A flock of merry singing-birds were sporting in a grove; Some were warbling cheerily and some were making love. There were Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, Conquedle,— A livelier set were never led by tabor, pipe, or fiddle:— Crying “Whew, shew, Wadolincon; see, see, Bobolincon Down among the tickle tops, hiding in the buttercups; I know the saucy chap; I see his shining cap Bobbing there in the clover,—see, see, see!” Up flies Bobolincon perching on an apple tree; Startled by his rival’s song, quickened by his raillery. Soon he spies the rogue afloat, curvetting in the air, And merrily he turns about and warns him to beware! “’Tis you that would a-wooing go, down among the rushes O! Wait a week, till flowers are cheery; wait a week ere you marry, Be sure of a house wherein to tarry; Wadolink, Whiskodink, Tom Denny, wait, wait, wait!” Every one’s a funny fellow; every one’s a little mellow; Follow, follow, follow, follow, o’er the hill and in the hollow. Merrily, merrily, there they hie; now they rise and now they fly; They cross and turn, and in and out, down the middle, and wheel about, With a “Phew, shew, Wadolincon; listen to me, Bobolincon! Happy’s the wooing that’s speedily doing, that’s speedily doing, That’s merry and over with the bloom of the clover; Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, follow, follow me!” O what a happy life they lead, over hill and in the mead! How they sing and how they play! See, that fly away, away! Now they gambol o’er the clearing—off again, and then appearing; Poised aloft on quivering wing, now they soar and now they sing, “We must all be merry and moving, we all must be happy and loving; For when the midsummer has come and the grain has ripened its ear, The haymakers scatter our young and we mourn for the rest of the year; Then, Bobolincon, Wadolincon, Winterseeble, haste, haste away!” —Wilson Flagg, in _Birds and Seasons in New England_. XVI TREASURE-TROVE AT THE SHORE _The Herring or Harbour Gull_