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'Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me. Ye believe in me, believe also in these." "But I want to come where they are. I want to love and do for them; do something for them in heaven, Mr. Vireo, that I did not do here! Can I ever have my chances given back again?" "You have them now.
It was not the delicate little strain we are accustomed to hear from this bird, but a loud, clear carol, equal in volume to the notes of our robin. These three birds, with the addition of a vireo or two, were our main dependence for daily music, though we were favored occasionally by others.
He would point out to them the humming-bird that hovered, a bright blur, above the columbine, the woodpecker glued to the trunk of a maple high above their heads, the red gleam of a tanager flashing through sunlit foliage, the oriole and vireo where they hid. And his was the ear that first caught the exquisite, distant note of the hermit.
The notes of the Warbling Vireo have been described by the words, "Brigadier, Brigadier, Bridget." They are few, simple, and melodious, and being often repeated, they form a very important part of the sylvan music of cultivated and thickly-settled places.
Just such April hopes were theirs who had found each other again this morning. All of life at its best and fairest stretched sunnily before those two, the fairer for the cloud that had for a time darkened it, the dearer and diviner for the loss that had been so imminent. ... That was a redbird again. And now a vireo.
No vireo hung there her dainty cup, while her mate preached his interminable sermons from the trees about; no phœbe shouted his woes to an unsympathizing world; no sweet-voiced goldfinch poured out his joyous soul; not a song-sparrow tuned his little lay within our borders. Unseen of men, but no doubt sharply defined to clearer senses than ours, was a line barring them out.
The Christ has yet to be borne on men's shoulders." Hilary Vireo stood and listened with gleaming eyes. Of course, he knew the old saint-legend; of course, Christopher Kirkbright supposed it; but these were men who understood without the saying, that the verities are forever old and forever new.
The four walked away from the church together; they stopped on the corner of Borden Street. Here Desire and Mr. Vireo would leave them, their way lying down the hill. "I liked your doctrine of the Lord," said Miss Euphrasia to the minister. "That is true New Church interpretation, as I receive it." "How can any one help seeing it? It shines so through the whole," said Desire.
The black and yellow warbler pauses a moment and hastens away; the Maryland yellow-throat peeps shyly from the lower bushes and utters his "Fip! fip!" in sympathy; the wood pewee comes straight to the tree overhead, and the red-eyed vireo lingers and lingers, eying me with a curious, innocent look, evidently much puzzled.
It is something well worth listening to, common though it is, and may easily suggest a number of questions about the origin and meaning of bird music. The white-eyed vireo is a singer of astonishing spirit, and his sudden changes from one theme to another are sometimes almost startling. He is a skillful ventriloquist, also, and I remember one in particular who outwitted me completely.
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