IV 



THE CROW 



The robin's impatient yelp not yet at- 

 tuned to happy song, the song sparrow's 

 trill, the bluebird's serene melody, do 

 not herald the coming of spring, but at- 

 tend its vanguard. These blithe musi- 

 cians accompany the soft air that bares 

 the fields, empurples the buds, and fans 

 the bloom of the first squirrelcups and 

 sets the hyla's shrill chime a-ringing. 



Preceding these, while the fields are 

 yet an unbroken whiteness and the cop- 

 ing of the drifts maintain the fantastic 

 grace of their storm-built shapes, before 

 a recognized waft of spring is felt or the 

 voice of a freed stream is heard, comes 

 that sable pursuivant, the crow, fighting 

 his way against the fierce north wind, 

 tossed alow and aloft, buffeted to this 

 side and that, yet staggering bravely on- 

 ward, and sounding his trumpet in the 

 face of his raging antagonist, and far in 

 17 



