THE THRUSHES 



Beneath glowing skies and in the silence, the hermit 

 raises his exquisitely modulated voice in a strain of ethe- 

 real beauty; pauses, then in a higher key, repeats it; 

 a third time, with still loftier elevation of tone, he sings, 

 — and sings again. 



More than once at twilight, a white fog has moved in 

 from the bay and enveloped us as we listened. The 

 voices of these thrushes, proceeding from the sea of mist, 

 have seemed more like those of spirits from another world 

 than of birds — unspeakably uplifting and full of signif- 

 icance. 



[289] 



