298 UPLAND SHOOTING. 



The drooping willows that shade the stream 



Shower down to earth their fading leaves; 

 The golden wheat is garnered in, 



Corn-fields are strewn with folded sheaves; 

 The blue wild pigeons circle in air, 



The plaintive wood-doves mourn in shades, 

 The quail-flocks whistle in coverts dense, 



The partridge flutters in bosky glades, 

 The upland plovers utter shrill cry 

 As they whirl on glancing pinions by. 



But the noblest bird that haunts the plain, 



That hides in grasses its speckled brood, 

 That sweeps over fields of ripen'd grain, 



That skirts the borders of brook and wood, 

 Is the prairie chicken, pinnated grouse 



Breasting on storming wings the air, 

 Defying bravely the fowler's aim, 



The prowling fox, the poacher's snare. 



When hot mid-summer heats prevail, 



To restful shades their broods they lead, 

 To refuges at corn-field edge, 



Where the wild grasses drop the seed; 

 But best they love the prairie space, 



Where measureless leagues of land extend, 

 Far from the harmful homes of men, 



An unfenced pasture without end. 

 And when the wheat-blades ripen rich, 



Lavishing treasures to the ground, 

 The grouse-flocks muster to the feast, 



And 'mid the juicy stacks are found. 



At night, amid the sumptuous fields 



Secure, they range the corn-field space, 

 Sharing a banquet rich and rare, 



The feasts luxuriant of the place; 

 But when the dusky clouds of dawn 



Are touched and gilded by the light, 

 On clashing pinions they arise, 



And o'er the prairies speed their flight; 

 There all day long, 'mid sheltering grass, 



They find a shelter and repose, 

 Alarm'd at times by slaughtering guns, 



The deadly havoc of their foes. 



