106 THAT WITCHING SONG. 



lifted a little, and in a clear though low tone he 

 uttered the long-sought song. I held my breath, 

 and he repeated it, each time lower than before. 

 Even at that distance it sounded far off, and 

 doubtless many times in the woods, when I 

 looked for it afar, it may have been over my 

 head. 



A long time — how long I cannot guess — that 

 beautiful bird sat and sang his witching even- 

 ing hymn, while I listened spellbound. 



It was the tawny thrush, — the veery. 



