And it was pretty sure to come: he delighted in giving his very feeling and musical voice range over the heads of fine-feathered women. The peacock’s plumes, the shiver of the crystal, the glitter of Babylon, always charmed him.
Nor was it all only tinkling sound that he gave back. For proof I cite one or two bits:—
“Then I sing the wild song, ’twas once such a pleasure to hear,
When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off thro’ the vale, my sad orison rolls,
I think, O my love! ’tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.”
And again:—
“Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine.