 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
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THE NUNBURNHOLME ROBIN;
OR, THE TAME ROBIN IN THE GROUNDS OF NUNBURNHOLME RECTORY, THE RESIDENCE OF THE REV. F. O. MORRIS, AUTHOR OF “BRITISH BIRDS.”
The pastoral garden nook
Of green Nunburnholme,—village known to fame,—
Spreads its gay flowers beside a shining brook,
A beck without a name;
Of green Nunburnholme,—village known to fame,—
Spreads its gay flowers beside a shining brook,
A beck without a name;
Which, with swift-flowing tide,
Is sweetly heard to ripple and to rush
Past pleasant bowers, where birds may safely hide
Their nests in tree and bush,
Is sweetly heard to ripple and to rush
Past pleasant bowers, where birds may safely hide
Their nests in tree and bush,
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Or to observant eyes,
Display their painted plumage in the sun,
Or sing unseen, fearing no base surprise
Of net and ruthless gun.
Display their painted plumage in the sun,
Or sing unseen, fearing no base surprise
Of net and ruthless gun.
Emboldened by the air
Of calm security which breathes around
The winding garden-walks and flower-beds fair
Within that sheltered bound;
Of calm security which breathes around
The winding garden-walks and flower-beds fair
Within that sheltered bound;
One bird, a Robin dear,
Ere yet his breast had warmed into a flame,
Learnt by degrees to lay aside all fear
And answer to his name.
Ere yet his breast had warmed into a flame,
Learnt by degrees to lay aside all fear
And answer to his name.
Trusting the voice and eyes
Of gentle patroness—her name is Rose—
At her first call now from his bower he flies;
Robin his Mistress knows!
Of gentle patroness—her name is Rose—
At her first call now from his bower he flies;
Robin his Mistress knows!
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Perched on her finger-tips
In the full splendour of his Winter vest,
For the soft crumbs his nut-brown head he dips—
Redder than rose his breast!
In the full splendour of his Winter vest,
For the soft crumbs his nut-brown head he dips—
Redder than rose his breast!
Then flitting to a spray
That overhangs the streamlet's verdant banks,
He sings his loving mistress a sweet lay
Of happy heart-felt thanks.
That overhangs the streamlet's verdant banks,
He sings his loving mistress a sweet lay
Of happy heart-felt thanks.
Thus Robin, morn by morn,
Waits for her call, and takes her offered hand:
Favoured his lot—a rose without a thorn—
A wonder in the land!
Waits for her call, and takes her offered hand:
Favoured his lot—a rose without a thorn—
A wonder in the land!
And long may Robin live
Safe from the prowling cat and swooping hawk
Such daily happiness to feel and give—
Brightening that garden-walk.
Safe from the prowling cat and swooping hawk
Such daily happiness to feel and give—
Brightening that garden-walk.
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And oh! that far and wide
The birds and beasts could share the gentle charm,
And their instinctive terror lay aside,
And love supplant alarm.
The birds and beasts could share the gentle charm,
And their instinctive terror lay aside,
And love supplant alarm.
Would that the garden ground
Of mutual kindness might enlarge its range,
Its peaceful pleasures with the ocean bound,
And earth to Eden change!
Of mutual kindness might enlarge its range,
Its peaceful pleasures with the ocean bound,
And earth to Eden change!
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