. Birds through an opera-glass . ique. The robin drags his fish-worm from itshiding place in the sod, and carols his happinessto every sunrise and sunset; the sparrow eatscrumbs in the dooryard and builds his nest in asweetbriar; the thrushes turn over the brownleaves for food and chant their matins among themoss and ferns of the shadowy forest; the gold-finch balances himself on the pink thistle or yel-low mullein top, while he makes them pay tollfor his visit, and then saunters through the air inthe abandonment of blue skies and sunshine ; thered-wing flutes his o-ha-lee over cat-tails and c
. Birds through an opera-glass . ique. The robin drags his fish-worm from itshiding place in the sod, and carols his happinessto every sunrise and sunset; the sparrow eatscrumbs in the dooryard and builds his nest in asweetbriar; the thrushes turn over the brownleaves for food and chant their matins among themoss and ferns of the shadowy forest; the gold-finch balances himself on the pink thistle or yel-low mullein top, while he makes them pay tollfor his visit, and then saunters through the air inthe abandonment of blue skies and sunshine ; thered-wing flutes his o-ha-lee over cat-tails and cow-slips ; the bobolink, forgetting everything else,rollicks amid buttercups and daisies; but thewoodpecker finds his larder under the hard barkof the trees, and, oblivious to sunrise and sunset, HAIRY WOODPECKER. 93 flowering marsli and laughing meadow, clingsclose to the side of a stub, as if the very sun him-self moved around a tree trunk! But who knows how much these grave mono-maniacs have discovered that lies a sealed book. to all the world besides ? Why should we scornthem ? They are philosophers ! They have the se-cret of happiness. Any bird could be joyous withplenty of blue sky and sunshine, and the poets,from Chaucer to Wordsworth, have relaxed theirbrows at the sight of a daisy ; but what does thehappy goldfinch know of the wonders of treetrunks, and what poet could find inspiration in adead stub on a bleak November day ? Jack Frostsends both thrush and goldfinch flying south, and 94 BIRDS THROUGH AN OPERA-GLASS. tlie poets shut their study doors in his face, draw-ing their arm-chairs uj) to the hearth while theyrail at November. But the wise woodj)eckerclings to the side of a tree and fluffing his feathersabout his toes makes the woods reverberate withhis cheery song, — for it is a song, and bears animportant part in natures orchestra. Its rhyth-mical rat tap^ tap^ tap^ tap), not only beats timefor the chickadees and nuthatches, but is a reveillethat sets all the
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1890, bookidbirdsthr, booksubjectbirds
