“A strange commotion,” observes a celebrated English writer, “may be seen and heard at this season among the winged creatures, portending momentous matters. The lark is high up in the cold air before daylight, and his chosen mistress is listening to him among the dank grass, with the dew still upon her unshaken wing. The robin, too, has left off, for a brief season, his low, plaintive piping, which, it must be confessed, was poured forth for his own exclusive satisfaction, and, reckoning on his spruce looks and sparkling eyes, issues his quick, peremptory love-call in a somewhat ungallant and husband-like manner.
“The sparrows who have lately been skulking silently about from tree to tree, with ruffled plumes and drooping wings, now spruce themselves up, till they do not look half their former size, and if it were not pairing time, one might fancy there was more of war than of love in their noisy squabblings.” Among other indications of the advancing season, says Gray —
New born lambs in rustic dance
Frisking ply their nimble feet,
Forgetful of their wintry trance
The birds his presence greet;
But chief the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling, thrilling ecstasy,
And lessening from the dazzled sight,
Melts into air and liquid light.