XII A SYMPHONY OF SPRING 



U) all (he nooks of the forest : « Merrill/! merrily ! let us 

 e/f/o// on /-selves ; spri/ii^ has come back; to-day is Saint- 

 Al ban's day, when every bird lias chosen the place of its 

 nest ! » 7nY> voices respond to this merry companion : one, 

 at the same time soft and tliriUin*^ bursts forth from the 

 shadiest coverts, 't is that of the fncli ; — the other, clear, 

 wild and joyful is that of the black-cap. These two new- 

 comers sing but a short strain, but they repeat it to satiety, 

 as if they felt the need of convincing themselves that 

 winter is really gone and that in spite of April s/iowers 

 spring has not been countermanded. 



Down below, in the plain where wheat and, rye are 

 growing green, hundreds of aerial, melodious voices con- 

 firm this good news. It is the morning c/iiwus of shy-larks. 

 At break of day, the prst one awake soars upwards 

 rising in a straight line as high as j)ossible., like the sailor 

 on the outlook at the top of the highest mast., and pro- 

 claims to (dl its kind that the season of love and nest 

 building has come; then it falls straight down like the 

 plumb line into the grassiest furrows. Another .skylark 

 soars upwards., then a third , then twenty others ; you can 

 hardly perceive them up above in the rosy purjyle of the 

 rising sun; but you can hear their distant melody, the 

 notes of which seem to drop down like shining pearls 

 from a string. 



The signal for the concert is now given. From every 

 nook and corner, from the hedges on the road-side, from 



