludi-
crous that his most ardent

lovers could scarcely be-
hold him without a smile;
|and it appeared to cut him
to the soul that he should
excite such sentiments.
But ina surprisingly short
time his tail-feathers grew
out again, the rest of his
apparel reappeared fresh
and new, and he lifted up
his head: insomuch that
whenever we wish to fill

the house with a gay, con-

8 B | fident, dashing, riotous,
innocent, sparkling glory
of jubilation, we have only
to set Bob’s cage where a
spot of sunshine will fall
on it. His beads of eyes
glisten, his form grows in-
tense, up goes his beak, and

he is off.

Finally we have sometimes

discussed the question: ts
it better on the whole, that
Bob should have lived in

AR. Ougmere

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a cage than in the wila-
wood? There are confict-
ing opinions about it: but

one of us 1s clear that it ts.

He argues that although

there aremany songs which |

are never heard, as there

| are many eggs which never

| hatch, yet the general end

of a song is to be heard,

as that of an egg ts to be
hatched. He further argues |
that Bob’s life in his cage

Bow

has been one long blessing
to several people who stood
in need of him: whereas
in the woods, leaving aside
the probability of hawks
and bad boys, he would
not have been ltkely to gain
one appreciative listener for

a single half-hour out of
each year. And, as I have

already merciful ly released
you from several morals
(continues this disputant)

Jrom Bob, I am resolved
thatno power onearth shall

prevent me from drawing
this final one.—We have
heard much of ‘the privi-
leges of genius,” of ‘the
right of the artist to live
oul his own existence free

Jrom the conventionalities
of society,” of ‘the un-
morality of art,” and the
like. But I do protest that

which [might have drawn Bo BY

the greater the artist, and
the more profound his pity
toward the fellow-man
Jor whom he passionately
works, the readier will be
his willingness to forego

the privileges of genius

and to cage himself in the
conventionalities, even as
the mocking-bird 1s caged.
Mis struggle against these
will, [ admit, be the great-
est: he will feel the bitterest

sense of their uselessness
in restraining him Jrom

wrong-doing. But, never-

theless, one consideration

will drive him to enter the

door and get contentedly on
his perch: his fellow-men,
his fellow-men. These he
can reach through the re-
spectable bars of use and
wont; in his wild thickets

of lawlessness they would

never hear him, or, hear-

ing, would never listen. In
truth this 1s the sublimest
of self-denials, and none
but a very great artist can
compass it: to abandon
the sweet green forest of
liberty, and live a whole

life behind needless con-

straints, for the more per-
Sect service of his fellow-

men.

i,
pina
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Bp su »
Vey : He ’

q
To Our Mocking-Bird

Died of a Cat, May, 1878
I

Tréllets of humor,—shrewdest whistle-wtt, —
Contralto cadences of grave desire
Such as from off the passionate Indian pyre
Drift down through sandal-odored flames that split
About the slim young widow who doth sit
And sing ahove,—midnights of tone entire,—
Tissues of moonlight shot with songs of fire ;—
Bright drops of tune, from oceans infinite
Of melody, sipped off the thin-edged wave
And trickling down the heak,—discourses hrave
Of serious matter that no man may guess,—
Good-fellow greetings, cries of light déstress—
All these hut now within the house we heard:
O Death, wast thou too deaf to hear the hird ?

II

Ah me, though never an ear for song, thou hast
A tireless tooth for songsters: thus of late
Thou camest, Death, thou Cat! and leap st my gate,
And, long ere Love could follow, thou hadst passed
Within and snatched away, how fast, how fast,
My hird—wt, songs, and all—thy richest freight
Since that fell time when in some wink of fate
Thy yellow claws unsheathed and stretched, and cast
Sharp hold on Keats, and dragged him slow away,
And harried him with hope and horrid play—
Ay, him, the world’s hest wood-hird, wise with
song —
Tall thou hadst wrought thine own last mortal
wrong.
"Twas wrong! twas wrong! I care not,
wrong ’s the word—
To munch our Keats and crunch our mocking-
hird.

Ill

Nay, Bird; my grief gainsays the Lord’s hest right.
The Lord was fain, at some late festal time,
That Keats should set all Heaven’s woods in

rhyme,

And thou in hird-notes. Lo, this tearful night,

Methinks I see thee, fresh from death’s despite,
Perched in a palm-grove, wild with pantomime,
Over blissful companies couched in shady thyme,

— Methinks I hear thy silver whistlings hright

Mix with the mighty discourse of the wise,

Tall broad Beethoven, deaf no more, and Keats,
"Midst of much talk, uploft thecr smiling eyes,
And mark the music of thy wood-conceitts,

And halfway pause on some large, courteous word,

And call thee “ Brother,” O thou heavenly Bird!

Baltimore, 1878.

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