" When the boughs of the garden are heavy with rain 

 The blackbird reneweth his song*" 



WILLIAM MORRIS. 



MARCH 



IN the bright hours which come with March, the first 

 bird-melody is heard in the silvery notes of the thrush. 



Sing me something well, sweet thrush, 

 Here where almonds wait to blush ; 

 At the melodies you sing, 

 Wakes the gladness of the Spring. 



As your silver message floods 

 Flowerless meads and leafless woods, 

 Primrose stars uncloud and shine ; 

 Buds the fragrant eglantine ! 



Wind-flowers blossom at your call, 

 Blue skies greet your madrigal ; 

 Sing me something well and sweet, 

 This first morn of Spring to greet. 



Tennyson sings of this time, when 



"... A sweeter music wakes, 

 And thro' wild March the throstle calls." 



" Rarely pipes the mounted thrush ; 

 Or underneath the barren bush 

 Flits by the sea-blue bird of March." 



The bird of March holds a distinguished place in the 

 long catalogue of our British birds. It contributes, perhaps, 

 more than any other to the aggregate charms of the country. 

 At its first mellow, sweet, and eloquent song come the blue 

 skies again, " the skies oft washed with showers " ; the clear 



blue seen between the showers, when the brightness is so 



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