It is where the great magnolia shoots up its majestic trunk, crowned
with evergreen leaves, and decorated with a thousand beautiful
flowers, that perfume the air around; where the forests and fields are
adorned with blossoms of every hue; where the golden orange ornaments
the gardens and groves; where bignonias of various kinds interlace
their climbing stems around the white-flowered stuartia, and, mounting
still higher, cover the summits of the lofty trees around, accompanied
with innumerable vines that here and there festoon the dense foliage
of the magnificent woods, lending to the vernal breeze a slight
portion of the perfume of their clustered flowers; where a genial
warmth seldom forsakes the atmosphere; where berries and fruits of all
descriptions are met with at every step--in a word, it is where Nature
seems to have paused, as she passed over the earth, and, opening her
stores, to have strewed with unsparing hand the diversified seeds from
which have sprung all the beautiful and splendid forms which I should
in vain attempt to describe, that the mocking-bird should have fixt
its abode--there only that its wondrous song should be heard.
[Footnote 48: From Volume II, page 187, of the "Birds of America,"
edition of 1841.]
But where is that favored land? It is in that great continent to whose
distant shores Europe has sent forth her adventurous sons, to wrest
for themselves a habitation from the wild inhabitants of the forest,
and to convert the neglected soil into fields of exuberant fertility.
It is, reader, in Louisiana that these bounties of nature are in the
greatest perfection. It is there that you should listen to the love
song of the mocking-bird, as I at this moment do. See how he flies
round his mate, with motions as light as those of the butterfly! His
tail is widely expanded, he mounts in the air to a small distance,
describes a circle, and, again alighting, approaches his beloved one,
his eyes gleaming with delight, for she has already promised to be his
and his only. His beautiful wings are gently raised, he bows to his
love, and, again bouncing upward, opens his bill and pours forth his
melody, full of exultation at the conquest he has made.
They are not the soft sounds of the flute or the hautboy that I hear,
but the sweeter notes of nature's own music. The mellowness of the
song, the varied modulations and gradations, the extent of its
compass, the great brilliancy of execution are unrivaled. There is
probably no bird in the world that possesses all the musical
qualifications of this king of song, who has derived all from Nature's
self. Yes, reader, all!
No sooner has he again alighted, and the conjugal contract has been
sealed, than, as if his breast were about to be rent with delight, he
again pours forth his notes with more softness and richness than
before. He now soars higher, glancing around with a vigilant eye, to
assure himself that none has witnessed his bliss. When these love
scenes are over, he dances through the air, full of animation and
delight, and, as if to convince his lovely mate that to enrich her
hopes he has much more love in store, he that moment begins anew, and
imitates all the notes which nature has imparted to the other
songsters of the grove.