IN GREEN ALASKA 



tracted our attention here. As we came " cross lots " 

 over the flower-besprinkled, undulating plain from 

 the old town to the new, this bird was in song all 

 about us, hovering in the air, pouring out its liquid, 

 bubbling song, and dropping down in the grass 

 again in a way very suggestive of the home bird, — 

 so much so that it may be fitly called the northland 

 bobolink. 



TO THE LAPLAND LONGSPUR 



Oh ! thou northland bobolink, 



Looking over summer's brink. 

 Up to winter, worn and dim, 



Peering down from mountain rim. 

 Peering out on Bering Sea, 



To higher lands where he may flee, — 

 Something takes me in thy note, 



Quivering wing and bubbling throat, 

 Something moves me in thy ways, — 



Bird, rejoicing in thy days. 

 In thy upward hovering flight. 



In thy suit of black and white, 

 Chestnut cape and circled crown. 



In thy mate of speckled brown ; 

 Surely I may pause and think 



Of my boyhood's boboUnk. 



Soaring over meadows wild, — 

 (Greener pastures never smiled) 

 99 



