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Like a certain modern heroine, she could not even keep the shape of the tune. Consequently, unless the girls had known the words, they could not have told whether she was singing "Old Hundred," or "Tommy, make room for your uncle." Edna and Eunice almost doubled up with laughter. Edna sang like a little woodthrush, and Eunice also had a sweet and tuneful voice.
The silvery babble of water passing over rocks, mingled with the gurgling liquid notes of the woodthrush. The sides of the canyon in places were vast streets of ferns, moss and vines, which resembled cataracts of varying shades of green or great pieces of hanging tapestry inwrought with rare designs of woodland flowers.
I went out 'fore sunrise, when the blue mist was hangin' round the mountain tops an' in among the trees. It was like a fairy dream. I listened t' th' orchestra of the birds the woodthrush, the veery, the scarlet tanager an' the rest of the thrillin' songsters and the music was more delicious 'n any opera I've heard in London an' Paris.
They fly in pairs often and in the evenings they cling prettily to the catnip by the pasture fence, digging into each calyx for its four sweet nutlets. The woodthrush has a late nest in a young elm; her first family was eaten by the blue-jays just after the hatching, so were the young grosbeaks in a nearby tree, but the cedar waxwings were slain and eaten by the cannibalistic grackles.
I like to hear a woman sing, and I like to hear a fiddle sing, but these noises they hammer out of their wood and ivory anvils don't talk to me, I know the difference between a bullfrog and a woodthrush and Pop! went a small piece of artillery such as is made of a stick of elder and carries a pellet of very moderate consistency.
I like to hear a woman sing, and I like to hear a fiddle sing, but these noises they hammer out of their wood and ivory anvils don't talk to me, I know the difference between a bullfrog and a woodthrush and Pop! went a small piece of artillery such as is made of a stick of elder and carries a pellet of very moderate consistency.
Fox vines trailed in the open places, the rarest wild-flowers flourished, Red-squirrels chattered from the trees. In the mud along the brook-side were tracks of Coon and Mink and other strange fourfoots. And in the trees overhead, the Veery, the Hermit-thrush, or even a Woodthrush sang his sweetly solemn strain, in that golden twilight of the midday forest.
In the timber fringes and the broad bottoms along the creek you get glimpses of the catbird feasting on the grapes and the wild plums; the brown thrasher and the woodthrush, wholly silent now; the little house wren who has lost her chatter; the vireos and the orioles, the wood pewee, the crested fly catcher and the kingbird. They all seem to be going southward.
"Drop it," caught June with a quick upward look, and then to fix the word in her memory she repeated "drop it, drop it, DROP it!" "Got it now, June?" "Uh-huh." It was then that a woodthrush voiced the crowning joy of spring, and with slowly filling eyes she asked its name. "That bird," she said slowly and with a breaking voice, "sung just that-a-way the mornin' my sister died."
Her eternity is now, today, this hour. Each of her creatures seeks the largest, fullest, best life possible under given conditions. The wild raspberries on which the catbirds were feeding today would have been just as fine had there been no catbird to eat them or human eye to admire them. Had there been no human ear to delight, the song of the woodthrush would have been just as sweet.
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