I ask not: but unless God send his hail
Or blinding fireballs, sleet or stifling snow,
In some time, his good time, I shall arrive:
He guides me and the bird.”
The poets of the past generations may have written much about birds, but it is quite probable that they possessed very little accurate information regarding the service they render to the world. Longfellow alone has bequeathed to us, in his beautiful “Birds of Killingworth,” a plea for the preservation of birds because of their practical use to man as well as their æsthetic and spiritual value:
“Plato, anticipating the Reviewers,
From his Republic banished without pity
The Poets; in this town of yours,
You put to death, by means of a Committee,
The ballad-singers and the Troubadours,