 | Birds, Bees and Blossoms |  |
7
BIRDS.
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THE DEAD SWALLOW.
“And why did it come there to die?”
Such was the question put to me;
And to the child I made reply:
“It was too ill and weak to fly
With its companions o'er the sea,
So still kept on that stony ridge
Where it could watch the waters flow,
Under the dark arch of the bridge,
And see the branches wave below:
Five once sat there all in a row.
Such was the question put to me;
And to the child I made reply:
“It was too ill and weak to fly
With its companions o'er the sea,
So still kept on that stony ridge
Where it could watch the waters flow,
Under the dark arch of the bridge,
And see the branches wave below:
Five once sat there all in a row.
“There they were hatched, that is the nest,
Built on the keystone of the arch;
It often did my eye arrest,
When April followed windy March,
Tracing its progress day by day,
Thinking how dangerously it stood,
And should by chance the nest give way,
The young would perish in the flood:
My fears were vain: the work was good.
Built on the keystone of the arch;
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When April followed windy March,
Tracing its progress day by day,
Thinking how dangerously it stood,
And should by chance the nest give way,
The young would perish in the flood:
My fears were vain: the work was good.
“The young were hatched, and fledged, and reared,
Above the torrent's angry roar;
I watched them oft, and sometimes feared
Danger was nearer than before,
And that when standing in a row,
They would into the water fall;
But fearlessly they looked below,
Though, at their mother's twittering call,
They drew back nearer to the wall.
Above the torrent's angry roar;
I watched them oft, and sometimes feared
Danger was nearer than before,
And that when standing in a row,
They would into the water fall;
But fearlessly they looked below,
Though, at their mother's twittering call,
They drew back nearer to the wall.
“Drew back from that small giddy ledge,
That looked deep down and stood so high,
Seeming to know, too near the edge
They must not go till they could fly.
The Pike so hungry, fierce, and grim,
When looking down they often saw
Under the gloomy archway swim,
With his huge length of hideous jaw:
No doubt they looked at him in awe.
That looked deep down and stood so high,
Seeming to know, too near the edge
They must not go till they could fly.
The Pike so hungry, fierce, and grim,
When looking down they often saw
Under the gloomy archway swim,
With his huge length of hideous jaw:
No doubt they looked at him in awe.
“I think the one that there lay dead,
Was injured, or had had a fall;
It always seemed to droop its head,
I never saw it fly at all,
Although I came day after day,
But always found it moping there
After the rest had flown away.
The parent birds were ever near,
And did their best its heart to cheer.
Was injured, or had had a fall;
It always seemed to droop its head,
I never saw it fly at all,
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But always found it moping there
After the rest had flown away.
The parent birds were ever near,
And did their best its heart to cheer.
“They brought it food all summer through,
And gave it water just the same;
I wondered then what it would do
When the migrating season came,
And all the swallows crossed the sea:
I have no doubt the parents tried
To take it, but that could not be;
So of necessity it died,
For on their wings it could not ride.
And gave it water just the same;
I wondered then what it would do
When the migrating season came,
And all the swallows crossed the sea:
I have no doubt the parents tried
To take it, but that could not be;
So of necessity it died,
For on their wings it could not ride.
“After they left it, there it stood,
Still looking down with wondering eyes—
Watching the ever rolling flood,
Watching the branches fall and rise
As they were by the current shook,
While the o'erhanging wild flowers swayed.
Perhaps it at itself would look,
The water like a mirror laid,
So still at times within the shade.
Still looking down with wondering eyes—
Watching the ever rolling flood,
Watching the branches fall and rise
As they were by the current shook,
While the o'erhanging wild flowers swayed.
Perhaps it at itself would look,
The water like a mirror laid,
So still at times within the shade.
“And that poor bird would sit for hours,
Till all the bridge was wrapt in gloom,
Until you couldn't see the flowers,
Much less the colours of their bloom:
There it would sit from night to morn,
And hear the cold rain dropping down
From off the bridge upon the thorn;
Then lower, on the sedge so brown,
Where the dark archway seemed to frown.
Till all the bridge was wrapt in gloom,
Until you couldn't see the flowers,
Much less the colours of their bloom:
There it would sit from night to morn,
And hear the cold rain dropping down
From off the bridge upon the thorn;
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Where the dark archway seemed to frown.
“Beyond, so close the branches fell,
So thick the torrent was embowered,
That from the bridge you could not tell
What plants they were below that flowered.
And when the sun bathed all in gold,
That forlorn bird would twitter sweet;
But when the shadows, dark and cold,
Fell on the foliage at its feet,
To the chill wall it would retreat,
So thick the torrent was embowered,
That from the bridge you could not tell
What plants they were below that flowered.
