XIV 

 BLACKBIRDS, ORIOLES, ETC. 



BOBOLINK 



June 29, 1851. At a distance in the meadow I hear 

 still, at long intervals, the hurried commencement of 

 the bobolink's strain, the bird just dashing into song, 

 which is as suddenly checked, as it were, by the warder 

 of the seasons, and the strain is left incomplete forever. 

 Like human beings they are inspired to sing only for a 

 short season. 1 



May 16, 1852. The bobolink sits on a hardhack, 

 swaying to and fro, uncertain whether to begin his 

 strain, dropping a few bubbling notes by way of pre- 

 lude, — with which he overflows. 



Aug. 15, 1852. Some birds fly in flocks. I see a 

 dense, compact flock of bobolinks going off in the air 

 over a field. They cover the rails and alders, and go 

 rustling off with a brassy, tinkling note like a ripe crop 

 as I approach, revealing their yellow breasts and bellies. 

 This is an autumnal sight, that small flock of grown 

 birds in the afternoon sky. 



May 10, 1853. When I heard the first bobolink 

 strain this morning I could not at first collect myself 

 enough to tell what it was I heard, — a reminiscence of 

 last May in all its prime occurring in the midst of the ex- 

 perience of this in its unripe state. Suddenly, the season 



1 I have since heard some complete strains. 



