oundwhichtheelementshadtakenupandmodulatedandechoedfromvaletovale.Theechois,tosomeextent,anoriginalsound,andthereinisthemagicandcharmofit.Itisnotmerelyarepetitionofwhatwasworthrepeatinginthebell,butpartlythevoiceofthewoodthesametrivialwordsandnotessungbyawood-nymph.
Atevening,thedistantlowingofsomecowinthehorizonbeyondthewoodssoundedsweetandmelodious,andatfirstIwouldmistakeitforthevoicesofcertainminstrelsbywhomIwassometimesserenaded,whomightbestrayingoverhillanddalebutsoonIwasnotunpleasantlydisappointedwhenitwasprolongedintothecheapandnaturalmusicofthecow.Idonotmeantobesatirical,buttoexpressmyappreciationofthoseyouths’singing,whenIstatethatIperceivedclearlythatitwasakintothemusicofthecow,andtheywereatlengthonearticulationofNature.
Regularlyathalfpastseven,inonepartofthesummer,aftertheeveningtrainhadgoneby,thewhippoorwillschantedtheirvespersforhalfanhour,sittingonastumpbymydoor,orupontheridgepoleofthehouse.Theywouldbegintosingalmostwithasmuchprecisionasaclock,withinfiveminutesofaparticulartime,referredtothesettingofthesun,everyevening.Ihadarareopportunitytobecomeacquaintedwiththeirhabits.SometimesIheardfourorfiveatonceindifferentpartsofthewood,byaccidentoneabarbehindanother,andsonearmethatIdistinguishednotonlythecluckaftereachnote,butoftenthatsingularbuzzingsoundlikeaflyinaspider’sweb,onlyproportionallylouder.Sometimesonewouldcircleroundandroundmeinthewoodsafewfeetdistantasiftetheredbyastring,whenprobablyIwasnearitseggs.Theysangatintervalsthroughoutthenight,andwereagainasmusicalaseverjustbeforeandaboutdawn.
Whenotherbirdsarestillthescreechowlstakeupthestrain,likemourningwomentheirancientu-lu-lu.TheirdismalscreamistrulyBenJonsonian.Wisemidnighthags!Itisnohonestandblunttu-whittu-whoofthepoets,but,withoutjesting,amostsolemngraveyardditty,themutualconsolationsofsuicideloversrememberingthepangsandthedelightsofsupernalloveintheinfernalgroves.YetIlovetoheartheirwailing,theirdolefulresponses,trilledalongthewood-sideremindingmesometimesofmusicandsingingbirdsasifitwerethedarkandtearfulsideofmusic,theregretsandsighsthatwouldfainbesung.Theyarethespirits,thelowspiritsandmelancholyforebodings,offallensoulsthatonceinhumanshapenight-walkedtheearthanddidthedeedsofdarkness,nowexpiatingtheirsinswiththeirwailinghymnsorthrenodiesinthesceneryoftheirtransgressions.Theygivemeanewsenseofthevarietyandcapacityofthatnaturewhichisourcommondwelling.Oh-o-o-o-othatIneverhadbeenbor-r-r-r-n!sighsoneonthissideofthepond,andcircleswiththerestlessnessofdespairtosomenewperchonthegrayoaks.Then—thatIneverhadbeenbor-r-r-r-n!echoesanotheronthefarthersidewithtremuloussincerity,and—bo