SIGNS OF SPRING 31 



mountain ranges, through pathless forests, over 

 rivers and deserts, undeterred by the hawk, owl, 

 and other marauders that decimate them. Nor 

 are we without song, for robin, thrush, and black- 

 bird are incessant. But the lark is the more 

 passionate, when he soars as though sustained by 

 the very flood of music that he creates. Who 

 shall understand him ? The schoolboy who loves 

 him and the eggs in his nest, the shepherd intent 

 on toil, or the little brown bird running along the 

 furrow, with raised crest and alert demeanour, 

 anon looking up at the singer, anon tasting the 

 sweetmeats of the field ? She alone can interpret 

 all the marvellous inflections in that song. No 

 human being can sing so joyously. And when 

 shall we fly? We may expend much toil and 

 thought to attain the gratifying liberty of a yacht, 

 or the ungoverned buoyancy of a balloon, but the 

 lark is freer when he climbs the breeze, and safer 

 when he descends with folded wings like a hawk, 

 singing meanwhile what may well be a triumph- 

 note. 



And no sign of spring is prettier than the 

 wooing of a skylark by her mate. For she 



