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The British Months

A Poem, in Twelve Parts. By Richard Mant: In Two Volumes
 
 

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113

Willow Wren. Black Cap. Wheatear. Swallows sometimes arrive in March: not from a torpid state, but from southern climates. Strength of wing. Beauty of movements. Difficulty of following them with the eye.

But blither forms and voices clear
Soon greet the expecting eye and ear.
Where the gray sallow's bursting down
Is girt with many a golden crown,
Fain would I now, in rival gold
His slender form attir'd, behold
The willow-haunting Wren, and hear
His plaintive woodnotes warbled clear,
As on the breath of morning floats
The musick of his hymn-like notes.
Fain 'mid the hawthorn's budding boughs,
Or where the dark green ivy shows
Its purple fruit the foliage through,
Would I the early Blackcap view,
With sable cowl and amice gray
Arriv'd from regions far away,
Like palmer from some sainted shrine,
Or holy hills of Palestine:
And hear his desultory bill
Such notes of varying cadence trill,
That mimick art that quaver'd strain
May strive to match, but strive in vain.
In the wild rabbits' haunt, or field,
Where the brown fallow newly till'd
The reptiles 'mid the crumbling soil
Upturns, or flies, his favourite spoil,
Fain would I see the Wheatear show
In the dark sward his rump of snow,
Of spotless brightness. Fain would see
O'er furze-clad waste, or grassy lea,
By hedgerow, pool, and streamlet's brim,
The kindred tribes of Swallows skim

114

Unwearied: that, a cautious band,
On heath or hollow'd banks of sand,
From the shunn'd haunts of man aloof
Sequester'd; these, beneath his roof
Confiding inmates: if the prime
Tempt them in March's early time
To spread their pinions' northward sails;
Nor sleety storms and chilling gales
Till April's milder month delay
Their voyage o'er the watry way.
And see, they come! But not I deem
From reed-fring'd bank of pool or stream,
As if in clusters, link on link,
Clinging beneath the cavern'd brink,
Or plung'd within the waters deep,
They slept their livelong winter's sleep,
Intomb'd, a kind of living death;
And now, at spring's awakening breath,
Start forth with active vigour rife,
Exulting in reviving life.
Though now and then a youngling bird,
From the long flight perchance deterr'd
By weakness, may have linger'd here,
And by steep brook or rushy mere
Reluctant hid the folded wing;
Prompt with reviving warmth to fling
The dull unwelcome sleep away,
And revel in the sunny ray.
But different far the flocks that throng
Now day by day the shores along.
From southern lands, o'er severing seas,
Borne on the equinoctial breeze,

115

They speed their airy flight remote;
When heav'n by sure and certain note
Gives signal of the appointed time
To sum their pens and change their clime.
Nor reck they of the journey's length,
By sea, by land, whose pinions' strength,
When of their destin'd course the whole
Is travers'd, and attain'd the goal,
Delights th' aërial maze to weave
The summer long, from morn to eve,
Day still succeeding day; with speed
That mocks the tempest-footed steed;
With ease, that all that mazy way
Is but enjoyment's idle play;
With vigour, heedless of repose,
Which nor fatigue nor respite knows,
As fresh o'er evening's twilight lawn,
As at the peep of young-eyed dawn.
Though many a songster's warbled strain
The listener's raptur'd ear inchain
With song, and trill, and rise, and fall,
Melodious more and musical;
No fairer object holds the sight,
Than the swift flight and counter flight,
The turns, and bends, and ceaseless spring
Elastick, of the swallow's wing.
Oft have I stood in silent gaze,
And watch'd their labyrinthine ways,
When first, their annual voyage o'er,
Round some selected spot they pour,
A social band: and here and there,
Impetuous through the darken'd air

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Right on with moveless pinions glide;
Or deviate, like the eddying tide,
Abrupt; or wheeling round above,
Below, with courses interwove,
But each by each untangled, dart;
As with design each untried part
Of their adopted reign to view,
Each nook, recess, and avenue,
Or ere content no more to roam
They fix them in their summer home.
Then have I sought in vain to spy
Distinct each figure speeding by;
And ponder'd all their curious modes
Of being, and their lov'd abodes
And mansionry; the pendent bed
In shaft, or eave, or window-shed;
And what their houshold cares, and sports;
Their summer haunts; and far resorts
For winter sojourn: till the Muse
Has thus her meditative views
Embodied, and in strain addrest
Of welcoming her household guest.