preciate the sweet sound of their wild, "And nevermore will I thy race molest; 

 rich and ringing voices and their beauty '^^^^ P^^^"^^ ^^^ dappled pinions, reckless 



rear 



and grace, should also see that they are Thy taper neck, and show thy golden breast, 



not molested. All should join with the I prize my freedom, nor is thine less dear, 

 poet in saying to these birds : Then fearless soar and sing in native free- 



^ -^ ^ dom blest. 



THE BOBOLINK. 



Have you heard the Bobolink, 



With his merry clank-o-clink, 



On a brier by the roadside balancing? 



Cocking bright eyes, beady, bold. 



Telling all that can be told, 



Of the joy of love and living in the Spring? 



There's a singer worth your while! 



I would journey many a mile, 



Just to hear him lead the festival of June : 



In his black and gold attire. 



Quite the dandy of the choir, 



Isn't Summer's sweetest story in that tune? 



So hilarious is he. 



Epigram and repartee. 



Seem to sparkle in his effervescent song; 



Swaying on a thistle top, 



Trilling without pause or stop, 



Scattering his vocal jewels all day long. 



He's a good opinion, too. 



Of his talents. Watch him, do, 



Showing off with such a lot of feathered fuss ! 



Do you really suppose. 



That his Sunday name he knows 



To be "Dolichonyx orysivorusf" 



— Lulu Whedon Mitchell. 



144 