And when the sun bathed all in gold,
That forlorn bird would twitter sweet;
But when the shadows, dark and cold,
Fell on the foliage at its feet,
To the chill wall it would retreat,
“Bury its head, and so remain,
As it back by the keystone shrank.
I fear it neither ate nor drank
After its parents crossed the main.
I tried, but never could get near,
It made me giddy but to look,
And no one could a ladder rear
In that unfathomable brook.
I tried, and then the cause forsook.
As it back by the keystone shrank.
I fear it neither ate nor drank
After its parents crossed the main.
I tried, but never could get near,
It made me giddy but to look,
And no one could a ladder rear
In that unfathomable brook.
I tried, and then the cause forsook.
“There was no hold for hands nor feet;
I tried to get down every way,
But no projecting ledge could meet,
And too far down the keystone lay.
It grieved me to the very heart,
Although to save it I oft tried,
From that poor famished bird to part.
And so upon that ledge it died,
From whence it never once had flied.”
I tried to get down every way,
But no projecting ledge could meet,
And too far down the keystone lay.
It grieved me to the very heart,
Although to save it I oft tried,
From that poor famished bird to part.
And so upon that ledge it died,
From whence it never once had flied.”
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HOW THE ROBIN BECAME RED.
FIRST PART.
In Autumn time his song we hear,When the leaves are red and sear;
And when Winter winds pipe shrill,
He hops upon the window sill,
And leaves the imprint of his claw
Deep in the flakes of feathered snow.
There is no other bird so good
As Robin, Hero of the Wood;
And I dare say you've often cried,
While reading how those children died,
Those pretty Babes, who, hand in hand,
Wandered o'er that dreary land;
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Yet never saw come from that town
The man who was to bring them bread.
You all know how they were found dead;
And many a time you have been told,
In that story good and old,
How Robin tucked up both his sleeves,
And covered those dead Babes with leaves.
There were Blackbird, Magpie, Thrush,
All idling in a neighbouring bush,
Looking on with unpitying eyes;
And though they were twice his size,
Wouldn't lend a helping hand,
Nor scratch up one grain of sand;
Although Robin cried out, “Shame!”
Not one to his assistance came;
So, with his heart brimful of grief,
He slowly piled up leaf on leaf,
Placing one here, another there,
And wetting them with many a tear.
For I know from his pitying eye,
It don't take much to make him cry.
SECOND PART.
Now, though it is so long ago,I'm positive all Robins know
About those pretty Babes that died
In that forest old and wide,
In that forest wide and old,
Through which the Autumn's winds blew cold,
And with a child-like faith believe.
The lesson Robins first receive,
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Is all about the burying
Of those dear Babes in the Wood;
And is as clearly understood
By every Robin that is born,
As if they'd stood that Autumn morn
And seen them lying side by side,
Their sweet lips with blackberries dyed.
Never before those Babes lay dead
Was the Robin's breast dyed red.
It was the Autumn leaves, 'tis said,
He piled upon those children dead,
Which gave his breast the ruddy stain
That every Robin doth retain.
He saw the leaves, and full of pity,
Thought their graves would look so pretty
If he only red ones brought;
So up and down the wood he sought,
Full of pity, full of dolour,
For those that were a scarlet colour;
Yellow and green he threw aside,
And picked up none but what were dyed
In the richest Autumn red,
To cover those dear children dead.
THIRD PART.
Now the Fairies who stood watching,Found his sorrow very catching;
Saw his breast was red and sore,
Through the loads of leaves he bore;
Saw the feathers worked clean off,
Heard him troubled with a cough,
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Stood idling among the leaves,
The great Blackbird, Magpie, Thrush,
Looking on idly from a bush.
All this saw the Fairy Queen,
Peeping through the leaves so green;
And she gave an angry look,
As her fist she at them shook.
Robin she beckoned with her hand,
And when he did before her stand,
Patted the feathers on his head,
And unto him she kindly said:
“For the good deed thou hast done,
Lasting glory thou hast won;
Thy praise shall ring throughout all time
In a tale of glorious rhyme,
Which I myself will write
Without fail this very night,
And call it the ‘Babes in the Wood,’
Recording all thy actions good.
This scarlet kirtle which I wear,
Thou on thy noble breast shalt bear;
And the honours I thee give,
By every Robin that may live—
By every Robin yet unborn—
Shall be through all ages worn.”
This said, the pretty Fairy Queen
Stooped down amid the leaves so green,
Slipped off her scarlet petticoat,
Fastened it round dear Robin's throat;
Then a few magic words she said,
And it was changed to feathers red.
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Does the same crimson mark display.
Though their breasts were brown before,
From that time they were brown no more.
CONCLUSION.
Until that night, (so says old story,)The Blackbird shone in golden glory,
And was as yellow as Canary;
That night he was touched by the Fairy,
And changed to black, all but his bill;
Black he remains, and ever will.
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Escaped before he was changed quite.
