most birds]. Their special game was the hawk, the ɔwl, the crow, and the blackbird, and any other bird supposed to be mischievous to the corn. Some years each side would bring them in by the bushel. This was followed up for only a few years, for the birds began to grow scarce." Longfellow's poem is doubtless based upon this incident. THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH 1 It was the season when through all the land Whom Saxon Cadmon calls the Blithe-heart King; And rivulets, rejoicing, rush and leap, And wave their fluttering signals from the steep. 2 The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; And hungry crows assembled in a crowd, Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: "Give us, O Lord, this day, our daily bread!" 3 Across the Sound the birds of passage sailed, The village with the cheers of all their fleet; 4 Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful To swift destruction the whole race of birds. 5 And a town-meeting was convened straightway The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds, Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. 6 Then from his house, a temple painted white, The Squire came forth, august and splendid sight! 7 The Parson, too, appeared, a man austere, In Summer on some Adirondack hill; 8 From the Academy, whose belfry crowned Now at the clouds, and now at the green grass, Of fair Almira in the upper class, Who was, as in a sonnet he had said, As pure as water and as good as bread. 9 And next the Deacon issued from his door, His form was ponderous, and his step was slow; He seemed the incarnate "Well, I told you so!" And to perpetuate his great renown There was a street named after him in town. 10 These came together in the new town-hall, His air impressive and his reasoning sound; Charged them with all the crimes beneath the sun. 11 When they had ended, from his place apart, To speak out what was in him, clear and strong, And quite determined not to be laughed down. 12 "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, From his Republic banished without pity The Poets; in this little town of yours, You put to death, by means of a Committee, The ballad-singers and the troubadours, The street-musicians of the heavenly city, The birds, who make sweet music for us all In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. 13 "The thrush that carols at the dawn of day From the green steeples of the piny wood; The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay, Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, Flooding with melody the neighborhood; Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song, 14 "You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, Scratched up at random by industrious feet, Searching for worm or weevil after rain, Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet As are the songs these uninvited guests Sing at their feasts with comfortable breasts. |