THE BOBOLINK 



grassy sunlit fields wherein he sings vio- 

 let and buttercup, daisy and clover into 

 bloom and strawberries into ripeness, 

 and his glad song mingles with the, 

 happy voices of the children who come 

 to gather them, and also chimes with the 

 rarer music of the whetted scythe. 



Then, long before the summer is past, 

 he assumes the sober dress of his mate 

 and her monosyllabic note, and fades so 

 gradually out of our sight and hearing 

 that he departs without our being aware 

 of it. Summer still burns with unabated 

 fervor, when we suddenly realize that 

 there are no bobolinks. Nor are there 

 any under the less changeful skies 

 whither our changed bird has flown to 

 be a reed-bird or rice-bird and to find 

 mankind his enemies. He is no longer 

 a singer but a gourmand and valued only 

 as a choice morsel, doubtless delicious, 

 yet one that should choke a New Eng- 

 lander. 



58 



