Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848

Various

Various

Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 1 July 1848

ORNITHOLOGOI.[1 - Bird-voices.]

BY J. M. LEGARE

[WITH AN ENGRAVING.]

Thou, sitting on the hill-top bare,

Dost see the far hills disappear

In Autumn smoke, and all the air

Filled with bright leaves. Below thee spread

Are yellow harvests, rich in bread

For winter use; while over-head

The jays to one another call,

And through the stilly woods there fall,

Ripe nuts at intervals, where'er

The squirrel, perched in upper air,

From tree-top barks at thee his fear;

His cunning eyes, mistrustingly,

Do spy at thee around the tree;

Then, prompted by a sudden whim,

Down leaping on the quivering limb,

Gains the smooth hickory, from whence

He nimbly scours along the fence

To secret haunts.

But oftener,

When Mother Earth begins to stir,

And like a Hadji who hath been

To Mecca, wears a caftan green;

When jasmines and azalias fill

The air with sweets, and down the hill

Turbid no more descends the rill;

The wonder of thy hazel eyes,

Soft opening on the misty skies —

Dost smile within thyself to see

Things uncontained in, seemingly,

The open book upon thy knee,

And through the quiet woodlands hear

Sounds full of mystery to ear

Of grosser mould – the myriad cries

That from the teeming world arise;

Which we, self-confidently wise,

Pass by unheeding. Thou didst yearn

From thy weak babyhood to learn

Arcana of creation; turn

Thy eyes on things intangible

To mortals; when the earth was still.

Hear dreamy voices on the hill,

In wavy woods, that sent a thrill

Of joyousness through thy young veins.

Ah, happy thou! whose seeking gains

All that thou lovest, man disdains

A sympathy in joys and pains

With dwellers in the long, green lanes,

With wings that shady groves explore,

With watchers at the torrent's roar,

And waders by the reedy shore;

For thou, through purity of mind,

Dost hear, and art no longer blind.

Croak! croak! – who croaketh over-head

So hoarsely, with his pinion spread,

Dabbled in blood, and dripping red?

Croak! croak! – a raven's curse on him,

The giver of this shattered limb!

Albeit young, (a hundred years,

When next the forest leaved appears,)

Will Duskywing behold this breast

Shot-riddled, or divide my nest

With wearer of so tattered vest?

I see myself, with wing awry,

Approaching. Duskywing will spy

My altered mien, and shun my eye.

With laughter bursting, through the wood

The birds will scream – she's quite too good

For thee. And yonder meddling jay,

I hear him chatter all the day,

"He's crippled – send the thief away!"

At every hop – "don't let him stay."

I'll catch thee yet, despite my wing;

For all thy fine blue plumes, thou'lt sing

Another song!

Is't not enough

The carrion festering we snuff,

And gathering down upon the breeze,

Release the valley from disease;

If longing for more fresh a meal,

Around the tender flock we wheel,

A marksman doth some bush conceal.

This very morn, I heard an ewe

Bleat in the thicket; there I flew,

With lazy wing slow circling round,

Until I spied unto the ground

A lamb by tangled briars bound.

The ewe, meanwhile, on hillock-side,

Bleat to her young – so loudly cried,

She heard it not when it replied.

Ho, ho! – a feast! I 'gan to croak,

Alighting straightway on an oak;

Whence gloatingly I eyed aslant

The little trembler lie and pant.

Leapt nimbly thence upon its head;

Down its white nostril bubbled red

A gush of blood; ere life had fled,

My beak was buried in its eyes,

Turned tearfully upon the skies —

Strong grew my croak, as weak its cries.

No longer couldst thou sit and hear

This demon prate in upper air —

Deeds horrible to maiden ear.

Begone, thou spokest. Over-head

The startled fiend his pinion spread,

And croaking maledictions, fled.

But, hark! who at some se