THROUGH THE YEAR 61 



but I can understand the feeling of those who have 

 been kept awake by nightingales. " Turn the key 

 deftly in the oile'd wards/' says Keats in that 

 exquisite sonnet on sleep, but " the hushed casket 

 of the soul " cannot be sealed if nightingales, or in 

 the May morning cuckoos, are loud and frequent. 

 Still, it is rarely the nightingale forbids sleep, and 

 at the worst the window can be closed against it. 

 I may now and then have regretted having ring- 

 doves close to my window at dawn, but to me 

 there is only one grievous offender the sparrow. 

 Happily, he is not a very early waker ; he rouses 

 long after skylark and thrush and redbreast. But 

 once he rouses he can give pain. Awake at dawn, 

 and caught by the blatant chirp and chirrup ere he 

 can get to sleep again, with how whole a heart 

 does a man hate sparrows ! 



THE SHADOW BIRD 



Leaving the village station a few minutes before 

 nine I climbed the hill and brushed my way up 

 along the path, narrow and askew, that runs through 

 the hazel copse. It is all overgrown by Midsummer 

 day a mere tunnel through the green. There is 

 an enchantment about these dim, winding woodland 

 paths at such an hour and time ; and a sense of aloof- 

 ness and detachment from the world holds one then. 



The voice of the nightingale in these spots has 

 been succeeded by the voice of the nightjar. On 

 the evening of midsummer day nightjars were gurg- 

 ling and crooning and jarring with a sweet low note 



