BLUEBIRD. 
Sialia sialis HALDEM. 
Piare V. Fic. 5, 6. 
Corrace WarBLER they call thee, oh Bluebird, because thou avoidest 
Cities, and choosest to sing sweetly to farmers thy lay! 
‘Twenty summers thon wert my neighbor; when melting the snow left 
Didst thou ever appear, one of the heralds of spring! 
Oft when I heard thee at daybreak, the frostwork I thawed at the window 
Eagerly with my warm breath, quickly my friend to behold! 
But of late thou hast not in thy formerly favorite places 
Made thine appearance, nor have some of thy brood come agaiu! 
Have bird-killers waylaid thy tribe, that inordinate fancy 
May with thy plumage bedeck hats upon feminine heads? 
Or have the towns grown too large, has the steam engine’s terrible whistle, 
Smoke and the factories’ din noisily driven thee off? 
Manytold changes, indeed, have occurred since first in Wisconsin— 
‘Twas in the years of my youth—first I had listened to thee! 
Then the hilltops were crowned with the trees of the forest primeval, 
Now sweet clover’s white bloom spreads there, repasts for the bees, 
Where in the marshes the ash as well as the fragrant white cedar 
Stood, now pasture the kine, gambols the rollicking colt. 
Cleared are the fields; uprooted the stumps, and smooth is the meadow; 
Horses are drawing the plow, erstwhile dragged by the steer. 
Traceless, as shadows of clouds from the prairies, the Indians have vanished, 
Nought, not a ring of the sod, shows where the wigwam once stood. 
Wheatfields are safe from attacks of millions of swarming wild pigeons, 
Cornfields from the raccoon; bears molest not the shotes. 
Forests have changed into grainfields, and villages grown to be cities, 
Rivulets have disappeared, streams simmered down into brooks. 
All, all about me the world has changed, and I recognize scarcely 
Now the haunts where, when young, chasing, I followed the deer. 
Can we, then, wonder why birds of migration are losing their bearings, 
Or that the Bluebird now seeks lonelier nooks for his nest, 
Parts, where the air is pure, where sootflakes besmirch not his plumage, 
Shades, where night is still night, yielding all creatures sweet rest. 
From the German of Coxkav KRrez, 
by FRANK SILLER. 
