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Then, as I was watching him, all at once the boy sprang up, and he seemed to see a light before him, so straight on did he walk: many crossed his path and jostled against him, but he cared not; he heard the sweet voice plainer and plainer, like the soft murmuring of the cushat dove in the early summer, and he would follow where it led.
The cushat, as she thrid her way through the wood, continued to croon in her darksome tree and the lark, although just dropped from the cloud, was cheered by her presence into a new passion of song, and mounted over her head, as if it were his first matin hymn.
He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure, the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and brightly. "I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake."
Birds warbled on the branches their various strains; the mocking bird trilled out her sweet notes fain and the turtle filled with her voice the plain. There sang the nightingale, whose chant arouses the sleeper, and the merle with his note like the voice of man and the cushat and the ring-dove, whilst the parrot with its eloquent tongue answered the twain.
If you are my mother, the world is all changed to me." The offspring nestled to the parent, who gathered her to her bosom, covered her with noiseless kisses, and murmured love over her like a cushat fostering its young. IV. An Old Acquaintance
I am here; alive, warm, loving, hungry even! a woman, and no specter risen from the grave, although you look at me just as if I were one! Dear Herman, kiss me! I have come a long way to join you!" she said, in a voice softer than the softest notes of the cushat dove. "How was it that you were not killed?" demanded the young man, with the manner of one who exacted an apology for a grievous wrong.
And like all on whom love descends, sometimes softly, slowly, with the gradual wing of the cushat settling down into its nest, sometimes with the swoop of the eagle on his unsuspecting quarry, I believed that none ever before loved as I loved; that such love was an abnormal wonder, made solely for me, and I for it.
I wonder what birds they were that sang there? I have never heard such singing of birds since then." "No, there are no such singing birds here," said Mrs Snow. "I used to miss the lark's song in the morning, and the evening voices of the cushat and the blackbird. There are no birds like them here."
And like all on whom love descends, sometimes softly, slowly, with the gradual wing of the cushat settling down into its nest, sometimes with the swoop of the eagle on his unsuspecting quarry, I believed that none ever before loved as I loved; that such love was an abnormal wonder, made solely for me, and I for it.
Diaphanous mist wreaths and tender showers wooed the Spring; under silver gauze of vernal rain rang wild rapture of thrushes, laughter of woodpeckers, chime and chatter of jackdaws from the rock, secret crooning of the cushat in the pines. From dawn till dusk the sweet air was winnowed by busy wings; from dawn till dusk the hum and murmur of life ceased not.
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