62 STARLIGHT AND SUNSHINE. 
The April breeze brings hope and aspiration on its wings, of 
which this bright June morning is the supreme fulfilment. And 
yet in the rapt enjoyment of this perfect day, when former darker 
days seem past belief, and the future knows no dread, how little 
are we wont to recognize the claims of the birds for the rare 
enchantment which is ours! An isolated note here and there— 
the song of an oriole in the elm, or perhaps the sputtering chal- 
lenge of the wren in the cornice cranny above—accentuates the 
wondrous symphony, and as a distinct feature wins our passing 
appreciation. But what of the welling under-harmony which fills 
the earth and sky, and buoys us thither unaware? For though 
laden with fragrance of sweetest flowers, and borne from a para- 
dise of blossoming fields, that were a false and barren breeze of 
June which bore no message from the birds. What are the ti- 
dings which they help to bring? 
“We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing 
That skies are clear and grass is growing. 
The breeze comes whispering in our ear 
That dandelions are blossoming near, 
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, 
That the river is bluer than the sky, 
That the robin is plastering his house hard by: 
And if the breeze kept the good news back! 
We could guess it by yon heifer’s lowing— 
And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, 
Warmed with the new wine of the year, 
Tells all in his lusty crowing!” 
Thus, like the “clarion” of the cock, one by one some famil- 
iar note accentuates the musical murmur, and we are willing to 
accept the passing whim that the robin or the oriole, the song- 
sparrow or the bluebird, “tells it all” and “makes the summer.” 
For several years every succeeding June has found me in the 
fulfilment of this ideal dolce far niente which our poet describes, 
reclining in my hammock beneath my cottage porch, my fancy 
floating hither and yon at the beck and call of warble and per- 
