38 HAUNT OF THE EVEJAR 



stirred the bracken; only a mouse rustled 

 in the dried brambles, only a chafer beetle, 

 booming through the dusk, sought a dew- 

 drop on a leaf of foxglove. The birds, 

 wedded for all time, returned together and 

 settled on the ground. Then the male 

 bird mounted a stump of gorse, crouched 

 low, and poured forth a reeling song. Like 

 the risp of a grasshopper it came, like a 

 shaken matchbox, like a crowstarver's 

 clappers heard afar. Against the moon the 

 evejar sang his song, whispering huskily of 

 his ecstacies during the pause. Sometimes 

 he waited for the shy answer of his love she 

 who had journeyed over foreign wastes with 

 him to the remembered valleyside of heather. 

 Soft was her rapturous murmur in the sum- 

 mer night, a gentle reassurance of faith and 

 hope, while the stars shone in the sky above 

 them. Like spun and argent coins the 

 moths went down to the dew-sweetened 

 flowers. Only a reverent watcher and the 

 pure face of the moon saw their espousal. 



