Little by little, however, the snowstorms grew rarer, stray sunbeams
pierced the murkiness of the heavens, and a verdant down, at first light
as a vapour, but which presently grew denser and soon took on the
solidity and sheen of satin, hemmed round the sombre garment of the
fields. A mildness filled the air—something restful, calm, and kindly,
that was like a benediction, something the winds distilled, the sun
diffused, the growing grass and humming insects and fragrant violets
spread abroad, something which, like a river fed by a myriad rippling
rills, gushed forth along the torrent-bed of creation.
A door seemed to open in the sooty firmament of winter, and this portal,
rolling back on golden hinges, suddenly revealed the sun in his
splendour, like a king stepping forth to bring peace to the peoples.
Then sounded the first chord in the plain-song of the woods; waters,
sky, and earth joined in the harmony with a deep, long-drawn note that
rose and swelled, sobbed and sighed, grew louder and louder, assumed the
majestic breadth of an orchestral symphony, and waxing gradually, ended
by filling the depths and heights of air with a mighty diapason, as if
all mouths, all voices, all breaths were raised together in one vast
unison.
I leave you to guess if the goldfinch lifted up _his_ voice in this
universal hymn of praise!
So it was true, then! The sun had indeed returned! A fine lacework of
filmy greenery began to clothe the tree boles, and the water-springs to
sparkle in the shy recesses of the forest; the air was free; once more
he and his comrades could laugh and sing, flit idly to and fro, pilfer
and steal, plunder the orchards, peck the flowers, drink in from a drop
of dew intoxication to last the livelong day, and revel in that
twice-blessed existence that is full of a fine frenzy of delight to make
the thrushes envious.
Good-bye to the winter covert, the crevice in the protecting bough, the
moss that still keeps the impress of his little body! Nothing will
satisfy him now but the wild fields of space; and with a bold sweep of
wing the masterful goldfinch has left his dolorous refuge, never to
return. A second piece of ingratitude, another act of forgetfulness!
Yes, it must be allowed a little bird’s head has small room in it for
remembrance.