New Zealand Verse/Bell-birds

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LXXII.

Bell-birds.

The bell-birds in the magic woods, Oh, hearken to the witching strain:It flows and fills in silver floods, And fills and flows again.
A golden dawn, with blood-red wings, Flies low along the shades of night.Oh, hearken how the carol springs, And trembles with delight.
The forest leaves are all afire, The bell-birds skim from bough to bough;Oh, listen to the holy choir, So liquid and so low.
Oh, hush! oh, hear! A goblin chime, The dew-drop trembles on the branch;A solo sweet, a scattered rhyme, A golden avalanche.
The fruits are picked, the ovely throng Have flown, and sung their parting strain;But such a witchery of song We shall not hear again!

William Satchell.

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