APRIL 



3 

 JOHN BURROUGHS, 1837. 



Was it a squirrel's pettish bark, 



Or clarionet of jay ? or hark 



Where yon wedged line the Nestor leads, 



Steering north with raucous cry 



Through tracts and provinces of sky, 



Every night alighting down 



In new landscapes of romance, 



Where darkling feed the clamorous clans 



By lonely lakes to men unknown. 



EMERSON: May-Day. 



4 



Going down town this morning, I am surprised 

 by the rich strain of the purple finch from the 

 elms. Three or four have arrived and lodged 

 against the elms of our street, which runs east and 

 west across their course, and they are now min- 

 gling their loud, rich strain with that of the tree 

 sparrows, robins, bluebirds, etc. The hearing of 

 this note implies some improvement in the acous- 

 tics of the air. It reminds me of that genial state 

 of the air when the elms are in bloom. They sit 

 still over the street, and make a business of war- 

 bling. They advertise one, surely, of some addi- 

 tional warmth and serenity. 



THOREAU: Early Spring in Massachusetts. 



