The Bobolink I know a saucy chap, I see his shining cap 1483 Up flies Bobolincon, perching on an apple-tree, But wait a week, till flowers are cheery,―wait a week, and, ere you marry, Be sure of a house wherein to tarry! Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!" Every one's a funny fellow; every one's a little mellow; Follow, follow, follow, follow, o'er the hill and in the hollow! Merrily, merrily, there they hie; now they rise and now they fly; They cross and turn, and in and out, and down in the middle and wheel about, With a "Phew, shew, Wadolincon! listen to me, Bobolincon! Happy's the wooing that's speedily doing, that's speedily doing, That's merry and over with the bloom of the clover! Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, follow, fol low me!" Wilson Flagg [1805-1884] THE BOBOLINK BOBOLINK! that in the meadow, Keepest up a constant rattle Brighter plumes may greet the sun Sweeter tones may weave the spell But the tropic bird would fail, When the ides of May are past, Filling youths' and maidens' dreams With mysterious, pleasing themes; Floating in the fragrant air, Thou dost fill each heart with pleasure By thy glad ecstatic measure. A single note, so sweet and low, Forms the prelude; but the strain Gayest songster of the Spring! My Catbird But when our northern Summer's o'er, And royal feasts for thee are spread. Bobolink! still may thy gladness In Summer, Winter, Fall, and Spring. 1485 Thomas Hill [1818-1891] MY CATBIRD A CAPRICCIO NIGHTINGALE I never heard, (Though unknown to lyric fame,) That at morning, or at nooning, When I hear his pipe a-tuning, Down I fling Keats, Shelley, Wordsworth, What are all their songs of birds worth? All their soaring Souls' outpouring? When my Mimus Carolinensis, (That's his Latin name,) When my warbler wild commences Song's hilarious rhapsody, Just to please himself and me! Primo Cantante! Scherzo! Andante! Piano, pianissimo! Presto, prestissimo! Hark! are there nine birds or ninety and nine? Is it oriole, redbird, or bluebird, Or some strange, un-Auduboned new bird? Listen to his rondel! To his lay romantical! To his sacred canticle! Hear him lilting, See him tilting His saucy head and tail, and fluttering All the difficult operas under the sun Just for fun; Or in tipsy revelry, Or at love devilry, Or, disdaining his divine gift and art, Like an inimitable poet Who captivates the world's heart And don't know it. Hear him lilt! See him tilt! Then suddenly he stops, Peers about, flirts, hops, As if looking where he might gather up The wasted ecstasy just spilt From the quivering cup Of his bliss overrun. Then, as in mockery of all The tuneful spells that e'er did fall The Herald Crane From vocal pipe, or evermore shall rise, He snarls, and mews, and flies. William Henry Venable [1836 1487 THE HERALD CRANE OH! Say you so, bold sailor In the sun-lit deeps of sky! Dost thou so soon the seed-time tell As circling in yon shoreless sea Thine unseen form goes drifting by? I cannot trace in the noon-day glare From the leaping might of the fiery light But on mine ear, thine echoing cry Falls like a bugle strain. The mellow soil glows beneath my feet, Where lies the buried grain; The warm light floods the length and breadth On weary wing, plebeian geese Push on their arrowy line Straight into the north, or snowy brant In dazzling sunshine, gloom and shine; But thou, O crane, save for thy sovereign cry, On proud, extended wings sweep'st on In lonely, easeful flight. Then cry, thou martial-throated herald! Cry to the sun, and sweep And swing along thy mateless, tireless course |