256 IN BIRD LAND. 
“ A weck ago the sparrow was divine; 
The bluebird, shifting his light load of song 
From post to post along the cheerless fence, 
Was as a rhymer ere the poet come ; 
But now, oh, rapture ! sunshine winged and voiced, 
Pipe blown through by the warm, wild breath of the West, 
Shepherding his soft droves of fleecy cloud, 
Gladness of woods, skies, waters, all in one, 
The bobolink has come, and, like the soul 
Of the sweet season, vocal in a bird, 
Gurgles in ecstasy we know not what, 
Save June! Dear June! Now God be praised for June.” 
The only fault to be found with this exquisite 
tribute is that it is rather too much involved to 
glide melodiously from the lips, or be quite clear 
to the mind until after a second or third reading. 
Not so picturesque, but more simple and musical, 
is this bit, — 
“ From blossom-clouded orchards, far away 
The bobolink tinkled. ” 
The provincial tongue of Hosea Biglow presents 
us with the following rare bit of portraiture, which 
has all the strength and freshness of a painting from 
Nature : — 
“ June’s bridesman, poet o’ the year, 
Gladness on wings, the bobolink is here ; 
Half-hid in tip-top apple-bloom he sings, 
Or climbs against the breeze with quiverin’ wings, 
Or, givin’ way to ’t in mock despair, 
Runs down, a brook o’ laughter, thro’ the air,” — 
a rhythmical tribute that is both an honor to the 
poet and a compliment to the bobolink. 
