Pausing to admire the beauty of the royal spikes of purple
foxglove we were thrilled with a familiar yet much loved song,
for in accord with the train of our thoughts, a mocking bird
sprang into the air with the most extraordinary turns and
gyrations and at last settled down on the chimney of the store
room as if overcome by his own ecstatic singing--this was our
welcome to Mount Vernon. With brilliant bewildering staccato
phrases he started singing in one place, then mounted to the
air, spread his wings and floating down to the tops of a cedar,
never missing a note. It was purely a song of joy expressing
exuberance of life and whole-souled enjoyment. He mimicked
thirty different American birds, but their songs were hurried
without the proper pauses and phrasing. It was what piano player
music is to hand-played melodies, lacking the beauty and soul of
the original artists.
How delightful it was to linger here. You could spend days and
weeks in forgetting the maddening strife and cares gazing out
over the majestic Potomac, lulled to rest by this matchless
songster.
Here one can readily see that Washington was fond of trees and
shrubs, and many were the excursions he made to the woods to
select specimens to be transplanted to the grounds around his
home. Just outside the garden are the tulip trees he planted
over one hundred and thirty years ago.
Pages:
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153