The Writings of John Burroughs

Eckermann could instruct Goethe in ornithology, but could not Goethe instruct Eckermann in the meaning and mystery of the bird?" But the poets somet

ir facts. Thus a New England poet speaks of "plucking the apple from the pine," as if the pineapple grew upon the pine-tree. A Western poet sings of the bluebird in a strain in which every feature and characteristic

r sunset in the summer gloaming; then it steals forth and hovers over the flowers. Now, the hummingbird is eminently a creature of the sun and of the broad open day, and I have never seen it after sundown, while the moth is rarely seen except at twilight. It is much smaller and less brilliant than the hummingbird; but its flight and motions are so nearly the same that a poet, with his eye in a fine frenzy rolling, might easily mistake one for the other. It is but a small slip in such a poet as poor George Arnold, when he makes the sweet-scented honeysuckle bloom for the bee, for surely the name suggests the bee, though in fact she does not work upon it; but what shall we say of the Kansas poet, who, in his published volume, claims both

n daisies de

birds whi

joy our hear

he comin

rson's and Lowell's poems would infer that our blackbird was ident

s green the

lackbirds'

nes from Lowell

rd whistli

through m

from "The Foun

woodland

sadder

kbirds an

stle to

in the

crow blackbird, the rusty grackle, the cowbird, and the red-shouldered starling, are not songsters, even in the latitude allowable to poets; neither are they whistlers, unless we credit them with a "split-whistle," a

rds make the

l cheer an

e attention of the casual observer; but it is far from being a song or a whistle like that of the European blackbird, or our robin. I

g flutes hi

luty or flute-like in the redwing's voice. The flute is mellow, while the "O-KA-LEE" of the starling is strong and sharply accented. The

ouzel fluted

ouzel, or ouzel-cock,

edes this, Tennyson ha

ft and

told his na

ll

east one of our poets to do, is to come very wide of the mark. Our bird is as solitary and joyless as the most veritable anchorite. He contributes nothing to the melody or the gayety of the season. He is, indeed, known in some sections as the rain- crow," but I presume that not one person in ten of those who spend their lives in

the cuckoo,

g farther o

o

ood when we remember that the plant is so abundant in England as to be almost a weed, and that it comes early and is very pretty. Cowslip and oxlip are fa

lip unto

she to

rsh marigold, which belongs to a different family of plants, but which, as a spring token and a pretty flower, is a very good substitute for the cowslip. Our real cowslip, the shooting star, is very rare, and is one of the most beautiful of native flowers. I believe it is no

e and poetic flower in England than it is in this country, for the reason that it comes very early and is sweet-scented; our common violet is not among the earliest flowers, a

again! it had

er my ear like

s upon a ban

and giv

uded

n the lids o

erea's

ope and sunny nook. Yet, for all that, it does not awaken the emotion in one that the earlier and more delicate spring flowers do,-the hepatica, say, with its shy wood habits, its pure, infantile expression, and at times its delicate perfume; or the houstonia,-"innocence,"- flecking or streaking the cold spri

applied very loosely in this country to both the meadow- lark and the bobolink, yet it is pretty generally understood now that we have no ge

oft to the mellow fl

and are never heard in song in the United States. [Footnote: The shore lark has changed its habits in this respect of late years. It

e or a bird, whatever halo of the ideal they throw around it, it must not be made to belie the botany or the natural history. I doubt if you can catch Shakespeare transgressing the law in this respect, except where he followed the superstition and the imperfect kn

uest of

haunting ma

pr

ved mason

n's b

ly here: no j

or coign of

s b

his pend

eant

most bree

e obs

is del

es every land an earth and sky of its own, and a flora and fauna to match. The poets and their readers delight in local

field the fearful h

from B

corn the hare as

both hares and rabbits abound to such an extent that in places the fields and meadows swarm with them, and the ground is undermined by the

