MADNESS IN THE SKY 141 



its myriad companions. Some three or four follow 

 separately, but not widely sundered ; then a dozen 

 together, which the three or four join ; then another 

 small band, which is joined by one of those that 

 have gone before it, itself now, probably, swollen by 

 amalgamation. Now comes a far larger band, and 

 this one, instead of joining, or being joined by, any 

 other, divides, and, streaming out in two directions, 

 follows one or other of those circling streams of 

 restless, hurrying flight, that girdles, as with a zone 

 of love and longing, the darksome, lonely-lying 

 wood. A larger one, still, follows; and now, more 

 and faster than the eye can take it in, band grows 

 upon band, the air is heavy with the ceaseless sweep 

 of pinions, till, glinting and gleaming, their weary 

 wayfaring turned to swiftest arrows of triumphant 

 flight — toil become ecstasy, prose an epic song — 

 with rush and roar of wings, with a mighty com- 

 motion, all sweep, together, into one enormous 

 cloud. And still they circle ; now dense like a 

 polished roof, now disseminated like the meshes of 

 some vast all-heaven-sweeping net, now darkening, 

 now flashing out a million rays of light, wheeling, 

 rending, tearing, darting, crossing, and piercing one 

 another — a madness in the sky. All is the starlings' 

 now ; they are no more birds, but a part of elemental 

 nature, a thing affecting and controlling other things. 

 Through them one sees the sunset ; the sky must peep 

 through their chinks. Surely all must now be come. 

 But as the thought arises, a black portentous cloud 

 shapes itself on the distant horizon ; swiftly it comes 

 up, gathering into its vast ocean the small streams 

 and driblets of flight; it approaches the mighty host 



