BIRDS OF THE WAVE AND WOODLAND 103 



SO that whenever a bird that you think is a " lark " flies on 

 being startled into a tree, you may be sure it is the "soft 

 enamoured woodlark "—next to the nightingale the sweetest 

 minstrel of the copse. 



"The woodlark breathes in softer strain the vow, 

 And love's sweet burthen floats from bough to bough." 



A skylark, as every one knows, sings, as a rule, when in 

 the air, but it, too, will sing upon the ground ; and in its cage, 

 forgetful apparently of its captivity, pours out its song with 

 the same enchanting gaiety as when it is free of all the sky. 



" What objects are the fountains 

 Of thy happy strain ? 

 What fields, or waves, or mountains ? 



What shapes of sky or plain ? 

 What love of thine own kind ? what ignorance of pain ? " 



As seen in Nature, there can be nothing imagined more 

 exultant, more heartily joyous, than the glad, eager way 

 in which the skylark seems to spring up from the meadow 

 and commence its artless canticles of praise as thanks for its 

 happiness and freedom. Yet, perched upon a scrap of turf, 

 in a cage so low-roofed that it cannot attempt to rise, it sings 

 the same " strains of unpremeditated art " that so charmed the 

 great poet, and live for ever in his deathless verse. Even in 

 winter, on a sunny day, the lark will soar up into the air 



