It is not an artificially graded path strewn with roses that invites us in this part, but, let me hope, something better, a rugged trail through the woods or along the beach where we shall now and then get a whiff of natural air, or a glimpse of something to

"Make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs."

ESOPUS-ON-HUDSON, March, 1877.

Contents

[ PREFACE ]
[ BIRDS AND POETS ]

[ I. ] BIRDS AND POETS
[ II. ] TOUCHES OF NATURE
[ III. ] A BIRD MEDLEY
[ IV. ] APRIL
[ V. ] SPRING POEMS
[ VI. ] OUR RURAL DIVINITY
[ VII. ] BEFORE GENIUS
[ VIII. ] BEFORE BEAUTY
[ IX. ] EMERSON
[ X. ] THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE