THE CITY PARK 57 



the blades of grass right at the roots, and at last catch sight of 

 a weeny, striped brown chick, lying as if dead. But one touch 

 of the finger calls it back to life with a squeak, which is 

 immediately echoed, and the clump, which seemed so empty, 

 suddenly becomes alive in all directions. We catch two and 

 put them down on the sand to see them more plainly. But 

 they don't like such publicity, and with a squeak they both 

 make back for cover, and are instantly invisible. We do not 

 disturb the small shy things again, but walk on, quite satisfied 

 at having seen such rarities within walking distance of the 

 city's heart. 



A few feet further on another bird rises from the grass 

 before us. This time it is a little light-brown thing with a 

 golden cap the grass warbler. With lark-like flight he soars 

 straight up above our heads, uttering a pretty little song as he 

 flies. Higher and higher he goes, till he is just a speck 

 against the blue, and all the while his little song comes down 

 to us. Then suddenly, like a bolt, he drops to earth, and is 

 silent. But immediately the silence is broken by another sky- 

 bound singer the English skylark, whose gush of song 

 shimmers through the golden afternoon, and leads us into 

 fairyland. 



As he 



" Singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest" 



the inarticulate thoughts which have haunted us throughout 

 the golden afternoon, find voice in the words of that poet, who 



