[A Red-Shouldered Blackbird]:
Bobaree! Bobaree! A frost you’ll see—— You’ll see to your sorrow, If you wait until to-morrow—— Bobaree!
[A Chipping-Bird]:
Chip-chip! Chip-chip! Chip-chip! I’ll give November the slip!
[A House-Wren]:
Sh! Sh! Sh! Every one loves the Wren! Wait, and just once again I’ll go, and, as still as a mouse, Peep into the little house They built for my use alone, With a door and a porch like their own! —Sh!
[A Maryland Yellow-Throat Interrupting]:
Witches here! Witches here! And no wonder—so late in the year!
[A Flock of Wild Geese Flying Over]:
On! On! On! Why should we longer stay? On! Ere the peep of day We should be leagues away, Quite out of sight of land! Our old gray Commodore Will guide our gallant band With the daintiest food in store! To a pleasant southern shore, On! On! On!