ven. He
seems, in such altitude, to have left the earth for ever, and to have
forgotten his lowly nest. The primroses and the daisies, and all the
sweet hill-flowers, must be unremembered in that lofty region of light.
But just as the Lark is lost--he and his song together--as if his
orisons had been accepted--both are seen and heard fondly wavering
earthwards, and in a little while he is walking with his graceful crest
contented along the furrows of the brairded corn, or on the clover lea
that in man's memory has not felt the ploughshare; or after a pause, in
which he seems dallying with a home-sick passion, drooping down like one
dead, beside his mate in her shallow nest.

Of all birds to whom is given dominion over the air, the Lark alone lets
loose the power that is in his wings only for the expression of love and
gratitude. The eagle sweeps in passion of hunger--poised in the sky his
ken is searching for prey on sea or sward--his flight is ever animated
by destruction. The dove seems still to be escaping from something that
pursues--afraid of enemies even in the dangerless solitudes where the
old forests repose in primeval peace. The heron, high over houseless
moors, seems at dusk fearful in her laborious flight, and weariedly
gathers her long wings on the tree-top, as if thankful that day is done,
and night again ready with its rest. "The blackening trains o' craws to
their repose" is an image that affects the heart of "mortal man who
liveth here by toil," through sympathy with creatures partaking with him
a common lot. The swallow, for ever on the wing, and wheeling fitfully
before fancy's eyes in element adapted for perpetual pastime, is flying
but to feed--for lack of insects prepares to forsake the land of its
nativity, and yearns for the blast to bear it across the sea. Thou
alone, O Lark! hast wings given thee that thou mayest be perfectly
happy--none other bird but thou can at once soar and sing--and
heavenward thou seemest to be borne, not more by those twinkling pinions
than by the ever-varying, ever-deepening melody effusing from thy heart.

How imagination unifies! then most intensive when working with and in
the heart. Who thinks, when profoundly listening with his eyes shut to
the warbling air, that there is another lark in creation? _The_
lark--sole as the season--or the rainbow. We can fancy he sings to charm
our own particular ear--to please us descends into silence--for our
sakes erects his crest