A BIRDLOVER'S YEAR 



A delightfully musical cry strikes one's 

 ear, and in the distance may be seen three 

 curlews speeding towards a far-off stretch 

 of moorland. Perhaps this bird's pipe is more 

 full of lonely music than that of any other. 



Oh curlew, cry no more in the air, 



Or only to the waters in the west, 

 Because your crying brings to my mind 



Long heavy hair that was shaken out over 



my breast. 

 There is enough evil in the crying of the wind. 



So wrote W. B. Yeats in his charming little 

 volume of lyrics. During the winter months 

 the curlew, along with the oyster-catcher 

 and redshank, repairs to the coast-line, and 

 may be seen during the short winter days 

 feeding on the mud-flats. 



As the summer day draws to a close one 

 by one the birds cease singing, with the 

 exception of the sedge-warbler, who has 

 been called " the nightingale of the north." 

 The twilight vanishes slowly, and it is almost 

 midnight before " there is darkness over 

 the land," so soon to be followed by a 

 glorious sunrise. Let the wayfarer pause for 

 a moment. Ave atque vale. 



79 