As for the Thrush, he flew away
And hid himself for many a day.
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SPARROWS.
Chirrup! chirrup! here we all be,
A noisy thieving company.
We are the poor birds of the street;
Where there's a house you will us meet,
And where poor children most abound
There we are always to be found,
Like them playing on the ground.
A noisy thieving company.
We are the poor birds of the street;
Where there's a house you will us meet,
And where poor children most abound
There we are always to be found,
Like them playing on the ground.
In the courts and alleys we play,
Like them all the livelong day;
They rummage the gutters, so do we,
Pouncing on the first crust we see;
Under the eaves like them we lie,
Up in the attic near to the sky:
He watcheth us all who reigns on high.
Like them all the livelong day;
They rummage the gutters, so do we,
Pouncing on the first crust we see;
Under the eaves like them we lie,
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He watcheth us all who reigns on high.
A crust of bread, to play they go,
Leaving for us a crumb or so:
Nothing's wasted nor thrown away
Where sparrows and poor children play.
No doubt we both are a poor race,
But we each live in a poor place,
Though poverty is no disgrace.
Leaving for us a crumb or so:
Nothing's wasted nor thrown away
Where sparrows and poor children play.
No doubt we both are a poor race,
But we each live in a poor place,
Though poverty is no disgrace.
If you would smell real London smoke,
In our nests your nose just poke;
And if it doesn't make you sneeze,
May I never more taste cheese!
We strive our hardest to keep clean,
Wash and rub, and dust and preen,
And then are scarce fit to be seen.
In our nests your nose just poke;
And if it doesn't make you sneeze,
May I never more taste cheese!
We strive our hardest to keep clean,
Wash and rub, and dust and preen,
And then are scarce fit to be seen.
Down come smuts, down come “blacks,”
On our heads, and tails, and backs:
And then the dust below they make,
When their dirty mats they shake;
Why it comes drifting up in heaps,
Into our very beds it creeps,
And makes us all as black as sweeps.
On our heads, and tails, and backs:
And then the dust below they make,
When their dirty mats they shake;
Why it comes drifting up in heaps,
Into our very beds it creeps,
And makes us all as black as sweeps.
Cats, too, do so plague our lives,
Chasing our husbands and our wives;
As for a sister, or a brother,
They're sure to have one or t'other.
'Tis bad enough to live near rats,
Be hunted by poor ragged brats,
But nothing when compared to cats.
Chasing our husbands and our wives;
As for a sister, or a brother,
They're sure to have one or t'other.
'Tis bad enough to live near rats,
Be hunted by poor ragged brats,
But nothing when compared to cats.
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ROOKS
High up among the tall elm trees
We build and quarrel, sleep and caw;
But we're terribly troubled with thieves,
Though we give them all Lynch law
When any come within our claw.
We build and quarrel, sleep and caw;
But we're terribly troubled with thieves,
Though we give them all Lynch law
When any come within our claw.
For my own part I never steal,
Though my heart it greatly grieves
To say we have too many that do,
That what one takes another receives,
And we are never safe from thieves.
Though my heart it greatly grieves
To say we have too many that do,
That what one takes another receives,
And we are never safe from thieves.
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To steal the house in which you live,
The very bed on which you lie,
You must admit is theft indeed;
And yet on my poor wife and I
Did fall this great calamity.
The very bed on which you lie,
You must admit is theft indeed;
And yet on my poor wife and I
Did fall this great calamity.
Oh, how hard we both did work
For days and days in early spring!
We went for miles in search of sticks,
From light to dark were on the wing,
And oh, the loads that we did bring!
For days and days in early spring!
We went for miles in search of sticks,
From light to dark were on the wing,
And oh, the loads that we did bring!
It was in autumn I proposed:
Miss Rook said if till spring I tarried
She would help me to build our nest;
And many a heavy stick she carried,
That we might be the sooner married.
Miss Rook said if till spring I tarried
She would help me to build our nest;
And many a heavy stick she carried,
That we might be the sooner married.
“Once get a house that's all our own,”
She said, “then no one can us tease;
We can get up just when we like,
We can lie down just when we please.”
Bless her! she loved to take her ease.
She said, “then no one can us tease;
We can get up just when we like,
We can lie down just when we please.”
Bless her! she loved to take her ease.
We built our nest, and when we'd done,
She one fine morning to me said—
“We are invited out to-day,
My mother gives a splendid spread,
And she was most genteelly bred.”
She one fine morning to me said—
“We are invited out to-day,
My mother gives a splendid spread,
And she was most genteelly bred.”
I said, “My dear, of course we'll go,
And bring her back to see our nest.”
I smoothed the feathers on her back,
Saw that they all were nicely dressed,
And that she had put on her best.
And bring her back to see our nest.”
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Saw that they all were nicely dressed,
And that she had put on her best.
