of their tongues and drawing these out by means of the viscid glue with which their tongues are covered. How are the ravagers of forest and field checked? Have we heretofore known our true friends? Of what use is the mole?—the hedgehog?-beetles?—the woodpecker? Dictation. Music when soft voices die, And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY (1792-1822). XIX. THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. I. It was the season, when through all the land Those lovely lyrics, written by His hand, Whom Saxon Caedmon calls the Blithe-heart King; When on the boughs the purple buds expand, The banners of the vanguard of the Spring, And rivulets rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. II. The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchard with their glee; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who heard the ravens cry, and said: "Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!” III. Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, Of tropic isle remote, and passing hailed The village with the cheers of all their fleet; IV. Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, In fabulous days, some hundred years ago; And thrifty farmers as they tilled the earth, Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, That mingled with the universal mirth, Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe; They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words To swift destruction the whole race of birds. V. And a town-meeting was convened straightway The awful scare-crow, with his fluttering shreds ; VI. Then from his house, a temple painted white, Three flights of steps, nor looking left nor right "A town that boasts inhabitants like me Can have no lack of good society." VII. From the Academy, whose belfry crowned The hill of science with its vane of brass, Came the Preceptor, gazing idly round, Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, And all absorbed in reveries profound Of fair Alvira in the upper class, Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, VIII. And next the Deacon issued from his door, His form was ponderous and his step was slow; He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!" And to perpetuate his great renown There was a street named after him in town. IX. These came together in the new town-hall, His air impressive and his reasoning sound; Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. X. When they had ended, from his place apart Looked round bewildered on the expectant throng; Then thought of fair Alvira, and took heart To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, Alike regardless of their smile or frown, And quite determined not to be laughed down. XI. "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, From his Republic banished without pity The Poets; in this little town of yours, You put to death, by means of a Committee, The ballad-singers and the Troubadours, The street musicians of the heavenly city, The birds who make sweet music for us all In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. XII. "The thrush that carols at the dawn of day Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; XIII. "You slay them all! and wherefore? for the grain Scratched up at random by industrious feet, Or a few cherries that are not so sweet As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. XIV. "Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? Do you ne'er think who made them and who taught The dialect they speak, where melodies Alone are the interpreters of thought? Whose household words are songs in many keys, Whose habitations in the tree-tops even Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! XV. "Think every morning when the sun peeps through The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, How jubilant the happy birds renew Their old, melodious madrigals of love! |