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Updated: May 31, 2025
"Come to share thy fate for weal or woe, my beloved lord. From thy hands I received knighthood: at thy side will I conquer or die." The dawn was at hand. The birds began their matin songs, when the stern blast of the trumpet drowned their tiny warblings. The army arose as one man.
Melodious as the voice of the male Kokila, delightful, and sweet as the warblings of the Vina, without listening to his voice, what peace can my heart have? His beauty was unrivalled, rare even among the celestials. Without casting my eyes on that form, what peace can my heart have?
Suddenly a far voice, sonorous and sweet a man's voice-breaks into song under the starred night: a song full of strange charm and tones like warblings those Japanese tones of popular emotion which seem to have been learned from the songs of birds. Some happy workman returning home. So clear the thin frosty air that each syllable quivers to us; but I cannot understand the words:
But alas! What wretchedness it was to listen, day by day, from his empty box, to the throaty warblings of Finocchi whose pronunciation of Russian was as near Chinese or Hebrew as the Slavic tongue: to argue vainly with La Menschikov, the soprano, who, to Ivan's unbounded disgust, used every vocal trick invented by the melodramatic Italians, from a revolting tremolo, and a barefaced falsetto to an incorrigible persistence in the appoggiatura, an affectation peculiarly unadapted to Ivan's rich, strong style.
In some of them poetry seemed to approach the nearest possible to bird-song to unconscious seeming through most conscious art, imitating the carelessness and impromptu of warblings as old as the existence of birds, and as new as every fresh individual joy; for each new generation grows its own feathers, and sings its own song, yet always the feathers of its kind, and the song of its kind.
That small song has served to remind me of two small books I brought into the garden to read the works of two modern minor poets whose "wren-like warblings," I imagined, would suit my mood and the genial morning better than the stirring or subtle thoughts of greater singers. Possibly in that I was mistaken; for there until now lie the books neglected on a lawn chair within reach of my hand.
How else could His summons have been heard in the continents of America and of Africa the dark? How else could the cock-crow of Heaven have penetrated those ears? How else could the sweet parrots of India have come upon this sugar, or nightingales have lifted up their warblings out of the land of ‘Iráq?
She'll fight her wrongs to the bitter end. Oh, my precious girl!" and she buried her head in her apron and wept. The sun's last ray had faded from the highest hill-top. The little birds had folded their wings and hushed their warblings. Dark clouds came sweeping up from the west, and one, heavy and black, passed above the roof of Oakley, bent down, and rested there.
It was an exquisitely sweet, liquid song, it was jocund, joyous, and it was sustained for an astonishing length of time. It went on and on and on, never faltering, never pausing, in soft trills and gay roulades, shrill skirls or flute-like warblings, a continuous outpour, for I don't know how many minutes. It was a song marvellously apposite to the bright day and the wide countryside.
Besides, you rate her powers too highly. Her voice is indeed not bad, and it has a wide compass; but what else are all these fantastic warblings and flourishes, these preposterous runs, these never-ending shakes, but delusive artifices of style, which people admire in the same way that they admire the foolhardy agility of a rope-dancer?
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