Sketches of Natural History :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE KINGFISHER.

For the handsome Kingfisher, go not to the tree,
No bird of the field or the forest is he;
In the dry riven rock he did never abide,
And not on the brown heath all barren and wide.

He lives where the fresh, sparkling waters are flowing,
Where the tall, heavy Typha and Loose-strife are growing;

By the bright little streams that all joy-fully run
Awhile in the shadow, and then in the sun.

He lives in a hole that is quite to his mind,
With the green, mossy Hazel roots firmly entwined;
Where the dark Alder-bough waves grace-fully o'er,
And the Sword-flag and Arrow-head grow at his door.

There busily, busily, all the day long,
He seeks for small fishes the shallows among;
For he builds his nest of the pearly fish-bone,
Deep, deep in the bank far retired, and alone.

Then the brown Water-Rat from his burrow looks out,
To see what his neighbour Kingfisher's about;
And the green Dragon-fly, flitting slowly away,
Just pauses one moment to bid him good-day.

O happy Kingfisher! what care should he know,
By the clear, pleasant streams, as he skims to and fro,
Now lost in the shadow, now bright in the sheen
Of the hot summer sun, glancing scarlet and green!