Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1855-07-07
tFom Iving's eWoolfert's Roost.i'l
TIE BOBOLINK.


This is is the chosen season Of reyelry OF the
Dubolink. lie comes amids, the pomp and
fragrance Of the season; his life seems oil sen
sibility and enjoyment, all song and sunshine.
He is TO be found in the sof bosoms Of the
freshes. and sweetest meadows, and is most in
song when the clover is in blossom. lie perch
es on<hc iopmosi twig of tree, or on some
long, Haunting weed, and, as he rises and sinks
with the breeze, pours forth succession of
rich, twinkling notes, crowding one upon
another, like the ontpouring melody Of the
skylark, and possessing the same rapiurous
character. Sometimes he pitches from the sum
nit Of tree, begins his song as soon as he
gets upon the wing, and huiiers iremulously
down 10 the earth. as il overcome with ecstacy
at his own mnsic. Sometimes he is 10 pur.
suit Of his paramour, always in full song, as if
he would win her by his melody, and always
with the same appearance Of inioxicaiion and
delight.
OF all The birds Of our groves and meadows
the Bobolink was the envy of my boyhood.-
He crossed my path N the sweetest weather,
and sweetest season OF the year, when all na-
iure called 10 the field, and the rural feelings
throbbed in every bosom; but when |, luckless
urchn! was doomed 10 be mewed up, during
the liyeloug daySi in thst purgaiory of boyhood,
a schoolroom, ii seemed as if the yarlet mock
ed at me, as he few by in full song, and sought
to iauni me with his happy lot. Oh, how
enyied him No lessons, no task, no hateful
school, nothing but holiday, ffolic, green fields
and fine weather. Had | then been more
versed in poetry, might hase addressed him
in the words of Logan to the Cuckoo:
Sweet bird thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky IS ever clear;
Thou hast no sorrow in thy note,
No wintetis thy year.
OH could ny, ia fy with thee,
We'd make, on joyful wing.
Our annual visits round the globe,
Companions Of the spring!
| Further observaian and experience have Civ
en- me a different idea of this litllc feaihered
yoluptuary, which win venture to impari for
the benefit Of my school-boy readers who may
regard him with ,he same unqualified envy and
admiration which once indulged. have shown
him only as saw him, first, in what may
call the poeiical part Of his career, when in
manner devoted himself 10 elegant pursnsis
and enjoyments, and was bird OF music, and
song, and taste, and scnsibiiiy, and refinement.
While this lasted, he was sacred from injury !;
the very school-boy would moi fling a stone at
him, and the meresi rustic would pause TO list
ten To his strain. But mark the difference.
AS The year advances, rs the clover blossoms
disappear, and the spring fades into summer,
he gradually gives uT his elegant tastes and
habits, DOTS his poetical suit of black, assumes
a russei, dusty garb, and sinks TO the gross en-
joymenis Of common vulgar birds. His notes
no lunger vibra,e on the ear he is siufing
himself with the seeds of the tall weeds on
which he lately swung and ehanted so melodi-
ously He has become ''6On rivdaf," a
"gourmand !" with him now, there is nothing
like the Joys Of the table" In little while
he grows tired Of plain, homely fare, and is
off on astronomical tour, in ques, Of foreign
luxuries We next hear Of him, with myri-
ads Of his kind, banqueting among the reeds Of
the DelewaTe, and grown corpulent with good
feeding. He has changed his name in travel
ing. Bobolincoln no more--he is the Reed
sylvAnian ePicures; the rival in unlucky fame
of the otolan Wherever he goes, pop pop
pop every rusty ffelock 10 The country is
blazing away lie sees his companions falling
by thousands around him.
Does he take warning and reform Alas,
not he Incorrigibn epicure Again he wings
fhis flight. The rire swamps Of the South in
viie him. lie gorges himself among them,
almost burning; he can scarcely ly, for corpu-
lency. lie has once more changed his name,
and is now the famous Riee-5ird of the Caroli-
mas
i Last stage Of ifs career behold him spit
ted with dozens of his companions, and served
up, vaunied dish, on the table of some south
ern gasironometer
Such is the story ofthe Bobolnk, once spir-
itual, musical, admired, the joy of the mead
ows, and the favorite bird Of spring finally,
gross little sensualist, who expiates his sen
suaiiy in the larder. His story contains a
moral worthy Of the attention Of all little birds