A distant line of misty hills, A stretch of meadow low, With wreaths of brush a-skirt the woods, Midst fabrics spun of snow: A vista through the forest trees-- A temple if you choose, With pictured screen and arabesque, Mosaic's dusky hues, Dim mullioned windows half confessed Beyond far-columned aisles, And arches lost and found anew Through tracery's defiles; A roof?... we might perchance ascribe The misty, stooping sky Beyond the wreaths of crystal Swung where winds go singing by. Beneath, where worshiper might tread A glimpse of crystal tile, Caught through the weeds and tangled reeds Which guard the near defile. A myriad forms a-glint and white Close, close beneath the feet; Fantastic hands that reach across A myriad hands to greet; Low shrubs in fleecy, white array, Tall stems with hood and wings, And vines a-glint in crystal lace Wound through fantastic rings; And grasses frosted into gems; Near by a bough bent down With such a wealth of clinging leaves Stained deep in ruddy brown. These and the woods' low breath of song Just now across the way; To-morrow?... visions change, you know, To meet each hour of day. THE PURPLE MARTIN. (_Progne subis._) Beautiful and interesting as this bird is known to be, less has been said about it than of any of our common birds of agreeable song and manners. Its common names are house martin, purple swallow, American martin, and violet swallow. The young male is several years in attaining the uniform glossy violet-black plumage, the steel blue feathers appearing in gradually coalescing patches. It is common to the whole of temperate North America, wintering in Mexico and the Bermudas. It is only accidental in Europe. The adult female is glossy blue-black above, becoming hoary grayish on the forehead, and sometimes on the nape also. The young are similar to the adult female.