the voice of
authority or command, what does it mean? I never could find out. It is
doubtless from the male. A crow will utter it while sitting alone on
the fence in the pasture, as well as when flying through the air. The
crow's cry of alarm is easily distinguished; all the other birds and
wild creatures know it, and the hunter who is stalking his game is apt
to swear when he hears it. I have heard two crows in the spring,
seated on a limb close together, give utterance to many curious,
guttural, gurgling, ventriloquial sounds. What were they saying? It
was probably some form of the language of love.

I venture to say that no one has ever yet heard the crow utter a
complaining or a disconsolate note. He is always cheery, he is always
self-possessed, he is a great success. Nothing in Bermuda made me feel
so much at home as a flock of half a dozen of our crows which I saw
and heard there. At one time they were very numerous on the island,
but they have been persecuted till only a remnant of the tribe remains.

I

My friend and neighbor through the year,
Self-appointed overseer

Of my crops of fruit and grain,
Of my woods and furrowed plain,

Claim thy tithings right and left,
I shall never call it theft.

Nature wisely made the law,
And I fail to find a flaw

In thy title to the earth,
And all it holds of any worth.

I like thy self-complacent air,
I like thy ways so free from care,

Thy landlord stroll about my fields,
Quickly noting what each yields;

Thy courtly mien and bearing bold,
As if thy claim were bought with gold;

Thy floating shape against the sky,
When days are calm and clouds sail high;

Thy thrifty flight ere rise of sun,
Thy homing clans when day is done.

Hues protective are not thine,
So sleek thy coat each quill doth shine.

Diamond black to end of toe,
Thy counter-point the crystal snow.

II

Never plaintive nor appealing,
Quite at home when thou art stealing,

Always groomed to tip of feather,
Calm and trim in every weather,

Morn till night my woods policing,
Every sound thy watch increasing.

Hawk and owl in tree-top hiding
Feel the shame of thy deriding.

Naught escapes thy observation,
None but dread thy accusation.

Hunters, prowlers, woodland lovers
Vainly seek the leafy covers.

III

Noisy, scheming, and predacious,
Wit