DRAGON'S BLOOD 239 



the liquid coolness of a deep spring," is how they 

 sounded to Thoreau. "Air — o — e, air-o-u," with 

 a rising inflection on the "e" and a falling cadence 

 on the "u," is perhaps an accurate phrasing of the 

 notes. Many of our singers give a more elaborate 

 performance. The brown thrasher, that grand-opera 

 singer who loves a tree-top and an audience, has a 

 more brilliant song. Yet there are few listeners who 

 will prefer his florid, conscious style to the simple, 

 appealing notes of the wood thrush. Although his is 

 perhaps the most beautiful strain in our everyday 

 chorus, to me the wood thrush does not rank with 

 either the veery or the hermit. His song lacks the 

 veery's magic and the ethereal quality of the hermit, 

 and is marred by occasional grating bass-notes. 



My own favorite I have saved until the very last. 

 There is an unmatchable melody in the song of the 

 hermit thrush found in that of no other bird. The 

 olive-backed thrush has a hurried unrestful song, a 

 combination of the notes of the wood thrush and 

 the veery. I have never heard that mountain-top 

 singer, the Bicknell thrush, or him of the far North, 

 the gray-cheeked, or the varied thrush of the West,' 

 but from the description of their songs I doubt if 

 any of them possess the qualities of the hermit. 



As I write, across the ice-bound months comes the 

 memory of that spring twilight when I last heard the 

 hermit thrush sing. I was leaning against the gnarled 

 trunk of a great beech, between two buttressed roots. 

 Overhead was a green mist of unfolding leaves, and 

 the silver and gray light slowly faded between the 



