Friday, June 8, 2007

The Music of the Thrush

1874

The thrush is scarcely surpassed by any other bird excepting the nightingale, and pours forth his full wealth of song in every varied form, upheaving his parded breast, and looking out upon the still landscape with bright restless eyes. We hear him singing in the early morning before the round sun has scaled the hill-tops; he keeps up his roll of music throughout the day, and closes at night without any apparent fatigue; there is no diminution of sound; no feebleness; he seems more like a good instrument, which, after being played on for hours, sends forth a sweeter sound; he is no weak traveler, who, having gone a long day's journey, drags wearily up the last hill at sunset.

You cannot fail to distinguish his voice from among the warblers of the woods; not that his notes are always alike, but there is some regular modulation, or natural sweetness, which, however varied, "still does his touch the strain prolong," and you know it is his own, and could not be deceived even if he had hidden himself in the carcass of an owl.

I recollect well, that nearly one of the first birds I reared when a country boy, was a thrush; he was the pride and delight of the whole neighborhood; even the neighbors forgave him breaking their slumber so early in the morning, for the sweetness of his song. An old fisherman who arose with the break of day, and who resided in the adjoining house, made the opening of his music a clock to get up by; and he never was deceived in the time but once, and that was one really beautiful moon-light morning, which streamed in brilliant beams through the opening in the window shutters, and lured the lovely bird into the belief that it was day. — English Country Life.

No comments: