Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1869-07-14
The BObOliuk,
From Putnams' NIagazine.l

lFEOLu EuiuAlus AhEaLlue.l
But hark! listen to the bobolink in
yonder meadow Hear them jangling
like a chime of silver bells in the air
All a rare bird is this Enlberizd OT.y-
ziuOrd, this ric-hunting, this reed-bird
the Robert of Lincoln, this joyous roll
licking bobolink Heis our own bird.
You may take him to merry England
or sunny France, If so be that you can
bear him over the foam alive, but
there he will pine for the meadows,
and rice fields of his native and,
changeful cline, sit songless on the
perch, and in q little time drOop his
wing and die. A shrewd bird is Rob-
ert of Lincoln, and he must be more
than passable sportsman, and keep
keen eye open, who would bring him
down-that is, before, on his return
to the South, he gorges and fattens
in the rice fields. ,
This pied coat of black, yellow and
white, he puts on in the spring when
he goes a wooing his quiet, Quaker
ess of wife. All! what gallant lit
tie lover he makes; how he jangles
around and above her in his gayest
garments, and with his sweetest song.
With what volubility he tells his tale
of love. And what a fond and careful
husband he makes, and how merrily
speeds his honeymoon Singing his
cheeriest, he builds beneath the tuft-
ed meadow grass his lowly, secret
nest; and while his modest little wife
broOds over her five white and brown
eggs, he beguiles for her the long and
patient hours, lowering over her in
mid-air with his fantastic plumes and
song. But let the duties of a father
press upon him, and the rollicking
lover, the light-hearted bridegroom
ceases his amorous and deleetable des-
can't, assumes a graver manner and Sc
riOus tone, and exchanges his we'd
ding garments for plain and dusky
brown attire. Never puts he on that
gay attire again, unless to WOO and
win once more. For place him in a
cage, he will not droop while his
pleasant native wales are around him;
he will sing, though the prison bars
shut him out from communion with his
kind ; he first saw the light where
music, like the broad, sweet sunshine
lay about him, and he can not stItie
melody within his heart but he will
dropone by one, those beautiful plumes
and never put them on again, until
love and freedom are once more his
When the autumn comes you will see
the bobolinks gather together their
household bands, to troop for the
South. The elders have lost their
voices, while the youthful have not
vet learned to sing. But every now
and then an old one will try, on how
ering wing, his melody, as if teaching
his young the strain, and after utter
ing a few broken notes, sink down in
seeming sorrow among the assembled
broods. 1t is as if an aged sire, sitting
in the calm sunshine of serene old
age, should try, with feeble voice,
some fond song of his lover days or
some childhood's ditty that falter in
forgetfulness, and drop his head upon
his bosom, "to muse and brood and
live again in memory with those old
faces of his infancy, heaped over with
a mound of grass" A favOrite bird
is the bobolink and from the st.
Lawrence to Terra del FuegO he is a
welcome visitor. Not a child but
halls his coming with delight, and
with some queer jargon or babylOnish
dialect mimics his metallic melody.