Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1855-12-05
The Robclink.
ny WASHINGTON IRVING.

"Thc happiest bird oi our spring, however,
and one that rivals the European larii. in MY
estimation is the Bolilincon. or BobolinE, as
he is commonly called. He arrives at that
choice portion of our year which, in this la,i-
tude, answers to the description of the month
| Of Nay, and lasts until near the middle of
June Earlier thln this, winter is apt to
return on its traces, and to blight the opening
bcauties of the year; and later than this, be
gin the parching, AMI painting, and dissolying
heats OF summer. But in this genial interval,
nature is in all her freshness and fragrance
the rains are over and gone, the flowers ap-
pear upon the earth, the time of the singing OF
birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is
heard ia Ike land The trees are now in their
fullest foliage and brightest verdure; the woods
are gay with the clustered flowers OF the lau-
rel the air is pcrtumed by the sweet brier
and the wild rose; the meadows are enamel
ed with clover blossoms; while the young ap
pie, the peach and the plum begin TO swell.
and the cherry TO glow among the green leaves.
This is the chosen season Of reYelry of the
boboink. lie comes amidst the pomp and
fragrance of the season his life seems all
sensibility and enjoyment, all song and sun
shine. He is to be found in the soft bosoms
Of the freshest and sweetest meadows. and is
most in song when the cloreris in blossom
He pcrehcs on the topmost twig OF tree,
some long faunfing weed, and as he rises and
and sings with the breeze, pOurs forth
succession of rich tnkiing notes; crow
ding one npon another like the outrcring
lody of the sl<ylark, and possessing the same
rapturous character. Sometimes he pitches
from the summit of tree, begins his song as
soon rs he gets upon the wing and futters
tr"mulously down to the earth, as if overcome
with extacy at his own music. Sometimes he
is in Ijurstiig Of his paramour; always with the
same appearance of intoxicatio1 and delight.
OF all the birds of our groves and meadows
the bobolink wa> the envy of my boyhood. He
crossed my path in the sweetest weather, and
the sweetest season of the year. when all ma
ture called to the fields, ard the rural feeling
throbbed in every bosom; but when I, luck
less urchin was doomed TO be moved up, du-
ring the liyelonS day, in that pursatory Of
boyhood, :: school room, it seemed as if the
little varlet Knocked ut me- a lie few by in
full song, and sought to tannt me with his
happier lot. On, how l envied him! No
lessons, no task, no hateful school, nothing
but holiday, frolic, green fields and fine wea-
thcr Had been then more versed in poetry,
might have addressed him in the words of
Logan to the cuckoo:
Sweet bird thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy note,
No winter in thy year.
Oh could / fly, I'd fly with thee;
Wed make on joyful wing,
Our annual visit round the globe,
Companions of the Spring :
Further observation and experience has Civ
en- me another idea Of this little feathered vo-
luptutry, which l will venture to impart, for
the benefit of my schoolboy readers, who may
regard him with the unqualified envy and ad-
miration which / once ndulged. / have
shown him only as / saw him at first, what l
may call the poetical part of his career, when
he in manner devoted himself to elegant
pursuits and enjoyments, and was bird Of
music, and song. and tiste. and sensibiity, and
refinement. While this lasted he was sacred
from injtry; the very schoolboy would not
iling stone at him, and the merest rustic
wonId uause to listen to his strain. But mark
the dife ence. As the year advances. as the
clover blossoms disappear, and tho spring fades
into summer, he gradually gives up his eie-
giant tastes and habits; dons hispoetical suit of
black, ASSUMES russet dusty garb, and sinks
to the gross enjeyments OF common vulgar
birds. His notes no olonger yibrate on the ear;
he is stuffing himself with the seeds of the tall
weeds on which he lately swung and chanted
so melodiously. hf ffe
He has become ssbon rtrant,'' real ssgour-
mand - with him there is nothing like the
s.joys of the tablo.'' In little while he grows
tired of plain homcly fair, and is off on gas
Economical tour in quest of foreign luxuries.-