The party went off very well,
And finer grubs I never saw
Than those provided for the feast
By my dear old mother-in-law.
We parted with a loving caw.
And finer grubs I never saw
Than those provided for the feast
By my dear old mother-in-law.
We parted with a loving caw.
When we reached home our nest was gone!
We couldn't find it anywhere;
I looked up, and I looked down,
Then at my wife, and said, “My dear,
All this is very strange and queer.”
We couldn't find it anywhere;
I looked up, and I looked down,
Then at my wife, and said, “My dear,
All this is very strange and queer.”
My wife she had been looking too,
And, as her eye is rather quick,
She pointed to a bough, and said,
“I am quite sure that is our stick;
Just look how crooked it is, and thick.”
And, as her eye is rather quick,
She pointed to a bough, and said,
“I am quite sure that is our stick;
Just look how crooked it is, and thick.”
Said I, “Why, what a burning shame!
I am quite sure of that stick too;
They've stolen our nest while we've been out,—
The job we had to make it do!—
The work to break that stick in two!”
I am quite sure of that stick too;
They've stolen our nest while we've been out,—
The job we had to make it do!—
The work to break that stick in two!”
Said she, “We've but been gone six hours,
And when we went I didn't see
A nest upon that branch at all;
There's no doubt who the thieves can be,
Through its being built so suddenly.
And when we went I didn't see
A nest upon that branch at all;
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Through its being built so suddenly.
“It took us days, and we went miles
To fetch those rafters, joists, and beams.”
I said, “My dear, you scarce could sleep;
I've heard you mutter in your dreams,
‘Oh what hard work this building seems!’
To fetch those rafters, joists, and beams.”
I said, “My dear, you scarce could sleep;
I've heard you mutter in your dreams,
‘Oh what hard work this building seems!’
“Looked on you with a loving eye,
When other Rooks have been at strife,
And thought, ‘Ere we fight may I die;’
For I believe, my own dear wife,
No Rook e'er had a better life.”
When other Rooks have been at strife,
And thought, ‘Ere we fight may I die;’
For I believe, my own dear wife,
No Rook e'er had a better life.”
She put her horny beak to mine,
I saw the tear stand in her eye,
I pressed her head against my wing,
And said, while wiping her cheek dry,
“We now will raise a hue and cry.”
I saw the tear stand in her eye,
I pressed her head against my wing,
And said, while wiping her cheek dry,
“We now will raise a hue and cry.”
Loud as we could we called, “Police!”
Didn't we give a deafening caw?
They came, we told them all our wrongs;
And when the stolen nest they saw,
Didn't they pitch the thieves the law?
Didn't we give a deafening caw?
They came, we told them all our wrongs;
And when the stolen nest they saw,
Didn't they pitch the thieves the law?
The rookery rang with cry of “Thieves!”
The police pecked them with their beaks,
They struck them with their great black wings
About their noses, eyes, and cheeks,
Till they were black and blue for weeks.
The police pecked them with their beaks,
They struck them with their great black wings
About their noses, eyes, and cheeks,
Till they were black and blue for weeks.
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They chased them from the rookery,
And said, “If ever you come here
Again the longest day you live,
Or near our neighbourhood appear,
We will you into pieces tear.”
And said, “If ever you come here
Again the longest day you live,
Or near our neighbourhood appear,
We will you into pieces tear.”
The police Rooks then set to work
And built us up another nest,
And in it we live happily;
With little Rooks we now are blest,
And grandmother's at times our guest.
And built us up another nest,
And in it we live happily;
With little Rooks we now are blest,
And grandmother's at times our guest.
We never let them go to play
With little, dirty, low-bred Rooks;
They sit for hours upon the boughs,
And I see that they mind their books,
While mother cleans our nest and cooks.
With little, dirty, low-bred Rooks;
They sit for hours upon the boughs,
And I see that they mind their books,
While mother cleans our nest and cooks.
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THE RAVEN.
I am a raven, and live alone;When my old woman's abroad
You never see me with any one;
I hate intruders near my abode.
I live for an hundred years or more,
And in that time what changes I see!
Why, an old man that's full fourscore
Is a mere child compared with me!
I've watched and seen a tall tree grown,
Then stood upon its branches high;
I've seen the woodman cut it down,
I know he now doth in it lie.
That small twig they buried him in,
I knew well in the days of old;
Knew when it scarcely reached my chin,
And wasn't three inches deep in mould.
In it I built, and reared my young,
Watched years of flowers pass away,
Saw all the birds die off that sung;
For years but seem to me a day.
Old men white as hoary rime,
I have seen dandled on the knee;
Have croaked to please them many a time,
Before they knew their A, B, C.
An hundred years is long to live,
Up in a tree so cold and high;
And often the shivers it does give me
When I haven't a thing about me dry.
