208 THE OPEN AIR. 



sometimes a few days earlier and sometimes later, 

 but as a rule it happens that a week or so of mild 

 sunny weather occurs about this time. Eeleased 

 from the grip of the frost, the streams trickle 

 forth from the fields and pour into the ditches, so 

 that while walking along the footpath there is a 

 murmur all around coming from the rush of water. 

 The murmur of the poets is indeed louder in February 

 than in the more pleasant days of summer, for then 

 the growth of aquatic grasses checks the flow and 

 stills it, whilst in February, every stone, or flint, or 

 lump of chalk divides the current and causes a vibra- 

 tion. With this murmur of water, and mild time, 

 the rooks caw incessantly, and the birds at large 

 essay to utter their welcome of the sun. The wet 

 furrows reflect the rays so that the dark earth gleams, 

 and in the slight mist that stays farther away the 

 light pauses and fills the vapour with radiance. 

 Through this luminous mist the larks race after each 

 other twittering, and as they turn aside, swerving in 

 their swift flight, their white breasts appear for a 

 moment. As while standing by a pool the fishes 

 come into sight, emerging as they swim round from 

 the shadow of the deeper water, so the larks dart over 

 the low hedge, and through the mist, and pass before 

 you, and are gone again. All at once one checks his 

 pursuit, forgets the immediate object, and rises, 

 singing as he soars. The notes fall from the air over 

 the dark wet earth, over the dank grass, and broken 

 withered fern of the hedges, and listening to them it 

 seems for a moment spring. There is sunshine in the 

 song : the lark and the light are one. He gives us a 



