III. A WHIRL-BLAST from behind the hill Of tallest hollies, tall and green; Along the floor, beneath the shade Some Robin Good-fellow were there, IV. THE GREEN LINNET. BENEATH these fruit-tree boughs that shed In this sequestered nook how sweet And Birds and Flowers once more to greet, 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, A Life, a Presence like the Air, Upon yon tuft of hazel trees, Yet seeming still to hover; That cover him all over. My sight he dazzles, half deceives, As if by that exulting strain He mocked and treated with disdain The voiceless Form he chose to feign, While fluttering in the bushes. V. THE CONTRAST. WITHIN her gilded cage confined, I saw a dazzling Belle, A Parrot of that famous kind Like beads of glossy jet her eyes; And, smoothed by Nature's skill, With pearl or gleaming agate vies Her finely-curved bill. Her plumy Mantle's living hues In mass opposed to mass, Outshine the splendour that imbues The robes of pictured glass. And, sooth to say, an apter Mate Did never tempt the choice Of feathered Thing most delicate |