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Neither blankets nor coals we get;
So I say, “Old woman, our wings let's fold,
And in spite of the weather,
Still cling together,
We've lived too long to fret.
We are not what we were of yore,
It takes longer to fly to yon cliff;
We can't do what we have done before,
Our joints are too old and stiff.
But we have been happy and blest,
In the summers long gone by,
When we watched our young in their nest,
And fed them, and taught them to fly.
Though they didn't all behave well to me:
I've had to fight with Ralph my son,
'Cause he would build in my old tree;
But I soon made the rascal run,
When I poked his cheek
With my horny beak—
He was forced to eat sop for a whole long week.”
Croak, croak, croak,
The thought of it makes me choke.
I wish my old wife had a warm cloak—
But I am growing too hoarse to speak.
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THE RESTLESS BIRD.
Although I do not know your name,Nor can I tell from whence you came,
Yet never such a restless fellow
Before wore suit of green and yellow.
A treasure would a footman be
Possessing thy agility.
A chirrup here, a chirrup there,
Seeming to come from everywhere.
Pray what's the matter with that fruit?
He jerks his head—it does not suit.
He does not like those trees in blossom,
But spreads his wings and flies across 'em,
Hops first on that bough, then on this,
And never doth his footing miss,
But down descends with step secure,
Knowing his eye and foot are sure.
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Another spring, no one knows where;
And now he seems to dance a jig
Upon that ever-bending twig;
And now he has another notion,
And with a soft and noiseless motion,
He on the topmost spray alights:
Another distant branch invites.
I plainly see he won't remain;
He spreads his wings and's off again,
And now he's on the old oak stump.
Thou'rt like a child at hop-step-and-jump,
That runs away and cries out “Whoop:”
A tumbler dashing through a hoop:
A girl that holds her head aside,
Shakes it, and pouts her lips in pride,
Then smiles and dances to herself:
All these and more, thou woodland elf;
There's nothing with thee to compare,
Nought like that ever-changing air;
That strut, that swagger, and that stare;
But oh! thou art as sweet a bird
As ever leaf or blossom stirred:
In vain I may search far and wide
For actions so diversified.
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THE CUCKOO.
“Cuckoo—cherry tree—
Come down and tell me
How many cherries hang
A-top of that old cherry tree.”
Old Song.
Come down and tell me
How many cherries hang
A-top of that old cherry tree.”
Old Song.
So did each tiny child first greet thee,
No matter where he chanced to meet thee;
It was enough thy voice to hear,
Whether thou wert remote or near;
And at that sound off all would run,
Shading their eyes from the bright sun,
As they looked up in every tree,
And strained to get a glance of thee,
While chanting that old melody.
Thy double note, thy summer tale,
Rang o'er each hill and lengthened vale;
Heard here, heard there, heard everywhere,
No trumpet-note more loud or clear.
The smallest child doth stare around,
Up at the sky, down at the ground;
Puzzled, and can't make out at all
From whence doth come thy summer call;
And how his eyes light up with glee,
When he that blue-gray bird doth see,
And then he crows out lustily
The legend of the cherry tree.
No matter where he chanced to meet thee;
It was enough thy voice to hear,
Whether thou wert remote or near;
And at that sound off all would run,
Shading their eyes from the bright sun,
As they looked up in every tree,
And strained to get a glance of thee,
While chanting that old melody.
Thy double note, thy summer tale,
Rang o'er each hill and lengthened vale;
Heard here, heard there, heard everywhere,
No trumpet-note more loud or clear.
The smallest child doth stare around,
Up at the sky, down at the ground;
Puzzled, and can't make out at all
From whence doth come thy summer call;
And how his eyes light up with glee,
When he that blue-gray bird doth see,
And then he crows out lustily
The legend of the cherry tree.
Such simple pleasures, children dear,
Will come in many an after year,
With memories of cheerful thought;
Will come upon you all unsought,
And with them no reproaches bring,
But pictures of remembered Spring;—
Of “meadows painted with delight,”
Stealing through pleasant dreams of night;
The tree, the path, the rustic stile,
When that song did the hour beguile;
When all beside was bright and still,
Save the cock crowing from the hill,
With answer from some distant grange:
Ay, many a scene and many a change
Will that voice so old and loud,
When heard in after years, unshroud;
Will bring back those who by your side
Walked with you through the valleys wide,
And memories of those who've died.
Will come in many an after year,
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Will come upon you all unsought,
And with them no reproaches bring,
But pictures of remembered Spring;—
Of “meadows painted with delight,”
Stealing through pleasant dreams of night;
The tree, the path, the rustic stile,
When that song did the hour beguile;
When all beside was bright and still,
Save the cock crowing from the hill,
With answer from some distant grange:
Ay, many a scene and many a change
Will that voice so old and loud,
When heard in after years, unshroud;
Will bring back those who by your side
Walked with you through the valleys wide,
And memories of those who've died.
