“HARK, HARK, THE LARK!”
A little lyric, as clear as water,
Sweeter voiced than the river daughter,
Or Dryope’s moan,
Rang from the heart of the truest singer,
And straight the sound was the magic bringer
Of joys unknown.
For night had fallen and day had risen,
And, breaking through his eastern prison,
The glad sun shone;
And all was fragrant and sweet with morning,
And to the sky, the sad earth scorning,
The lark had flown.
And, faintly heard from the coast of heaven,
The song of the glad strong seraphs seven
Was earthward blown,
And echoed, with a strange completeness,
(As a small bloom treasures infinite sweetness),
In the lyric’s tone.
And the marvelous freedom of the dawning
Breathed large through the gates of life,
Wide yawning,
Far open thrown;
And the trembling thrill of incarnation
Awoke the earth to the new creation
Of Beauty’s own.
THE LITTLE GREEN HERON
Oh, give me back my thicket by the marsh!
Let me see the herons wade
In the watery glade,
And let me see the water-fowl go by
Glimmering against the sky.
The Ardeidae, or the family of herons, egrets and bitterns, includes about seventy-five species, which are world wide in their distribution, though much more common in temperate regions. So widely scattered are the species of this family, whose Latin name means heron, that most persons who are deeply interested in the study of bird life are more or less familiar with their habits. The large size of the herons, together with their long bills, necks and legs, renders them conspicuous and demands more than a passing glance from even the casual observer. Many bodies of water in retired locations will harbor at the proper season one or more species of this interesting family.
One of the smallest of the herons, and one of the most common in many localities, is the Little Green Heron, familiarly known to the rural Hoosier boy as the “Schytepoke,” and to others as the “Poke.” It is not the purpose to give a description of this bird; those of our readers – if there be any – who are not familiar with it will find minute descriptions of it in all the standard manuals. However, a few observations on its nesting and feeding habits may be of some value and interest.
In central Indiana the Little Green Heron arrives from its winter residence in Florida, or farther southward, about the last of April, and immediately begins nesting, selecting, if convenient, second growth timber, especially if there be a thicket of undergrowth. But if these conditions be not at hand, it seems to prefer, as a site for its nest, an old abandoned orchard, or at least one somewhat remote from human habitation, but not very far distant from a stream or pond. In the fork of some tree ten to twenty feet above ground is collected a considerable sized but irregular and loose bundle of rough sticks. In this by the middle of May, or at times even earlier, it lays from three to six greenish blue eggs, about an inch and a half long by an inch and a quarter in diameter. The period of incubation cannot be long, as some years young almost ready to fly can be found before the last of May. We have never found more than one nest in the same immediate vicinity, but, according to Ridgway, it sometimes nests in colonies.
For the remainder of the summer this is a social bird, at least to the extent that the whole family remain together, wading the water, stalking along the banks or perching on trees, bushes and logs. At this time it displays some curiosity when a person comes warily into its haunts. Its long neck is stretched to its limit as the bird endeavors to keep an eye on the intruder, and at the slightest suspicious movement on the part of the latter, its long wings are raised in readiness for flight. Remain perfectly quiet, however, and it again resumes its occupation, apparently unconcerned; but let a sudden movement be made, and then it awkwardly but quickly flies away, uttering meanwhile a discordant squawk.
It is quite interesting to see one of these herons feeding. It will wade along the edge of a pond or stream, very slowly lifting its feet out of the water and carefully putting them down again. Its neck is folded so that it almost disappears, the head being drawn back against the shoulders. At last it sees an unwary minnow swimming lazily along. Slowly and carefully it leans its body forward and downward toward the water, the long legs looking and acting almost like stilts; still more slowly the head with its long, stout beak moves cautiously toward the water surface, very much like a young turkey seeks to capture a grasshopper. Then suddenly, as if a spring had been set free in its neck, the head is thrust downward until the beak, or more, disappears beneath the surface, but only to reappear immediately with the struggling minnow or sunfish between its mandibles.
The prey secured, the bird now walks to an open spot on the bank several feet away, if possible, from the water so that the fish cannot flop back into its native element. With a blow or two from the bird’s bill the fish is stunned and in another moment has started head first down the heron’s throat. As the latter stretches its neck, the descent of the fish is plainly to be seen until it reaches the body of the bird. If the heron is not yet satisfied with its meal, the same performance is repeated until at last it flies to some overhanging limb – usually a dead one – of a tree where it wipes its bill and finally flies away. By the last of August or first of September it has gone on its southern journey, and Indiana knows it no more till spring.
THE HAND THAT STRUCK THEE DOWN
The hand that struck thee down
Could not have known
That thou hadst songs unsung
And flights unflown.
But ours will be the loss —
No more at morn
Will sound the reveillé
From thy wee horn.
Thy form will not be one
That flits the air,
As one that trusts in God
And knows no care.
Then when the shadows creep,
And light grows dim,
We’ll list, but never hear,
Thy vesper-hymn.
The hand that struck thee down
Could not have known
That thou hadst songs unsung
And flights unflown.
THE GOBBLER WHO WAS LONESOME
Turkeys are social creatures and, like some boys and girls, do not like to be left for any length of time to find their food or their pleasures alone.
Big Tom was a mammoth gobbler of the bronze family, which stands high in Turkeydom. Big Tom loved to have a group of admiring mates and social equals about when he spread his jaw and sang his song. Some taller bipeds who spoke a different language said that his song of “gobble-obble-obble” was not pleasing. This remark may have been the reason why Big Tom’s wattles grew so scarlet