'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? she sees
A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide,
And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.
Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale
Down which she so often has tripped with her pail;
And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's,
The only one dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven; but they fade,
The mist and the moor, the hill and the shade;
The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise,
And the colours have all passed away from her eyes.

But although poor Susan has to go on her dreary way with an aching heart, yet has the revival of these memories of home and childhood, called up by the sweet song of the bird, doubtless in some measure cheered and gladdened her weary spirit.

And yet again we are reminded by the above lines that their author has addressed to this 'Herald of Morning,' as Shakspeare calls the bird, a lyric, so full of praise and devotion, that it may be termed a Hymn :

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!

Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound;
Or while thy wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, and music still.

To the last point of vision, and beyond,

Mount, daring warbler: that love-prompted strain,
"Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond,
Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain;
Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege, to sing
All independent of the leafy spring.

Leave to the Nightingale the shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine,

Whence thou dost pour upon the earth a flood
Of harmony, with rapture more divine.
Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam,
True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

The Ettrick Shepherd has bequeathed to posterity a glorious ode to the Skylark, which must be well known to

most of our readers: not so familiar, perhaps, is his interpretation of the song of this bird which commences thus:

Oh my love is bonny and mild to see,
And sweetly she sits on the dewy lea,
And turns up her cheek and clear grey eye,
To list what's saying within the sky!
For she thinks my morning hymn so sweet
Wi' the streamers of heaven ancath my feet,
Where the proud Goshawk hath never won,
Between the grey cloud and the sun,
That she thinks her love a thing of the skies,
Sent down from the holy Paradise,

To sing to the world at morn and even,

The sweet love songs of the bowers of heaven.

Passing over many glorious poetical tributes to the Lark, and a host of sweet singers, who have been often quoted, we conclude with a spirited lyric, less known, by our friend W. C. Bennett:

Quiverer up the golden air—

Nested in a golden earth

Mate of hours when Thrushes pair-
Hedges green and blooms have birth;
Up, thou very shout of joy,

Gladness wert thou made to fling
O'er all moods of Earth's annoy-
Up-through morning, soar and sing.

Shade by shade hath gloom decreast,-
Westward stars and night have gone,
Up and up the crimsoning east
Slowly mounts the golden dawn;
Up-thy radiant life was given
Rapture over Earth to fling-
Morning hushes-hushed is heaven,
Dumb to hear thee soaring sing.

Up-thy utterance, silence, robs
Of the ecstacies of Earth,
Dowering sound with all the throbs
Of its madness-of its mirth;
Tranced lies its golden prime,
Dumb with utter joy-oh fling
Listening air the raptured time--
Quivering gladness, soar and sing.

Up-no white star hath the west-
All is morning-all is day-
Earth in trembling light lies blest—
Heaven is sunshine- up-away;
Up-the primrose lights the lane-
Up-the boughs with gladness ring-
Bent are bright-belled flowers again
Drooped with bees-oh soar and sing.
Ah-at last thou beat'st the sun,
Leaving, low, thy nest of love-
Higher-higher, quivering one,
Shrill'st thou up and up above;
Wheel on wheel, the whole day through,
Might I thus with ceaseless wing,

Steep on steep of airy blue

Fling me up, and soar and sing!

Spurner of the Earth's annoy,

Might I thus in heaven be lost! -
Like to thee, in gusty joy,

Oh, might I be tempest-tost!

Oh, that the melodious rain

Of thy rapture I might fling

Down, till Earth should swoon from pain-
Joy-to hear me soaring sing!—

Yet, high wisdom by thee taught,
Were thy mighty rapture mine,
While the highest heaven I sought,
Nought of earth would I resign;
Lost in circling light above,

Still my love to Earth should fling
All its raptures—still to love,
Caring but to soar and sing.

CHAPTER XIII.

LARKS AND PIPETS. THE WOOD, SHORE, AND SHORT-TOED LARKS; THE MEADOW, TREE, ROCK, AND RICHARD'S PIPETS.

HE WOODLARK

This bird

T closely resembles the Skylark in the colour and mark

ings of the plumage, that it would be difficult to distinguish it from that bird, were it not that it is considerably smaller, has a more slender bill, and a hind claw less elongated; the tail, too, is shorter, and there is a conspicuous light brown. streak over each eye, as well as an absence of the crest, which, when erected, gives to the other species such a smart and lively appearance. It is chiefly in the western and midland districts of England that the Woodlark is met with; in the northern parts it is of very rare occurrence, and does not seem to have been obtained in Scotland. It resides permanently with us, and seldom comes near the habitations of man, preferring wild and lonely places; the best opportunity of observing its habits is in winter, when small flocks come out into the open fields to search for insects, larvæ, and snails of various kinds; when snow is on the ground, it may be seen in marshy places watching for worins, and when the frost is severe it resorts to the stackyards with Sparrows, Buntings, and other small birds, to feed upon the grain; but from choice the bird is decidedly insectivorous, more so perhaps than the Skylark. Mudie says, that

The name is not very appropriate, for the bird is one of the waste rather than of the woodland; and though it perches, which the Skylark does not, it has many of the habits of that bird. It feeds on the ground, and nestles there, though under cover; and though it occasionally sings from the top of a tree or bush, its general practice is to sing in the air, swelling its notes as it ascends, and sinking them as it descends, in the same manner as the other. Its notes have also some resemblance to those of the Skylark, but they are not so

182

MODES OF FLIGHT AND SONG.

numerous, and they are soft and rather plaintive, while those of the Skylark are the merriest of all the feathered race.

When the Woodlark is near trees, it varies its pitch and cadence probably more than the Skylark. It comes from the ground to the tree in a sort of waving course, singing very low, and giving but a portion of its brief stave. Then it perches, and sings in an uniform key, but not full and round; after a little while, wheels upward, more wildly and rapidly than the Skylark, swelling its song as it ascends, and sometimes rises higher than the ordinary flight of the other, but not generally so high. When it takes the top of its flight, it sends down a volume of song which is inexpressibly sweet, though there is a feeling of desolation in it. The song, indeed, harmonises well with the situation; and to hear the Woodlark on a wild and lone hill-side, where there is nothing to give accompaniment, save the bleating of a flock, or the tinkle of a sheep-bell, so distant as hardly to be audible, is certainly equal to the hearing even of those more mellow songs which are poured forth in richer situations.

Bechstein pronounces this of all Larks'the sweetest songster, and excepting only the Nightingale and Chaffinch, of all birds the most delightful which retain their natural song. Bolton says that some bird-fanciers prefer it even to the Nightingale, with which it sometimes contends for superiority in song, invading even those hours which are generally considered sacred to the queen of feathered vocalists :—

What time the timorous hare limps forth to feed,
When the scared owl skims round the grassy mead,
Then, high in air and poised upon his wings,
Unseen, the soft enamoured Woodlark sings.

Blyth also says that on hot summer nights, Woodlarks soar to a prodigious height, and hang singing in the air. Knapp thus praises the vocal powers of the bird, and describes its peculiar habits :—

The Redbreast, Blackbird and Thrush, in mild winters, may continually be heard, and form exceptions to the general procedure of our British birds; and we have one little bird, the Woodlark, that in the early parts of the autumnal months delights us with its harmony, and its carols may be heard in the air commonly during the calm sunny mornings of this season. They have a softness and quietness perfectly in unison with the sober, almost melancholy, stillness of the hour. The Skylark also sings now, and its song is very sweet, full of harmony, cheerful as the blue sky, and gladdening beam in which it circles and sports, and known and admired by all; but the voice of