IN THE DUNES 25 



sound is heard, it comes nearer and nearer — the 

 sound of many voices — of hounds in the chase, 

 of brazen instruments, the honking of geese, a 

 multitude talking at once. The sound grows 

 louder and louder. I rush out of a bushy 

 thicket, where the trees obscure the sky, and 

 climb to the peak of the nearest dune. Here 

 come the birds, a hundred or more of them, now 

 in a long line abreast, now in perfect V-shape, 

 now massing together in a loose flock. They 

 sweep on in glorious strength of wing and pass 

 overhead and the babel of tongues is almost a 

 deafening clangor, and the sight of the great 

 birds, each with his long neck stretched eagerly 

 towards his home in the northland, becomes an 

 inspiration. The voices grow less loud, become 

 faint and occasional and then cease. All is quiet 

 again but the sight and the sound of this migrat- 

 mg flock are long to be treasured in the memory. 



"How oft against the sunset sky or moon 

 I watched that moving zig-zag of spread wings 

 In unforgotten autumns gone too soon. 

 In unforgotten springs! 