the

of the wel

ve

once in a decade or two invade the land, rarely tarrying longer than the bands of a foraging army. I hardly know what Trowbridge means by the "wood-pigeon" in his midsummer poem, for, strictly speaking, the wood-pigeon is a European bird, and a very common one in England. But let me say here, however, that Trowbridge, as a rule, keeps very close to the natural history of his own country when he has oc

ers, dank w

e

catbird dar

the cliff

tumn, when

led with fl

olonies o

aintly stuc

n July, which is nearly three months before the leaves fall. The poe

e beats his t

poets who do not go to the woods, that the partridge does not always drum upon a log; he frequently drums upon a rock or a stone wall, if a suitable log be not handy, and no ear can detect the differ

a poet as Emerson napping. He knows nature, and he knows the New England fields and woods, as few poets do. One may study

ath dim aisl

e

inn?a hang i

ad

. .

when in th

erv

roar the a

ll

the death

ect

he close o

tur

me through

a

e and fern,

mp

partridge

od

he woodcoc

y

tawny thrus

hawk did w

has seen farther into the pine-tree than any other poet; his "May-Day" is full of our sprin

-foil, gill,

imo

and trillium

saf

and murky b

and su

characteri

odlan

river-grape

ru

or rock-lov

y worst

our flower is not purple, but yellow and scarlet. Yet Bryant set the example to the poe

s an infallible observer; he sometimes tripped up on his facts, and at other times he deliberately moulded them, adding to, or cutting off, to suit the purposes of his verse. I will cite here two instances in which his natural history is at fault. In his poem on the bobolink he make

bird hath br

r

n shells, o

the

their earli

ll. Their efforts then continue till their prison walls are completely sundered and the bird is free. This process is rendered the more easy by the fact that toward the last the shell becomes very rotten; the acids that are generated by the growing chick eat it and make it brittle, so that one can hardly touch a fully incubated bird's egg without breaking it. To help the young bird forth would

is purpose, take his poems of the "Yellow Violet" and

t late and c

are bare an

ow

and short

rt

ear is nea

rod, turtle-head, and other fall flowers also abound. When the woods are bare, which does not occur in New England till in or near November, the fringed gentian has long been dead. It is in fact killed by the first considerable frost. No, if one were to go botanizing,

simplicity and pensiveness, but his love for the flower carr

aint p

in the vi

tect any perfume in the yellow species (VIOLA ROTUNDIFOLIA). This honor

s it quit

train, the h

thee in the

that, throughout the Middle and New England States, the hepatica is the first spring flower. [Footnote: excepting, of course, the skunk-cabbage.] It is some days ahead of all others. The yellow violet belongs only to the more northern sections,-to high, cold, beechen woods, where the po

in th

round-laur

ern

of the last

r sw

lly air, and

rel cups,

mp

ir bells, a

ue

also mayflower, and squirrel-cups for hepatica, or liver-leaf.

e song he puts in the statement, that the wheat sown in the fall lies in the ground till spring before it

he generous g

ark mould

ri

he emerald

r

the March w

n

sleeping fl

y bluebi

. .

he sower's

s in its w

e dark-bro

re

it from

it to the

earth and b

he mother

ea

shed babe a

ts eyes and

ts waking s

t now may

l

the drowned

at, from the

breathe the

stone the m

shall lie

of heaven'

l

again the g

h warmth an

e

e lay to sl

e or sacrifice any part of the truth to build up his verse. One likes to see him keep within the fact without being

y and climate in Bryant that are unmistak

h upon the

and p

en; even

oving

e field bene

az

side the sh

nt

s driven f

cape

s sought hi

e hi

floats dea

m, an

he sunstr

ous t

he hot stream," because, if such a thing ever has occurred, it is entirely exceptional. The trout in such weather seek the deep

ird twitte

hen

the hemlock

ches

bright, cold

pt

n the earth

av

dge found

tter place for the oriole,-the elm-loving oriole. The bluebird prefers a humbler pe

