All species are not equally eloquent; some are
copious and fluent as it were in their utterance, while others are
confined to a few important sounds: no bird, like the fish kind, is
quite mute, though some are rather silent. The language of birds is
very ancient, and, like other ancient modes of speech, very
elliptical: little is said, but much is meant and understood.
(* See Spectator, Vol. VII., No. 512.)
The notes of the eagle-kind are shrill and piercing; and about the
season of nidification much diversified, as I have been often
assured by a curious observer of nature, who long resided at
Gibraltar, where eagles abound. The notes of our hawks much
resemble those of the king of birds. Owls have very expressive
notes; they hoot in a fine vocal sound, much resembling the vox
humana, and reducible by a pitch-pipe to a musical key. This note
seems to express complacency and rivalry among the males: they
use also a quick call and an horrible scream; and can snore and hiss
when they mean to menace. Ravens, beside their loud croak, can
exert a deep and solemn note that makes the woods to echo; the
amorous sound of a crow is strange and ridiculous; rooks, in the
breeding season, attempt sometimes in the gaiety of their hearts to
sing, but with no great success; the parrot-kind have many
modulations of voice, as appears by their aptitude to learn human
sounds; doves coo in an amorous and mournful manner, and are
emblems of despairing lovers; the wood-pecker sets up a sort of
loud and hearty laugh; the fern-owl, or goat-sucker, from the dusk
till day-break, serenades his mate with the clattering of castanets.
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