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THE THRUSH.
Long before the peasant waketh,Breakfast the hungry Throstle taketh,
Nor what he eats much mindeth,
But picks up what he findeth.
A snail with shell so bony,
When placed upon a stone, he
Makes of his beak a hammer
And ere the snail can stammer,
“Oh, pray don't, if you please, sir!”
And goes down on his knees, for
To beg a little respite,
To which Thrush don't acquiesce quite;
33
Doth at the snail let go, sir,
That smashes up his household,
And makes the very mouse cold,
That witnesseth that murther.
Going a little further,
Thrush sees a worm out-peeping,
Between awake and sleeping.
Under his claw he sets him,
Till in his beak he gets him,
Saying to worm, “Now, steady,
And don't kick until I'm ready;
For if you bend and double,
You'll put yourself to trouble;
So better do it quietly,
For I can swallow you rightly;
And you are so smooth and brown, sir,
And so nicely will go down, sir;
Though I've swallowed many a score, sir,
Ne'er saw a finer worm before, sir,
So, by your leave, here goes, sir.”—
Then Thrush feels a pair of claws, sir,
For down a great hawk comes,
And takes him between his thumbs,
Saying, “I'm very hungry too, sir,
And have come to swallow you, sir!”
34
THE BITTERN.
I own I'm a most unsociable fellow,And that, like a bull cutting his teeth, I oft bellow.
The villagers tremble to hear my deep boom,
When the marsh and the fen are buried in gloom.
I know I have not the most musical voice,
But that was a matter in which I'd no choice;
And you need not any telling, of course,
That wading in rivers will make a bird hoarse.
I stand by the reeds near the river's green brink,
For hours by myself, and have a good think.
What do I think about? oh, many things,
But most of the changes that moving Time brings.
I think of the Bitterns that have gone before,
And of the deeds done by that old river shore;
For I belong to as ancient a race
As any you'll find in that reedy place.
Before England's green fields were fenced in with a hedge,
My ancestors boomed in the wild marshy sedge;
When nothing was seen but wood, mere, and wold,
And the roused bison bellowed in those forests old,
When the bear growled all day, and at night the wolf howled.
Then there was no man alive to affright,
No fire to redden the darksome midnight.
Rocked to sleep by the lapping of waves on the shore,
We were not then woke by the railway's deep roar.
Before Stonehenge was built, or before human sound
Had startled this island, we on it were found;
Ay, ages before the mailed Romans came,
Ere the white cliffs resounded with proud Cæsar's name;
35
And with golden hooks cut down the gray mistletoe.
I think of these things while I look on the ground—
Think the time will soon come when there will not be found
A Bittern alive if you search England round.
For I know I am nearly the last of my race,
And that few will be found to fill up my place,
And that soon there will be neither vestige nor trace
Of the Bitterns that boomed through long thousands of years.
Do please lend me something to dry up my tears.
36
SWALLOWS.
Over city, and village, and spire,
Over streets that look like streaks of fire,
With all their blazing lines of gas,
Over vast pathless swamps we pass;
Over the mountains, over the sea,
Through rain and sunshine, away go we.
No matter whether 'tis dark or light,
We fly by day, we fly by night.
The sea may roar, the wind may blow,
We can fly high, or we can fly low.
Sometimes when earth doth clouded lie,
We're soaring above in a sunny sky;
Sometimes through earth when wild winds roar,
We high above in calm air soar;
High above, in a sky as blue
As ever Summer overhead threw.
And when aloft the black clouds frown,
We find it clearer lower down,
And so go on our way together,
Dodging the wind and watching the weather.
There's nothing to run against in the sky,
No stoppage nor toll-gate where we fly.
You may boast about liberty,
Would you enjoy it, fly with me;
Look at the space spread every way,
Broad and open as the day.
Millions of miles around the earth,
Where Morn and Evening have birth,
We in our upward flight descry,
And thitherward we often fly;
Space beyond space we trembling see,
Still stretching out eternally.
Over streets that look like streaks of fire,
With all their blazing lines of gas,
Over vast pathless swamps we pass;
Over the mountains, over the sea,
Through rain and sunshine, away go we.
No matter whether 'tis dark or light,
We fly by day, we fly by night.
The sea may roar, the wind may blow,
We can fly high, or we can fly low.
Sometimes when earth doth clouded lie,
We're soaring above in a sunny sky;
Sometimes through earth when wild winds roar,
We high above in calm air soar;
High above, in a sky as blue
As ever Summer overhead threw.
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We find it clearer lower down,
And so go on our way together,
Dodging the wind and watching the weather.
There's nothing to run against in the sky,
No stoppage nor toll-gate where we fly.
