Bobolink

In all history no king ever had such a minstrel as this atom of black and cream. Any attempt to describe the song of "an exulting BOBOLINK wild awing" would be futile. There is no American bird anywhere near his equal — even Skylarks and Nightingales take rear seats.
There is a wild, exuberant quality in his music which defies written words. A Bobolink song recital over emerald fields, with slow-moving clouds flecking blue June sky, can awake the soul of a listener more effectively than any other sound of earth. I have seen some "impressarios" so carried away by ecstasy that they staggered awing and capsized in their song waves!

Few birds have more contradictory life phases.

After reigning supreme on the concert stage of birdland, they disappear into silence, assume the demure dress of the female, and start via Florida for their winter home in South America. Death follows thru southern states, for our "Robert" has become merely the Reedbird — a bite for the epicure! (The reader can make his comments on the fairness of this tragedy.)