Wood Pewee 169 



be fearfully frightened whenever a train thun- 

 dered overhead? 



WOOD PEWEE 



When you have been wandering through 

 the stimmer woods did you ever, Hke Trow- 

 bridge, sit down 



"Beside the brook, irresolute, 

 And watch a little bird in suit 

 Of sombre olive, soft and brown, 

 Perched in the maple branches, mute? 

 With greenish gold its vest was fringed, 

 Its tiny cap was ebon-tinged, 

 With ivory pale its wings were barred, 

 And its dark eyes were tender starred. 

 •Dear bird,' I said, 'what is thy name?* 

 And thrice the mournful answer came. 

 So faint and far, and yet so near — 

 'Pewee! pe-wee! peer!' " 



Doubtless this demure, gentle little cousin of 

 the noisy, aggressive, crested flycatcher has no 

 secret sorrow preying at its heart, but the ten- 

 der pathos of its long-drawn notes would seem 

 to indicate that it is rather melancholy. And 

 it sings (in spite of the books which teach us 

 that the flycatchers are ''songless, perching 

 birds") from the time of its arrival from Cen- 

 tral America in May until only the tireless 

 indigo bunting and the red-eyed vireo are left 

 in the choir in August. 



But how suddenly its melancholy languor 