You may boast about liberty,
Would you enjoy it, fly with me;
Look at the space spread every way,
Broad and open as the day.
Millions of miles around the earth,
Where Morn and Evening have birth,
We in our upward flight descry,
And thitherward we often fly;
Space beyond space we trembling see,
Still stretching out eternally.
I in green England love to build,
Where the sun my nest doth gild;
“Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state:”
There, far from the way of harm,
I build my nest, so snug and warm,
By the window, or under the eaves,
When Spring shoots out her first green leaves.
I plaster with my beak and breast—
No one helps me to build my nest.
I mix my mortar, carry it too,
For I have everything to do.
I have no scaffold on which to stand,
Haven't a trowel, haven't a hand;
With my claws I cling to the wall,
For if I didn't I should fall;
So I can't work with them at all.
Though my tail's very useful indeed,
When I press it down, so it had need.
At dawn of day my work I begin;
And plaster away with my breast and chin;
You may see my head move to and fro;
But not too much at a time I do;
I build about a good half inch—
I could do twice as much at a pinch;
For, you see, if I build too high,
And it didn't quickly dry,
There would be a terrible fall—
Down would come nest, and mud, and all;
And if it were in the street of a town,
Fetch some fellow a crack on the crown.
Then he would look up and hallo,
And say, “You're a nice sort of a Swallow,
To throw your dirt at me that way.”
So I build half an inch and then go play,
And leave it to dry until the next day.
Next morning I begin again,
Unless it should chance to rain;
Then I can't get on at all,
My work won't stick against the wall;
So I fly about river, town, and spire,
And wait until the weather is drier.
If every day I build up a row,
At the week's end I make a good show;
But right well my work I do.
This hint may be of use to you:
Do nothing slovenly nor ill;
Better be idle and sit still.
If you ask “Why?” the reason's plain,
Some one must do it over again.
Not to be careful is a sin!
Fancy my nest and young ones in,
And the whole lot to tumble down
On the hard pavement of the town,
And all because 'twas badly built!
On me alone would rest the guilt.
To think of such a thing is awful,
To do it would indeed be woful.
But let us talk of something else.
Where the sun my nest doth gild;
“Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state:”
There, far from the way of harm,
I build my nest, so snug and warm,
By the window, or under the eaves,
When Spring shoots out her first green leaves.
I plaster with my beak and breast—
No one helps me to build my nest.
I mix my mortar, carry it too,
For I have everything to do.
I have no scaffold on which to stand,
Haven't a trowel, haven't a hand;
38
For if I didn't I should fall;
So I can't work with them at all.
Though my tail's very useful indeed,
When I press it down, so it had need.
At dawn of day my work I begin;
And plaster away with my breast and chin;
You may see my head move to and fro;
But not too much at a time I do;
I build about a good half inch—
I could do twice as much at a pinch;
For, you see, if I build too high,
And it didn't quickly dry,
There would be a terrible fall—
Down would come nest, and mud, and all;
And if it were in the street of a town,
Fetch some fellow a crack on the crown.
Then he would look up and hallo,
And say, “You're a nice sort of a Swallow,
To throw your dirt at me that way.”
So I build half an inch and then go play,
And leave it to dry until the next day.
Next morning I begin again,
Unless it should chance to rain;
Then I can't get on at all,
My work won't stick against the wall;
So I fly about river, town, and spire,
And wait until the weather is drier.
If every day I build up a row,
At the week's end I make a good show;
But right well my work I do.
This hint may be of use to you:
39
Better be idle and sit still.
If you ask “Why?” the reason's plain,
Some one must do it over again.
Not to be careful is a sin!
Fancy my nest and young ones in,
And the whole lot to tumble down
On the hard pavement of the town,
And all because 'twas badly built!
On me alone would rest the guilt.
To think of such a thing is awful,
To do it would indeed be woful.
But let us talk of something else.
Often at night I poke out my head,
And watch the dear children put to bed,
Saying their prayers, all in a row,
And think my little ones may do so:
Stand all in a row and twitter His praise
Who to man and bird His goodness displays.
I know they will twitter on the eaves
When Summer is clad in her longest leaves;
That He will help when help is needed,
Who's promised “not one shall fall unheeded,”
Though but a poor Swallow, “upon the ground.”
And in this knowledge I've comfort found,
When winging my way o'er the pathless sea,
Knowing His eye was fixed on me;
Knowing that He who watches on high,
Will guard my young ones when they fly;
That there's no object, however small,
But what He guards who seeth us all.
And watch the dear children put to bed,
Saying their prayers, all in a row,
And think my little ones may do so:
Stand all in a row and twitter His praise
Who to man and bird His goodness displays.
I know they will twitter on the eaves
When Summer is clad in her longest leaves;
That He will help when help is needed,
Who's promised “not one shall fall unheeded,”
Though but a poor Swallow, “upon the ground.”
