The Birds and Poets 199 



quent to attract attention. Birds are numerous 

 enough, but at this season they are irregular and 

 their movements erratic, and few bird songs are 

 heard. The call of this bird resembled the clear 

 familiar chirp of the robin, and I immediately 

 concluded it was some bird with the robin's call, 

 rather than the robin itself, although the latter bird 

 sometimes surprises us with a transient visit in win- 

 ter. 



Hearing the note again, I traced the bird to the 

 top of a tree across the block in an adjoining street. 

 I walked around the block, and into my neighbor's 

 yard, where I found the bird eating the seeds from 

 the dry keys of a large maple. As he moved about 

 feeding I caught sight of his black wings and tail 

 and his yellow rump, scapulars and belly, and my 

 hopes were realized, — it was an evening grosbeak! 

 I felt the inspiration of Cale Young Rice, upon 

 hearing the unexpected song of a bird : 



"There is no mountain, here, or sea, 

 Yet do I feel infinity, 

 For there in the top of a tulip-tree 

 A wild wild bird is singing to me ! 



And full is his throat, at every note, 



Of God — until my heart's afloat 



In joy — like every leaf unfurled 



By May, the sweetheart of the world." 



This beautiful bird, tho' not often seen, is eas- 

 ily identified. It is a trifle larger than the oriole, 



