Oven-Bird. Golden-Crowned Thrush 



the top of the tallest tree, he launches into the air with 

 a sort of suspended, hovering flight .... and bursts 

 into a perfect ecstasy of song, clear, ringing, copious, 

 rivalling the goldfinch's in vivacity, and the linnet's in 

 melody. This strain is one of the rarest bits of bird-melody 



Burroughs. Wake Robin.^ 



The Oven-Bird 



In the days of spring migrations, 



Days when warbler hosts move northward, 



To the forests, to the leaf -beds. 



Comes the tiny oven-builder. 



Daintily the leaves he tiptoes; 



Underneath them builds his oven, 



Arched and framed with last year's oak leaves. 



Roofed and walled against the rain-drops. 



Hour by hour his voice he raises. 

 Mingling with the red-eye's snatches, 

 Answering to the hermit's anthem; 

 Rising — falUng, like a wind breath. 



Strange, ventriloquous his music, 

 Far away when close beside one; 

 Near at hand when seeming distant; 

 Weird — ^his plaintive accrescendo. 



Teach us ! teach us ! is his asking, 

 Uttered to the Omnipresent: 

 Teach us ! teach us ! comes responsive 

 From the solemn listening forest. 



BoLLES. Chocorua's Tenants. ^^ 



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