the Cuckoo with May, and the Dove with 

 peace ... so we have come to think of the 

 Mavis and the Merle, but, above all, of the Sky- 

 lark as the true heralds of March, the month 

 when the Flutes of Pan sound from land's end 

 to land's end, for all that tempest and flood, 

 sleet and the polar blast and the bitter wind of 

 the east, may ravage the coverts of the winged 

 clans. 



To write of all the birds who come back to 

 us in the Spring, even so early as the front of 

 March, would be, here, a mere catalogue, and 

 then be incomplete. For the hidden places in 

 the woods, in the meadows, in the hedgerows, 

 on the moors, in the sandy dunes, in the 

 hollowed rocks, on the ledges over green water 

 and on the wind-scooped foreheads of cliffs 

 and precipices ; everywhere, from the heather- 

 wilderness on the unsnowed hills to the tangled 

 bent on the little windswept eyot set in the 

 swing of the tides, the secret homes are wait- 

 ing, or are already filled, and glad with that 

 everlasting and unchanging business of the 

 weaving anew of life which has the constancy 

 of sunrise, the rhythmic certitude of day and 

 night. 



The spiritual secret of our delight in the 

 joyousness of the lark's song, or in that of 

 mavis or merle, is because the swift music is a 

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