Valley of the Black River. 33 
locusts, to the thin vertical branches, clustering 
thicker and thicker until the high trees looked 
black with them; then a mightier gust would 
smite and sway the tall tops down, and the swal- 
lows, blown from their insecure perch, would rise 
in a purple cloud to scatter chattering all over the 
windy heavens, only to return and congregate, 
hovering and clinging as before. 
Lying on the grass, close to the river bank, I 
would watch them by the hour, noting their unrest 
and indecision, the strangeness and wild spirit that 
made the wind and vexed poplars congenial to 
them; for something new and strange had come to 
trouble them—the subtle breath 
That in a powerful language, felt, not heard, 
Tustructs the fowls of heaven. 
But as to the character of that breath I vainly 
questioned Nature,—she being the only woman who 
can keep a secret, even from a lover, 
Rain came at last, and fell continuously during 
an entire night. Next morning (February 14th) 
when I went out and looked up at the sky, covered 
with grey hurrying clouds, I saw a flock of forty or 
fifty large swallows speeding north; and after these 
I saw no more; for on that first wet morning, 
before I had risen, the purple cloud had forsaken 
the valley. 
I missed them greatly, and wished that they had 
delayed their going, since it was easier and more 
hopeful to ponder on the mystery of their instinct 
D 
