SONG-BIRDS. Baltimore Oriole 



for a foundation to be credible. The story says that Cal- 

 vert, worn out and discouraged by the various trials and 

 rigours of temperature in his Newfoundland colony, in 1028 

 visited the Virginia settlement. He explored the waters of 

 the Chesapeake, with its noble tributaries and delicious 

 climate, and found the shores and woods teeming with birds, 

 and among them great flocks of Orioles, who so cheered 

 him by their song and colour that he took them as good 

 omens and adopted their colours for his own. Be this as it 

 may, it is a likely story ; for the Oriole has gone on cheering 

 and charming mankind to this day. 



The Oriole comes in full plumage and song in time to 

 sing the praises of the blooming orchards, but if the season 

 is cold and late and the cherries do not yield their mimic 

 snow-storm, my Lord Baltimore also delays his coming. 

 When these Orioles first arrive the males are in the majority, 

 and they sit in the spruces calling by the hour, with a lonely 

 querulous note. 



In a few days the females appear in force, and then the 

 martial music begins, and the birds' golden trumpeting often 

 turns to a desperate clashing of cymbals when two males 

 engage in combat ; for the Oriole has a temper to match his 

 flaming plumage and fights with a will. 



The next step is the selection of a nesting-tree. It must 

 be tall with swinging branches to yield when the wind 

 blows, and near enough to civilization to intimidate the 

 Hawks. 



Hush ! 'tis he ! 



My Oriole, my glance of summer fire, 

 Is come at last, and ever on the watch, 

 Twitches the pack-thread I had lightly wound 

 About the bough to help his housekeeping, 

 Twitches and scouts by turns, blessing his luck, 

 Yet fearing me who laid it in his way, 

 Nor, more than wiser we in our affairs, 

 Divines the providence that hides and helps. 

 Heave, ho I Heave, ho ! he whistles as the twine 

 Slackens its hold ; once more, now ! and a flash 

 Lightens across the sunlight to the elm 

 Where his mate dangles at her cup of felt. LOWELL. 

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