IX. 



"O WONDROUS SINGERS." 



I FEEL considerable reluctance in approach- 

 ing the subject of my small thrushes. None 

 but a poet should speak of them — so beautiful, 

 so enchanting in song. Yet I cannot bear to 

 let their lovely lives pass in silence ; therefore 

 if they must needs remain unsung, they shall 

 at least be chronicled. 



There were two : one the gray-cheeked thrush, 



the other the veery or Wilson's, and they 



passed a year in my house, filling it with a 



marvelous rippling music like the sweet babble 



of a brook over stones ; like the gentle sighing 



of the wind in pine-trees ; like other of nature's 



enchanting sounds, which I really must borrow 



a poet's words to characterize : 



" O liquid and free and tender ! 

 O wild and loose to my sonl ! 

 O wondrous singer." 



The gray-cheeked, most charming in every 



look and motion, uttered his notes in a free 



