Page:Under the Sun.djvu/113

Rh to the owl are the words of the poet (to the nightingale) —

The very name too, ooloo, is a sweet symphony. The frogs jeered as we passed. One of us recalled the lines —

And so through a chorus of exulting batrachians, home again to the solid earth, the noise of men, and the multitudinous chirping of birds.