, shifting hi

o

post along

nc

so good. But the bluebird is not strictly a songster in the sense in which the song sparrow

d chants, fr

bra

welcome

ar

s that of Nilsson or Patti. The bluebird, however, never strikes an attitude and sings for the mere song's sake. But the poets are perhaps to be allowed this latitude, only their pages lose rather than gain by it. Nothing is so welcome in this field as characteris

makes the s

swallows so

e the lark, if the lark had been about.

notes of

ird an

ip of swallo

sk

on when he mak

itter twenty

l again in

d swallow skati

Virg

tter on the c

he eaves; for these are just the last year's nests that do contain birds in May. The cliff swallow and the barn swallow always reoccupy their old nests, when they are found intact; so do some other birds. Again, the hawthorn, or whitethorn, field-fares, belong to English poetry more than to American. The ash in autumn is not deep crimsoned, but a purplish brown. "The ash he

his win

fierce c

some roc

is pre

d the op

to sea

he wild h

the m

d of prey: it is web-footed, a rapid swimmer and diver, and lives upon fish, whi

g cormorant

e

hing to the

ir

s always obliged to mount. The stress of the rhyme and metre are of course in this case very great, and it is they, doubtless, that drove the poet into this false picture of a bird of prey laden with his quarry. It is an ungracious task, however, to cross- questi

d nature. He comes from the farm, and his memory i

ever learned

d bee's mo

flower's tim

fowl and

nants of

toise bears

odchuck di

und-mole si

bin feeds

iole's nes

whitest li

freshest b

ound-nut tra

wood-grape

in

ck wasp's

his walls

rchitectu

hornet a

t "painted" to the autumn beeches, as the foliage of the bee

nd violet, amb

om "A Dream of Summer" the reader might infer that t

hillside ce

at leaves

d in the me

g with th

ound, or by soft or wet weather, and the bluebird does not sing in the brakes at any time of the year. A severe stress of weather will drive the foxes off the mountains into the low, sheltered woods and fields, a

escriptions of rural sights and sounds. What a characte

rs that clatter

pastoral curfew of the cowbell," etc., are sounds we have heard before in poetry, but that clatter of the pasture bars is American; one can almost see the waiting, ruminating cows slowly stir at the

rn winter that has yet been put into poetry. What an ex

upon a wo

we could ca

glistening

alls of th

bove, no e

e of sky

single line a feature of our landscape in spring that I have never befo

ws the bre

ock-

are edged

lo

but youth,

o

or care

verspread them. Along the fences, especially along the stone walls, the grass starts early; the land is fatter there from the deeper snows and fro

-known poets upon the much-loved mayflower or arbutus. There is a little poem upon thi

walked the

a

e blest fo

eath the wi

flowers we

ne wishes for a little more of the poetic unction (I refer, of course, to his serious poems; his humorous ones are just what they should be), yet the student of nature will find many close-fitting phrases and keen observations in his pages, and lines tha

, like molte

flo

n coils and

ba

arting around a stone and uniting again beyond it, and pushing their way along with many a pause and devious turn. One principal office of the roots of a tree is to gripe, to hold fast the earth: hence they f

is own country. In his "Indian-Summer Reverie" we cat

hful, meas

on cedar berries

ngly shagba

red stone wall which occurs farther along in the same poem, and which is so characteris

ed mowers wadi

hough they might appear to do so when viewed athwart the s

ink does when the care of his y

that devi

bobo

g duty, in

t

sweeps o'e

lous

t the win

ely d

he bobolinks flee before the hay-makers, but that sudden stopping on the brink of rap

tudied description

sings as of

i

croons in th

dim arbor,

u

ps the herm

birch; and among flowers; the violet and the dandelion.

