MAY 



25 

 RALPH WALDO EMERSON, 1803. 



There were two hen-hawks that soared and cir- 

 cled for our entertainment when we were in the 

 woods on this plain, crossing each other's orbits 

 from time to time, alternating like the squirrels 

 in their cylinder, till, alarmed by our imitation of 

 a hawk's shrill cry, they gradually inflated them- 

 selves, made themselves more aerial, and rose 

 higher and higher into the heavens, and were at 

 length lost to sight; yet all the while earnestly 

 looking, scanning the surface of the earth for a 

 stray mouse or rabbit. 



THOREAU : May Days. 



26 



The woods and fields next the Cliffs now ring 

 with the silver jingle of the field sparrow, the 

 medley of the brown thrasher, the honest qui vive 

 of the chewink, or his jingle from the top of a low 

 copse tree, while his mate scratches in the dry 

 leaves beneath. The black and white creeper is 

 hopping along the oak boughs, head downward, 

 pausing from time to time to utter its note, like a 

 fine, delicate saw sharpening, and ever and anon 

 rises, clear over all, the smooth rich melody of the 



wood thrush. 



THOREAU: May Days. 



The note of the wood thrush answers to some 

 cool, unexhausted morning vigor in the hearer. 



THOREAU: Summer. 



