BIRDS OF PEASEMARSH 



hills and rocks, where few birds came and went, 

 a group of men had gathered in a sheltered 

 nook. They were men who had staked their 

 little all and lost. The shadow of despair was 

 over them. They had no heart to face the 

 world. Then, suddenly, there poured forth from 

 the tree tops above them a bird's song, sweet, 

 rich and joyous, a song they had last heard in 

 the gardens of their homes, a song that was 

 blended with every memory of their childhood 

 and every aspiration of their youth, and as 

 they listened it came to them that all the better 

 things of life were left to them. That glorious 

 song that had come so unaccountably in the 

 moment of their need, gave them back their 

 own. 



Shelley calls the Skylark an embodied joy, 

 whose song is, 



"Better than all measures of delightful sound, 

 Better than all treasures that in books are 

 found." 



Our own Bobolink has one peculiarity of the 



English Skylark, it sings while it flies. Often 



when walking through the meadow the song of 



the Bobolink, like silver bells, comes down 



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