SONGS TO THE SUN 77 



is as though he for ever chanted some such words 

 as these : ' Whereas the summer is really and 

 truly just about to begin,' and never managed to 

 overleap the first comma. The jolly little wren, 

 on the other hand, generally brings his energetic 

 twitter to a satisfying period. We never realize 

 quite how energetic his song is till we see him 

 clutching his perch as though for dear life, his 

 tiny body staggering and trembling with the 

 strength of his emotion, his yellow mouth wide 

 open in a barely sufficient effort to emit the ringing 

 effusion of his soul. 



But the first song and the last song of all to 

 charm us in the open field, when the blue sky is 

 wide open and the sun at its height, is that of the 

 lark. His wing-work under the dome of heaven 

 seems to pump his organ pipes full of air, so that 

 he sings, as stop-watch critics have noted, by the 

 four or five minutes together, surging from gentle 

 to strong in each bar, and with a crescendo from 

 the first bar to the last. Who does not stop to 

 throw his head back and scan the almost intoler- 

 ably bright sky to find the swimming dot whose 

 motions are timed to that fountain of music ? 

 Still more we recognise the artistry of the lark 

 when we see him gently lowering, lowering, with 

 wider and wider oscillations, to his home in the 

 field, and mark with what taste his song is altered 

 to fit the new movement, swinging slower and 

 wider with the actor's movements, till it stops as 

 he drops to his home in the grass. 



