Katy tripped on, rather than walked--laughing and singing gayly. The
mild air just lifted the golden ringlets of her hair, as she threw back
her beautiful face; her cheeks were rosy with the joy of youth; and
from her smiling lips, as fresh and red as carnations, escaped in sweet
and tender notes, like the carol of an oriole, that gay and warbling
song, the "Bird of "Beauty."
Do you remember it, my dear reader? It is old--but so many good things
are old!
"Bird of beauty, whose bright plumage
Sparkles with a thousand dyes:
Bright thine eyes, and gay thy carol,
Though stern winter rules the skies!"
Do you say that is not very grand poetry? I protest! friend, I think it
superior to the _chef d'oeuvres_ of the masters? You do not think so?
Ah! that is because you did not hear it sung in the autumn forest that
evening--see the ringlets of Katy Dare floating back from the rosy
cheeks, as the notes escaped from her smiling lips, and rang clearly in
the golden sunset. Do you laugh at my enthusiasm? Well, I am going to
increase your mirth. To the "Bird of Beauty" succeeded a song which I
never heard before, and have never heard since. Thus it is a lost pearl
I rescue, in repeating some lines. What Katy sang was this:--
"Come under, some one, and give her a kiss!
My honey, my love, my handsome dove!
My heart's been a-weeping,
This long time for you!
"I'll hang you, I'll drown you,
My honey, my love, my handsome dove!
My heart's been a-weeping,
This long time for you!"
That was the odd, original, mysterious, incomprehensible poem, which
Katy Dare carolled in the sunset that evening.
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