“Stay, stay, stay!” My soul out-cries, “For Beauty fleeth fast, Nor nuptials last, And darkening skies”— And lo, the royal pair had passed; But left their image in my eyes, And in my living soul.
(Published in the Methodist Review, July, 1919).
O little artist, of rarest modesty, Why hide thyself and sing? Thy music fills my soul with ecstasy, And makes the woodland ring.
Draw near, draw near, thou shy, yet happy one; I plead with thee—draw near; I’d share thy rapture; ’twould be heaven begun; O Hermit sweet, appear.
Still thou wilt not, and while I long and dream Of all that’s best for us— The King, His primal ministers—what gleam Of highest genius?
Sing on, elusive bird, in thy retreat, Songs to my waiting soul; Some day inviting rounds will be complete, Some day, the promised goal.
And then some disappearing portion high, Some joy just out of reach; The more immortals yield to devotion’s tie, The more must they beseech.
Sing on, blest bird, beyond my poor purview, But near my home and heart: “I love, I _love_, I LOVE; yes I love YOU!”[8] This, thy crescendo art.
I find myself quite charmed, yet almost lost, At the modern opera grand; What stirs my soul so deep, what I love most, Thy song—and I understand.
But O that I could see thy beaming eye— Mine eye on thee, all song! Why so secretive, yet seductive—why? My suit, renewed, so strong.
That tree, those leaves around thee—if they knew Their day and honored hour, Each leaf and branch would homage pay, thy due, Aflame with joy that bower.
Such rich and rounded notes proceed from thee, Enchanting naiveté: From sleep thou wakest me with highborn glee, When comes the King of day.
At eventide thou callest me to prayer, More clear than churchly chime, In wood and sky, in pure, perfumed air— His temple, thine and mine.
No passing wonder, sing Nightingales In Russ or Tuscan clime; No hope have they in these Columbic vales To match thy tones and time.
[7] If anyone thinks the author has overdrawn the artistic merits of the bird, he is referred to the expert opinion of F. Schuyler Mathews in his “Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music,” pages 234-246, wherein this musician and lover of birds convincingly compares and contrasts, by musical scales and other data, the powers of the Hermit and Nightingale in favor of the former.—C. J.