388 NOTES ON NEW ENGLAND BIRDS 



sweet as it is, is not of sufficient volume nor sufficiently 

 continuous to command and hold attention, and the 

 bluebird's is but a transient warble, from a throat over- 

 flowing with azure and serene hopes ; but the song of 

 the robin on the elms or oaks, loud and clear and heard 

 afar through the streets of a village, makes a fit con- 

 clusion to a spring day. The larks are not yet in suf- 

 ficient numbers or sufficiently musical. The robin is 

 the prime singer as yet. The blackbird's congweree, when 

 first heard in the spring, is pleasant from the associa- 

 tions it awakens, and is best heard by one boating on 

 the river. It belongs to the stream. The robin is the 

 only bird with whose song the groves can be said to 

 be now vocal morning and evening, for, though many 

 other notes are heard, none fill the air like this bird. 

 As yet no other thrushes. 



April 21, 1852. On the east side of Ponkawtasset I 

 hear a robin singing cheerily from some perch in the 

 wood, in the midst of the rain, where the scenery is 

 now wild and dreary. His song a singular antagonism 

 and offset to the storm. As if Nature said, " Have faith ; 

 these two things I can do." It sings with power, like a 

 bird of great faith thai sees the bright future through 

 the dark present, to reassure the race of man, like one 

 to whom many talents were given and who will improve 

 its talents. They are sounds to make a dying man live. 

 They sing not their despair. It is a pure, immortal 

 melody. 



The birds are singing in the rain about the small 

 pond in front, the inquisitive chickadee that has flown 



