82 PEPACTOX 



That whistle to cheer it, 

 All clay in the bushes." 



The blackbird, of the English poets is like our 

 robin in everything except color. He is familiar, 

 hardy, abundant, thievish, and his habits, manners, 

 and song recall our bird to the life. Our own native 

 blackbirds, the crow blackbird, the rusty grackle, 

 the cowbird, and the red-shouldered starling, are not 

 songsters, even in the latitude allowable to poets; 

 neither are they whistlers, unless we credit them 

 with a "split-whistle," as Thoreau does. The two 

 first named have a sort of musical cackle and gurgle 

 in spring (as at times both our crow and jay have), 

 which is very pleasing, and to which Emerson aptly 

 refers in these lines from "May-Day: " — 



" The blackbirds make the maples ring 

 With social cheer and jubilee " — 



but it is not a song. The note of the starling in 

 the trees and alders along the creeks and marshes is 

 better calculated to arrest the attention of the casual 

 observer; but it is far from being a song or a whis- 

 tle like that of the European blackbird, or our 

 robin. Its most familiar call is like the word 

 "bazique," "baziqite," but it has a wild musical 

 note which Emerson has embalmed in this line : — 

 " The redwing flutes his o-ka-lee." 



Here Emerson discriminates; there is no mistaking 

 his blackbird this time for the European species, 

 though it is true there is nothing fluty or flute-like 

 in the redwing's voice. The flute is mellow, while 

 the "o-ka-lee" of the starling is strong and sharply 



