serious and even grand side of its character comes out. In Alabama
and Florida its song may be heard all through the sultry summer
night, at times low and plaintive, then full and strong. A friend
of Thoreau and a careful observer, who has resided in Florida,
tells me that this bird is a much more marvelous singer than it has
the credit of being. He describes a habit it has of singing on the
wing on moonlight nights, that would be worth going South to hear.
Starting from a low bush, it mounts in the air and continues its
flight apparently to an altitude of several hundred feet, remaining
on the wing a number of minutes, and pouring out its song with the
utmost clearness and abandon,--a slowly rising musical rocket that
fills the night air with harmonious sounds. Here are both the lark
and nightingale in one; and if poets were as plentiful down South
as they are in New England, we should have heard of this song long
ago, and had it celebrated in appropriate verse. But so far only
one Southern poet, Wilde, has accredited the bird this song. This
he has done in the following admirable sonnet:--

TO THE MOCKINGBIRD

Winged mimic of the woods! thou motley fool!
Who shall thy gay buffoonery describe?
Thine ever-ready notes of ridicule
Pursue thy fellows still with jest and gibe.
Wit--sophist--songster--Yorick of thy tribe,
Thou sportive satirist of Nature's school,
To thee the palm of scoffing we ascribe,
Arch scoffer, and mad Abbot of Misrule!
For such thou art by day--but all night long
Thou pour'st a soft, sweet, pensive, solemn strain,