HERMIT THRUSH. 205 



As we went along, watching the red light slant 

 across the trunks of the trees, we would some- 

 times be thrilled with his song, but not till we 

 had reached the brow of the hill overlooking the 

 village in the valley, and the dark line of wooded 

 hills beyond, not till 



" The golden lighting of the sinking sun 

 O'er which clouds are brightening" 



had all melted away, the sun dropped behind the 

 dark hills, and the rosy cloudlets training across 

 the sky had gradually disappeared ; not till the 

 afterglow of the sunset was turning to pale serene 

 light, would the song of the hermit stir us with 

 its full richness and beauty. Then from the 

 wooded hillside it would come to us, filling the 

 cool evening air with its tremulous yearning and 

 pathos, and gathering up into short waves of song 

 the silent music of the sunset nature's benison 

 of peace. 