n flower, t

e the

dusty road

o

ge of blit

he fresh turf sets off its "ring of gold" with admirable effect; hence we know the poet is a month o

lions and

e lawn; the

mong the c

sweetens

er. These bloom in June in New England and New York, and are contemporaries of the daisy. In the meadows and lawns, the dandelion drops its flower and holds aloft its sphere of down, touching the green surface as with a light frost, long before the clover a

es and the

ll the

t the woodpecker prov

well as t

hymes it

ymes it w

s it woo

er, woo

pon dry limbs among the woodpeckers is the yellow-bellied. His measured, deliberate tap, heard

e, he makes the swallow hunt the bee, which, for aught I know, the swallow may do in England. Our purple martin has been accused of catching the honey-bee, but I doubt his guilt. But those of our swallows

wk stood, wi

be

, with his

ey

sure eye,

e winking thr

ther thi

lid base of

ter-lily star

l in little p

or'd to the

h

thi

ich the sta

op

wild brook o

on

o vehement

n i

ghts. A lady told me that she was once walking with him in the fields, when they came to a spring that bubbled up through shifting sands in a very pretty manner, and Tennyson, in order to s

express or suggest that evening call of the robin. How absorbingly this p

us pour of

nged wi

the carpenter at his ben

of his fore-

ascendi

s in "A Word out of the Sea "! Indeed, no poet has studied American nature more closely

the da

light fades

hanous s

that came

e north,

av

shaped ex

tning, as sudden and fast amid the din

heifers b

their food

rk

own shadow

imitless a

ai

ds of buf

read of the

and

hummingbir

neck of th

urving an

ughing-gull

she laugh

n la

neck'd part

n the groun

ds

ned up by the great sciences, as astronomy and geology, but upon life and movement and personality, and puts in a shred of natural history here and there,-the "twittering redstart," the spotted hawk swooping by, the oscillating sea-gulls, the yellow-crowned heron, the razor-billed auk, the lone wood duck, the migrating geese, the sharp-hoofed moose, the mockingbird "the thrush, the hermit," etc.,-to help locate and define his position. Everywhere i

ud continued spring call; the meadowlark, with her crescent-marked breast and long-drawn, piercing, yet tender April and May summons forming, with that of the high-hole, one of the three or four most characteristic field sounds of our spring; the happy goldfinch, circling round and round in midsummer with that peculiar undulating flight and calling PER-CHICK'-O-PEE, PER-C

en worm, wh

ed moth, h

nd rain are

cheereb

d sun one

nd gnat, b

pmunk, ho

nest in th

g up t

n and

cheereb

tight it, you're out, you're out," with many musical interludes; or the chewink, rustling the leaves and peering under the bushes at you; or the pretty little oven-bird, walking round and round you in the woods, or suddenly soaring above the treetops, and uttering its wild lyrical strain; or, farther sou

illows glea

oo

ss grows gr

ok

nshine an

e robin i

g, 'Ch

up, ch

ly, ch

er

e snow

walls and

cold, the n

here and

tut. C

up, ch

ly, ch

er

ng hopes s

he joyfu

night, a s

deep to m

g, 'Ch

up, ch

ly, ch

r up

ods or waters; they furnish the conditions, and are what you make them. Did Shelley interpret the song of the skylark, or Keats that of the nightingale? They interpreted their own wild, yearning hearts. The trick of the poet is always to idealize nature,-to see it subjectively. You cannot find what the poets find in the woods until you take the poet's heart to the woods. He sees nature through a colored glass, sees it truthfully, but with an indescribable charm added, the aureole of the spirit. A tree, a cloud, a bird, a sunset, have no hi

weet sounds

as

air sights

a

et when we f

ir when we

glory in st

upon by a

ragrance in A

hed with j

der

se lines o

ll Nature,

sel

wn conceit o

tion upon wh

my own c

ywhe

er, Colerid

ve but wh

fe alone doth

wedding-ga

shro

worth had

that never

a

ration and

ea

n but that which we put into it from the light of our own transient feelings." Not a blank, certainly, to the scientist, but full of definite meanings and laws, and a storehouse of powers and economies; but to the poet the meaning is what he pleases to make it, what it provokes in h

te book of secrecy

is the page and he the type, and she takes the impression he gives. Of course the poet uses the truths of nature also, and he establishes his right to them by bringing them home to us with a new and peculiar