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The Green Linnet

Fond of the speculative height,
Thither he wings his airy flight,

And thence securely sees
The bustle and the raree-show,
That occupy mankind below,
Secure and at his ease.

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses
On future broken bones and bruises,
If he should chance to fall.
No: not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,
Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its medley rout,
Church, army, physic, law,

Its customs, and its businesses
Is no concern at all of his,

And says-what says he?—"Caw."

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men;
And, sick of having seen 'em,
Would cheerfully these limbs resign
For such a pair of wings as thine,
And such a head between 'em.

1493

From the Latin of Vincent Bourne,
by William Cowper [1731-1800]

THE GREEN LINNET

BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed
Their snow-white blossoms on my head,
With brightest sunshine round me spread

Of Spring's unclouded weather,

In this sequestered nook how sweet
To sit upon my orchard-seat!

And flowers and birds once more to greet,

My last year's friends together.

One have I marked, the happiest guest
In all this covert of the blest:
Hail to Thee, far above the rest

In joy of voice and pinion!
Thou, Linnet! in thy green array
Presiding Spirit here to-day

Dost lead the revels of the May,

And this is thy dominion.

While birds, and butterflies, and flowers
Make all one band of paramours,

Thou, ranging up and down the bowers,
Art sole in thy employment;

A Life, a Presence like the air,
Scattering thy gladness without care,
Too blest with any one to pair,
Thyself thy own enjoyment.

Amid yon tuft of hazel trees,
That twinkle to the gusty breeze,
Behold him perched in ecstasies,
Yet seeming still to hover;
There! where the flutter of his wings
Upon his back and body flings.
Shadows and sunny glimmerings,
That cover him all over.

My dazzled sight he oft deceives—
A Brother of the dancing leaves;
Then flits, and from the cottage-eaves
Pours forth his song in gushes,

As if by that exulting strain

He mocked and treated with disdain

The voiceless Form he chose to feign
While fluttering in the bushes.

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

TO THE MAN-OF-WAR-BIRD

THOU who hast slept all night upon the storm,

Waking renewed on thy prodigious pinions,

The Maryland Yellow-Throat

(Burst the wild storm? above it thou ascended'st,
And rested on the sky, thy slave that cradled thee,)
Now a blue point, far, far in heaven floating,

As to the light emerging here on deck I watch thee,
(Myself a speck, a point on the world's floating vast.)

Far, far at sea,

1495

After the night's fierce drifts have strewn the shore with wrecks,

With re-appearing day as now so happy and serene,

The rosy and elastic dawn, the flashing sun,

The limpid spread of air cerulean,

Thou also re-appearest.

Thou born to match the gale, (thou art all wings,)

To cope with heaven and earth and sea and hurricane,

Thou ship of air that never furl'st thy sails,

Days, even weeks untired and onward, through spaces, realms gyrating,

At dusk that look'st on Senegal, at morn America,

That sport'st amid the lightning-flash and thunder-cloud, In them, in thy experiences, hadst thou my soul,

What joys! what joys were thine!

Walt Whitman [1819-1892]

THE MARYLAND YELLOW-THROAT

WHEN May bedecks the naked trees

With tassels and embroideries,
And many blue-eyed violets beam
Along the edges of the stream,
I hear a voice that seems to say,
Now near at hand, now far away,
"Witchery-witchery-witchery."

An incantation so serene,

So innocent, befits the scene:

There's magic in that small bird's note-
See, there he flits-the Yellow-throat;
A living sunbeam, tipped with wings,
A spark of light that shines and sings
"Witchery-witchery-witchery."

You prophet with a pleasant name,
If out of Mary-land you came,
You know the way that thither goes
Where Mary's lovely garden grows:
Fly swiftly back to her, I pray,
And try, to call her down this way,
"Witchery-witchery-witchery!"

Tell her to leave her cockle-shells,
And all her little silver bells
That blossom into melody,

And all her maids less fair than she.
She does not need these pretty things,
For everywhere she comes, she brings
"Witchery-witchery-witchery !"

The woods are greening overhead,
And flowers adorn each mossy bed;
The waters babble as they run—
One thing is lacking, only one:
If Mary were but here to-day,
I would believe your charming lay,
"Witchery-witchery-witchery !"

Along the shady road I look

Who's coming now across the brook?
A woodland maid, all robed in white-
The leaves dance round her with delight,
The stream laughs out beneath her feet-
Sing, merry bird, the charm's complete,
"Witchery-witchery-witchery !"

Henry Van Dyke [1852

"O NIGHTINGALE! THOU SURELY ART"

O NIGHTINGALE! thou surely art
A creature of a fiery heart":-

These notes of thine-they pierce and pierce;
Tumultuous harmony and fierce!

Philomel

Thou sing'st as if the God of wine
Had helped thee to a Valentine;
A song in mockery and despite

Of shades, and dews, and silent night;
And steady bliss, and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.

I heard a Stock-dove sing or say
His homely tale, this very day;
His voice was buried among trees,
Yet to be come at by the breeze:

He did not cease, but cooed-and cooed;
And somewhat pensively he wooed:
He sang of love, with quiet blending,
Slow to begin, and never ending;

Of serious faith, and inward glee;
That was the Song-the Song for me!

1497

William Wordsworth [1770-1850]

PHILOMEL

As it fell upon a day

In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade

Which a grove of myrtles made,

Beasts did leap and birds did sing,

Trees did grow and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan
Save the Nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn
Leaned her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the doleful'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie! now would she cry;
Tereu, Tereu! by and by;
That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.

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