When dews begin to chill
The blossom throngs,
And soft the brooklets trill
Their slumber-songs,
We dusky Whippoorwills
In conquest hold the hills.
When, thro’ the midnight dells,
Wild star-beams glow,
Like wan-eyed sentinels,
We dreamward go,
And hear sung sweetly o’er
The songs we stilled before.
When waketh dawn, we flee
The slumber-main,
And bid the songsters be
With us again
To sing in praise of light
Above the buried night.
But O, when sunrise gleams,
We vanish fast,
And woo again in dreams
The starlit past,
Till, lo! at twilight gray,
We wail the dirge of day!
—Frank English.
RUBY-CROWNED KINGLET.
(_Regulus calendula._)
“What wondrous power from heaven upon thee wrought?
What prisoned Ariel within thee broods?”
—_Celia Thaxter._
“Thou singest as if the God of Wine
Had helped thee to a valentine;
A song in mockery and despite
Of shades and dews and silent night,
And steady bliss and all the loves
Now sleeping in these peaceful groves.”
—_Wordsworth._
Like a bee with its honey, when the Ruby-crown has unloaded his vocal
sweetness, there is comparatively little left of him, and, ebullient
with an energy that would otherwise rend him, his incredible vocal
achievement is the safety valve that has so far preserved his atoms in
their Avian semblance.
Dr. Coues says that his lower larynx, the sound-producing organ, is not
much bigger than a good-sized pin’s head, and the muscles that move it
are almost microscopic shreds of flesh. “If the strength of the human
voice were in the same proportion to the size of the larynx, we could
converse with ease at a distance of a mile or more.”
“The Kinglet’s exquisite vocalization,” he continues, “defies
description; we can only speak in general terms of the power, purity and
volume of the notes, their faultless modulation and long continuance.
Many doubtless, have listened to this music without suspecting that the
author was the diminutive Ruby-crown, with whose commonplace utterance,
the slender, wiry ‘tsip,’ they were already familiar. This delightful
role, of musician, is chiefly executed during the mating season, and the
brief period of exaltation which precedes it. It is consequently seldom
heard in regions where the bird does not rear its young, except when the
little performer breaks forth in song on nearing its summer resorts.”
When Rev. J. H. Langille heard his first Regulus calendula, he said,
“The song came from out of a thick clump of thorns, and was so loud and
spirited that I was led to expect a bird at least as large as a thrush.
Chee-oo, chee-oo, chee-oo, choo, choo, tseet, tseet, te-tseet, te-tseet,
te-tseet, etc., may represent this wonderful melody, the first notes
being strongly palatal and somewhat aspirated, the latter slender and
sibilant and more rapidly uttered; the first part being also so full and
animated as to make one think of the water-thrush, or the winter wren;
while the last part sounded like a succeedant song from a slender-voiced
warbler. Could all this come from the throat of this tiny, four-inch
Sylvia? I was obliged to believe my own eyes, for I saw the bird many
times in the act of singing. The melody was such as to mark the day on
which I heard it.”
H. D. Minot says, “In autumn and winter their only note is a feeble
lisp. In spring, besides occasionally uttering an indescribable
querulous sound, and a harsh, ‘grating’ note, which belongs exclusively
to that season, the Ruby-crowned wrens sing extremely well and louder
than such small birds seem capable of singing. Their song begins with a
few clear whistles, followed by a short, very sweet, and complicated
warble, and ending with notes like the syllables tu-we-we, tu-we-we,
tu-we-we. These latter are often repeated separately, as if the birds
had no time for a prelude, or are sometimes prefaced by merely a few
rather shrill notes with a rising inflection.”
Messrs. Baird, Brewer and Ridgway say that “The song of this bird is by
far the most remarkable of its specific peculiarities,” and Mr. Chapman
declares, “Taking the small size of the bird into consideration, the
Ruby-crown’s song is one of the most marvellous vocal performances among
birds; being not only surpassingly sweet, varied and sustained, but
possessed of sufficient volume to be heard at a distance of two hundred
yards. Fortunately he sings both on the spring and fall migrations.”
Mrs. Wright describes the call-note as “Thin and metallic, like a
vibrating wire,” and quotes Mr. Nehrling, who speaks of the “Power,
purity and volume of the notes, their faultless modulation and long
continuance.”
Mr. Robert Ridgway wrote that this little king of song was one of our
very smallest birds he also “ranks among the sweetest singers of the
country. It is wonderfully powerful for one so small, but it is
remarkable for its softness and sweet expression more than for other
qualities. It consists of an inexpressibly delicate and musical warble,
astonishingly protracted at times, and most beautifully varied by softly
rising and falling cadences, and the most tender whistlings imaginable.”
Mr. Ridgway quotes from Dr. Brewer: “The notes are clear, resonant and
high, and constitute a prolonged series, varying from the lowest tones
to the highest, and terminating with the latter. It may be heard at
quite a distance, and in some respects bears more resemblance to the
song of the English skylark than to that of the canary, to which Mr.
Audubon compares it.” Mr. Ridgway continues: “We have never heard the
skylark sing, but there is certainly no resemblance between the notes of
the Ruby-crowned Kinglet and those of the canary, the latter being as
inferior in tenderness and softness as they excel in loudness.”
Mr. Audubon had stated: “When I tell you that its song is fully as
sonorous as that of the canary-bird, and much richer, I do not come up
to the truth, for it is not only as powerful and clear, but much more
varied and pleasing to the ear.”
While the frequent sacrifice of the adult regulus and regina through
their reckless absorption in their own affairs and obliviousness to the
presence of enemies, lends color to the statement that “The spirits of
the martyrs will be lodged in the crops of green birds,” yet by virtue
of a talent other than vocal, they compel few of the human family to
echo the remorseful lament of John Halifax, Gentleman,
“I took the wren’s nest,
Bird, forgive me!”
For but few of the most ardent seekers have succeeded in locating the
habitation of the fairy kinglet, and the unsuccessful majority perforce
exclaim with Wordsworth,
“Oh, blessed bird! The earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place,
That is fit home for thee!”
Juliette A. Owen.