Poems (Thaxter)/The Bird's Orchestra

by Celia Thaxter

THE BIRDS' ORCHESTRA.

Bobolink shall play the violin,
  Great applause to win;
Lonely, sweet, and sad, the meadow lark
  Plays the oboe. Hark!
That inspired bugle with a soul—
  'Tis the oriole;
Yellow-bird the clarionet shall play,
  Blithe, and clear, and gay.
Purple finch what instrument will suit?
  He can play the flute.
Fire-winged blackbirds sound the merry fife,
  Soldiers without strife;
And the robins wind the mellow horn
  Loudly eve and morn.
Who shall clash the cymbals? Jay and crow;
  That is all they know.
Hylas twang their harps so weird and high,
  Such a tuneful cry!
And to roll the deep, melodious drum,
  Lo! the bull-frogs come!
Then the splendid chorus, who shall sing
  Of so fine a thing?
Who the names of the performers call
  Truly, one and all?
Blue-bird, bunting, cat-bird, chickadee
  (Phœbe-bird is he),
Swallow, creeper, cross-bill, cuckoo, dove,
  Wee wren that I love;
Brisk fly-catcher, finches—what a crowd!
  King-bird whistling loud;
Sweet rose-breasted grossbeak, vireo, thrush—
  Hear these two, and hush;
Scarlet tanager, song-sparrow small
  (Dearer he than all;
At the first sound of his friendly voice
  Saddest hearts rejoice),
Redpoll, nuthatch, thrasher, plover gray—
  Curlew did I say?
What a jangling all the grakles make!
  Is it some mistake?
Anvil chorus yellow-hammers strike,
  And the wicked shrike
Harshly creaks like some half-open door;
  He can do no more.