16 THE AUDUBON BULLE ial 
nested there last year. We searched the area several times before spot- 
ting him, but it was time well spent. He is not an unusual looking bird, 
his white eye is not too conspicuous, nor does the yellow on his breast set 
him apart from other birds, but his song is most beautiful. Just what part 
of the song was his own we could not determine, for at times he seemed to 
imitate the catbird, the house wren, or the yellow-breasted chat. He would 
repeat one portion of his song again and again, then suddenly, as if he 
had grown tired of it, he would hesitate a moment, then start another phrase. 
The summer tanager, cerulean warbler, Bewick’s and Carolina wrens, 
all of which were apparently nesting there, are rare visitors in the Chicago 
area. The little cerulean warbler sang as he flitted about in the trees just 
outside our cabin. We hope to make many visits to this beautiful spot, 
sometimes in the fall to view the vast expanse of color. Perhaps then the 
owls will be in evidence. 
ft FI ft 
The Song of a Bird 
I once took a walk, through the lane of despair, 
Knew not where I wandered, nor did I care. 
It seemed that the world would not treat me fair, 
But piaced on me burdens, which I could not bear. 
One day in my wanderings, I sat neath a tree 
And the weight of my burden was smothering me. 
I chanced to look up, only leaves did I see, 
But there from his palace a bird sang to me. 
He sang about love, about nature so free, 
He sang of his home in a sheltering tree. 
He sang about streams dancing on to the sea, 
And he sang while I sat in complete misery. 
He sang me a song and it came from the heart, 
It fell on my ears and shall never depart. 
He sang about nature, the world from the start, 
And my burdens around me were falling apart. 
His song of contentment so soothing and sweet, 
Was a song that was destined to make life complete. 
For it lifted my soul from the depths to the steep, 
And my burdens lie buried, forever asleep. 
A lesson we learn from the song of a bird, 
And yet, never is spoken a single word. 
We listen intently, and feel that we’ve heard, 
The wisdom of ages; “The Song of a Bird.” 
—IVAN MERRILL 
