THE Child walked forth alone upon the fresh dewy cornfield. A thousand
little suns glittered in his eyes, and a lark soared warbling above his
head. And the lark proclaimed the joys of the coming year, and awakened
endless hopes, while she soared circling higher and higher, till, at
length, her song was like the soft whisper of an angel holding converse
with the spring, under the blue arch of heaven. The Child had seen the
earth-coloured little bird rise up before him, and it seemed to him as if
the earth had sent her forth from her bosom as a messenger to carry her
joy and her thanks up to the sun, because he had turned his beaming
countenance again upon her in love and bounty. And the lark hung poised
above the hope-giving field, and warbled her clear and joyous song.
She sang of the loveliness of the rosy dawn, and the fresh brilliancy of
the earliest sunbeams; of the gladsome springing of the young flowers,
and the vigorous shooting of the corn; and her song pleased the Child
beyond measure.
But the lark wheeled in higher and higher circles, and her song sounded
softer and sweeter.
And now she sang of the first delights of early love; of wanderings
together on the sunny fresh hilltops, and of the sweet pictures and
visions that arise out of the blue and misty distance. The Child
understood not rightly what he heard, and fain would he have understood,
for he thought that even in such visions must be wondrous delight. He
gazed aloft after the unwearied bird, but she had disappeared in the
morning mist.
Then the Child leaned his head on one shoulder to listen if he could no
longer hear the little messenger of spring; and he could just catch the
distant and quivering notes in which she sang of the fervent longing
after the clear element of freedom, after the pure all-present light, and
of the blessed foretaste of this desired enfranchisement, of this
blending in the sea of celestial happiness.
Yet longer did he listen, for the tones of her song carried him there,
where, as yet, his thoughts had never reached, and he felt himself
happier in this short and imperfect flight than ever he had felt before.
But the lark now dropped suddenly to the earth, for her little body was
too heavy for the ambient ether, and her wings were not large nor strong
enough for the pure element.
Then the red corn-poppies laughed at the homely looking bird, and cried
to one another and to the surrounding blades of corn in a shrill voice,
“Now, indeed, you may see what comes of flying so high, and striving and
straining after mere air; people only lose their time, and bring back
nothing but weary wings and an empty stomach. That vulgar-looking
ill-dressed little creature would fain raise herself above us all, and
has kept up a mighty noise. And now there she lies on the ground and can
hardly breathe, while we have stood still where we are sure of a good
meal, and have stayed, like people of sense, where there is something
substantial to be had; and in the time she has been fluttering and
singing, we have grown a good deal taller and fatter.”
The other little redcaps chattered and screamed their assent so loud that
the Child’s ears tingled, and he wished he could chastise them for their
spiteful jeers; when a cyane said, in a soft voice, to her younger
playmates, “Dear friends, be not led astray by outward show, nor by
discourse which regards only outward show. The lark is, indeed, weary,
and the space into which she has soared is void; but the void is not what
the lark sought, nor is the seeker returned empty home. She strove after
light and freedom, and light and freedom has she proclaimed. She left
the earth and its enjoyments, but she has drunk of the pure air of
heaven, and has seen that it is not the earth, but the sun that is
steadfast. And if earth has called her back, it can keep nothing of her
but what is its own. Her sweet voice and her soaring wings belong to the
sun, and will enter into light and freedom long after the foolish prater
shall have sunk and been buried in the dark prison of the earth.”
And the lark heard her wise and friendly discourse, and with renewed
strength she sprang once more into the clear and beautiful blue.
Then the Child clapped his little hands for joy, that the sweet bird had
flown up again, and that the redcaps must hold their tongues for shame.