Song? of 
the Red-wing; 
The river 
at sunset 
(written in 
my canoe) 
in the thickets near the water. From across the river come 
the rich gurgle-eea or per-dle- ea of the Red-wing and 
futther off rises the tinkling melody of the Bobolink. Now 
I hear a Robin singing and next a Grosbeak. A Wood Pewee 
gives a low, sa.d pee- e-e among t.he pines. Now a Black-billed 
Cuckoo in the extreme distance and a Song Sparrow near at hand. 
The fine bass voice of the Bull Frog rolls out over the 
water from his reedy covert at frequent intervals, and the 
Green Frog answers with a tung . tung on his own tight 
harp strings. 
The breeze is now dying fast, the sun sinks 
lower in the wast and the meadows are flooded with a tender 
light. The grass and trees wherever the sunlight strikes 
are strongly yellowish, a warm greenish yellow, the river 
now nearly calm is nearly the color of the sky, but whiter 
and more burnished. 
Swifts come about me, skimming close over the 
river. Now a Barn Swallow, a rare bird here at this season, 
joins them. Red-eyes are singing in the line of old oaks 
on the eastern edge of the meadows. There are mysterious 
plashings and gurgling sounds among the reeds near me, 
probably made by fish or frogs, and a Woodchuck rambling 
about on the hillside in search of his supper rustles the 
dry leaves loudly. The air over the water is alive with 
Dragon-flies of varied form and coloring. One of the com¬ 
monest species is wholly of a rich plum color. 
