THE WHOOP-CRANE S CLANGOR, 41

THE WHOOP-CRANE S CLANGOR.

ALONG the lone Floridian fens,

Wild scrub-wreathed sands and hammock

Edens,

Croaks the importunate, clanging cry,

From out the painted sunset sky,

Of whoop-cranes, as they roost-ward fly.

So when the level fire-lance ray,

The first swift glance of hot-browed Day,

Adown the moss-hung forest hall

Of bannered pines, plume-tipped and tall,

About whose roots the saw-palms sprawl,

Illumes the smoke-like vapor, blue,

Upsteaming all the lilies through,

And glancing o er the waters, far,

Proclaims Apollo s coming car,

And warns all sleepers wake to war

Tis then that harsh and yearning sound,

Re-echoes to the morning s bound,

Clangs through the solemn cypress cave,

Warns the great owl his breath to save,

And shakes the bulrush o er the wave;

As long the still and steaming pool,

Clouded with shadows, broad and cool,

These great birds fan impetuous wing;

While round them echoes fiercely ring,

And startled mock-birds cease to sing.