132 T Y R A N T F L Y C A T C H E R. 



AVrens, Thrushes, Wiirblers, startled at his note, 



Fly in affright the consecrated spot. 



He drives the plundering Jay, with honest scorn, 



Back to his woods ; the Mocker to his thorn ; 



Sweeps round the Cuckoo, as the thief retreats; 



Attacks the Crow; the diving i/awA- defeats; 



Darts on the Eagle downwards from afar, 



And midst the clouds prolongs the whirling war. 



All danger o'er, he hastens back elate. 



To guard his post and feed his faithful mate. 



Behold him now, his little family flown, 

 Meek, unassuming, silent, and alone; 

 Lured by the well-known hum of favorite bees, 

 As slow he hovers o'er the garden trees ; 

 (For all have failings, passions, whims that lead; 

 Some favorite wish, some appetite to feed) ; 

 Strait he alights, and from the pear-tree spies 

 The circling stream of humming insects rise ; 

 Selects his prey ; darts on the busy brood. 

 And shrilly twitters o'er his savory food. 



Ah I ill-timed triumph I direful note to thee, 

 That guides thy murderer to the fatal tree ; 

 See where he skulks ! and takes his gloomy stand ; 

 The deep-charged musket hanging in his hand ; 

 And gaunt for blood, he leans it on a rest, 

 Prepared, and pointed at thy snow-white breast. 

 Ah friend 1 good friend I forbear that barbarous deed, 

 Against it valor, goodness, pity plead ; 

 If e'er a family's griefs, a widow's woe, 

 Have reached thy soul, in mercy let him go ! 

 Yet, should the tear of pity nought avail, 

 Let interest speak, let gratitude prevail ; 

 Kill not thy friend, who thy whole harvest shields, 

 And sweeps ten thousand vermin from thy fields ; 

 Think how this dauntless bird, thy poultry's guard, 

 Drove every Hawk and Eagle from thy yard ; 

 Watched round thy cattle as they fed, and slew 

 The hungry blackening swarms that round them flew ; 

 Some small return, some little right resign, 

 And spare his life whose services are thine! 



— — I plead in vain ! Amid the bursting roar 



The poor, lost King-bird, welters in his gore. 



This species is eight inches long, and fourteen in extent ; the general 

 color above is a dark slaty ash ; the head and tail are nearly black ; the 

 latter even at the end, and tipped with white ; the wings are more of a 

 brownish cast ; the quills and wing coverts are also edged with dull 

 white ; the upper part of the breast is tinged with ash ; the throat, and 

 all the rest of the lower parts are pure white ; the plumage on the 

 crown, though not forming a crest, is frequently erected, as represented 

 in the plate, and discovers a rich bed of brilliant orange, or flame color. 



