THE OVENBIRD GOLDEN-CROWNED THRUSH. 



NELLY HART WOODWORTH. 



A MARVELOUS choral is the rare 

 ecstasy song of the ovenbird 

 (see Vol. Ill, 126-7). It was 

 first recorded, at a compara 

 tively recent date, by that versatile 

 writer poet, essayist, naturalist Mr. 

 John Burroughs. After speaking of 

 the bird's easy, gliding walk, it being 

 one of the few birds that are walkers, 

 not Iwppers, he says its other lark trait, 

 namely, singing in the air, seems not 

 to have been observed by any natur 

 alist. Yet it is a well-established char 

 acteristic, and may be verified by any 

 person who will spend a half-hour in 

 the woods where this bird abounds on 

 some June afternoon or evening. I 

 hear it frequently after sundown when 

 the ecstatic singer can hardly be dis 

 tinguished against the sky. Mounting 

 by easy flights to 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, rivaling the 

 goldfinch's in vivacity and the linnet's 

 -in melody. Its descent after the song 

 is finished is rapid, and precisely like 

 that of the titlark when it sweeps 

 down from its course to alight on the 

 ground. 



The same writer speaks of waking 

 up in the night, just in time to hear a 

 golden-crowned thrush, the ovenbird, 

 sing in a tree near by. It sang as loud 

 and cheerily as at midday. My first 

 acquaintance with this rare overture 

 was at the close of a hot day in July, 

 as I was walking with a naturalist. A 

 splendor floated in the air like a mu 

 sical cloud as strange notes of glad 

 ness rang through the twilight with 

 the clearness of a silver bugle. It 

 came again, a clear, sweet, outpouring 

 song, which I recklessly attributed to 

 several goldfinches singing, as they 

 often do, in concert. The trained ear 

 of the naturalist was not so easily 

 deceived, and when my attention was 

 called to the more gushing character 

 of the melody I wondered that it could 



have escaped notice. It was a very 

 irrigation of song, the bursting of some 

 cloud overhead that scattered melodi 

 ous fragments all about, a mating- 

 cnoral unheard, probably,, after the 

 nesting season is over. 



Entering the woods in early summer 

 this bird is sure to shake out its ordi 

 nary, rattling chorus " Teacher, 

 Teacher, TEACHER," the notes delivered 

 with tremendous force and distinctness 

 and the emphasis increasing a vi 

 brant, crescendo chant as unlike the 

 brilliant ecstasy song as can be imag 

 ined. 



The ovenbird is also called the 

 golden- crowned thrush, for no conceiv 

 able reason unless it is that the bird 

 is not a thrush, but classed with the 

 warblers. Or is it that its white 

 breast, thickly spotted with dusky, 

 resembles the thrush's? There is a 

 peculiar delicacy in the texture of its 

 olive-green robes, as fine as if woven 

 in kings' houses, while, set deep in 

 hues of the raven's wing, it wears that 

 regal appurtenance a crown of gold. 



While watching from a rocky height 

 a pair of hermit thrushes that were 

 housekeeping in a hemlock beneath, 

 an ovenbird flew from a maple bough 

 to a high clump of ferns near by. In 

 its beak was a quantity of dry grass, 

 bulky material that interfered sadly 

 with both walking and flight. The 

 small burden-bearer managed, how 

 ever, to progress slowly, moving its 

 head from side to side to disentangle 

 the grasses and lifting its little feet in 

 the daintiest manner, until it disap 

 peared where the ferns were thickest. 

 Pretty soon it came in sight again, 

 sauntered about with diverting non 

 chalance, and was off, alighting upon 

 the same bough to drop down into the 

 same corner of the thicket. This be 

 havior was not without an inference; 

 it was an advertisement of future 

 hopes too plainly written to escape 

 notice; I might have been stone blind 

 and seen straight into the future! The 



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