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"Not just like that, sir," answered Nick, not knowing what to make of his companion's strange new mood; "but I know Master Will Shakspere's 'Then nightly sings the staring owl, tu-who, tu-whit, tu-who! and 'The ousel-cock so black of hue, with orange-tawny bill, and then, too, I know the throstle's song that goes with it."
A day beside thee is a day of days; Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call, There is not song enough to sing thy praise, O flower of all! "O flower of all the years, O flower of all! I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare To love thee; and though my deserts be small, Thou art the only flower I would wear, O flower of all!" "Now that," he said, "is the romantic, almost the Arcadian spirit.
On the one hand a dim, purple horizon showed that the inhabited country lay miles inland; on the other lay the pale, gray, misty expanse of sea, on which Philip's eyes could lovingly discern the THROSTLE'S masts. That view was Philip's chief comfort.
A day beside thee is a day of days; Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call, There is not song enough to sing thy praise, O flower of all! "O flower of all the years, O flower of all! I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare To love thee; and though my deserts be small, Thou art the only flower I would wear, O flower of all!" "Now that," he said, "is the romantic, almost the Arcadian spirit.
Traces of his influence may be found in Coleridge and Keats. The greatest charm of Chatterton's verse appears in unusual epithets and unexpected poetic turns, such, for instance, as may be noted in these lines from his best "Rowley" poem, Aella, a Tragycal Enterlude: "Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note; Quick in dance as thought can be."
"And what's that?" said Pete. "Was it yourself, Kitty? How straight your voice is like the throstle's!" She hung her head at the sweet praise, but answered tartly, "How people will be talking!" A dead white light came sweeping over the front of the house, and the trees and the hedges, all quiet until then, began to shudder. Kate shuddered too, and drew the frills closer about her throat.
On first leaving the house, I feel dashed and sobered. The inertness and phlegmatic apathy of dry and ugly old age seem to weigh upon and press down the passionate life of my youth, but I have not crossed a couple of ploughed fields and seen the long slices newly ploughed, lying rich and thick in the sun; I have not heard two staves of the throstle's loud song, before I have recovered myself.
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