There’s never a rose in all the world
But makes some green spray sweeter;
There’s never a wind in all the sky
But makes some bird-wing fleeter;
There’s never a star but brings to heaven
Some silver radiance tender;
And never a rosy cloud but helps
To crown the sunset splendor;
No robin but may thrill some heart
His dawnlight gladness voicing;
God gives us all some small, sweet way
To set the world rejoicing.
—Selected.
[Illustration: PARULA WARBLER.
(Compsothlypis americana.)
Life-size.
FROM COL. CHI. ACAD. SCIENCES.]
THE PARULA WARBLER.
(_Compsothlypis americana._)
Hither the busy birds shall flutter,
With the light timber for their nests,
And, pausing from their labor, utter
The morning sunshine in their breasts.
—James Russell Lowell.
The Parula or Blue Yellow-backed Warbler, as it is sometimes called, is
one of the smallest and daintiest representatives of the family of wood
warblers. Like the other species of warblers it is one of the last
spring migrants to reach its Northern summer home. Retiring and
unobtrusive in its habits, it is to be admired for its “plain and modest
beauty.” Though delicately colored, its plumage is not nearly so
striking as that of many of the other species of the family. It enjoys
the higher branches of its woodland retreat, and here it seeks its food.
Graceful in all its motions, it flits from branch to branch; hanging by
its feet, it peers under the leaves and along the twigs.
In the summer the Parula is a resident of Eastern North America, but in
the winter it seeks the warmer climate of Florida and southward. While
migrating it is well distributed over its range, and may frequently be
seen flying from shrub to shrub. Like the other warblers its flights are
short and most of the time it is hidden by the foliage. The longer
flights are by night. The days are spent in seeking insects, upon which
it feeds almost exclusively. This, the habit of all the warblers,
explains the Parula’s sudden disappearance from a locality where it may
have been common for a single day.
Near the end of May it retires to the swampy woodlands where the gray
Spanish moss hangs pendant from the branches and shrubs. Here the Parula
makes its nest, a globular or pencil home, usually in bunches of the
festooned moss. The four or five white eggs are marked near the larger
end with specks of light brown and lilac. Its song is neither
interesting nor striking, but is peculiarly in harmony with the voices
of spring and as Mr. Chapman says: “When the cypresses are enveloped in
a haze of lace-like blossoms and the woods are fragrant with the
delicious odor of yellow jasmine, the dreamy softness of the air is
voiced by the Parula’s drowsy song.”
Neltje Blanchan has most charmingly written about this dainty bird. She
says: “A number of such airy, tiny beauties flitting about among the
blossoms of the shrubbery on a bright May morning and swaying on the
slenderest branches with their inimitable grace, is a sight that the
memory should retain into old age. They seem the very embodiment of
life, joy, beauty, grace; of everything lovely that birds by any
possibility could be. Apparently they are wafted about the garden; they
fly with no more effort than a dainty lifting of the wings, as if to
catch the breeze that seems to lift them as it might a bunch of
thistledown. They go through a great variety of charming posturings as
they hunt for their food upon the blossoms and tender, fresh twigs, now
creeping like a nuthatch along the bark and peering into the crevices,
now gracefully swaying and balancing like a goldfinch upon a slender,
pendant stem. One little sprite pauses in its hunt for insects to raise
its pretty head and trill a short and wiry song.”