And in this knowledge I've comfort found,
When winging my way o'er the pathless sea,
Knowing His eye was fixed on me;
Knowing that He who watches on high,
Will guard my young ones when they fly;
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But what He guards who seeth us all.
When Autumn comes, in thousands we meet,
And keep up for days a twitter tweet tweet,
Where willows do give a silver shiver,
When stirred by the wind beside the river;
Where marshes spread out and banks rise in ridges,
And under and round the arches of bridges,
There do we in thousands assemble,
Making the branches we 'light on tremble,
And keeping up such a continual chatter,
That people turn round to see what's the matter.
Let a fair wind come, and away go we,
Over the mountains, over the sea,
To a land where the sun doth brightly shine.
But I say to those little Swallows of mine,
“The land where I reared you is dearer than all,”
And I teach them green England their home to call.
And we pine and sigh till the flowery Spring
Doth us backward again to dear England bring,
In our old haunts to build and sing.
I've no more to say;
The wind changed to-day,
So over the sea I must away.
And keep up for days a twitter tweet tweet,
Where willows do give a silver shiver,
When stirred by the wind beside the river;
Where marshes spread out and banks rise in ridges,
And under and round the arches of bridges,
There do we in thousands assemble,
Making the branches we 'light on tremble,
And keeping up such a continual chatter,
That people turn round to see what's the matter.
Let a fair wind come, and away go we,
Over the mountains, over the sea,
To a land where the sun doth brightly shine.
But I say to those little Swallows of mine,
“The land where I reared you is dearer than all,”
And I teach them green England their home to call.
And we pine and sigh till the flowery Spring
Doth us backward again to dear England bring,
In our old haunts to build and sing.
I've no more to say;
The wind changed to-day,
So over the sea I must away.
41
THE WATER WAGTAIL.
The smallest bird that walks am I,
You know me by my wagging tail,
And my piercing round black eye;
Through frost, through snow, through rain or hail,
I stay here all the winter through,
And that is more than some birds do.
You know me by my wagging tail,
And my piercing round black eye;
Through frost, through snow, through rain or hail,
I stay here all the winter through,
And that is more than some birds do.
Where water is, there you'll find me,
For insects are in plenty there;
And no bird can them sooner see.
The coldest day in all the year
I can contrive to find a meal,
When the black frost cuts like steel.
For insects are in plenty there;
And no bird can them sooner see.
The coldest day in all the year
I can contrive to find a meal,
When the black frost cuts like steel.
You never see me hop, hop, hop,
As if my legs were tied together,
But one foot at a time I drop,
As if I wore real patent leather.
I stride out like a grenadier,
Right, left, quick march, and I am here.
As if my legs were tied together,
But one foot at a time I drop,
As if I wore real patent leather.
I stride out like a grenadier,
Right, left, quick march, and I am here.
I often peck about a pump,
And laugh to see the birds hop round;
Like men tied in a sack they jump,
With both their stiff legs off the ground,
Whilst I step out with my one, two,
And time my steps as well as you.
And laugh to see the birds hop round;
Like men tied in a sack they jump,
With both their stiff legs off the ground,
Whilst I step out with my one, two,
And time my steps as well as you.
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We Wagtails oft turn out for drill,
And are put in the awkward squad,
If we do our duty ill;
“Eyes right, toes out, heels in, my lad,”
Is our old drill sergeant's cry,
And if we don't keep time, oh, my!
Won't he in a passion fly!
And are put in the awkward squad,
If we do our duty ill;
“Eyes right, toes out, heels in, my lad,”
Is our old drill sergeant's cry,
And if we don't keep time, oh, my!
Won't he in a passion fly!
43
THE PEACOCK.
Saw ye ever in a large crowdAny one that looked half so proud?
He walks by measure, he strides by jerks,
This way and that his head he perks;
And then, O dear, those dreadful screams!
But may be he's not so proud as he seems.
I'd be a lark and soar on high,
Soar and sing in the clear blue sky,
Sooner than sit on a pillar all day,
By some ancient hall that through age is gray,
Uttering that most horrible cry:
And yet—and yet—I know not why.
After all he has some cause to be vain;
Look when he spreads his gaudy train!
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All dappled round with richest dyes;
There is not a lady in the land
Attired so rich, nor jewelled so grand.
Never did queen such colours unfold,
Such sun-dyed purple, green, and gold.
Oh, yes, he has some cause to be vain—
So would you, Miss, with such a train.
Look how richly the colours run in—
You can't tell where they end or begin;
So close they all together blend,
As if they'd neither beginning nor end.
If he were a lark, oh, my eye!
What a dash he would make in the sky!
When all his colours he did reveal,
He would go up like a Catherine wheel,
Like rainbows flying, bars of gold,
Purple and silver, and green unrolled;
And all the rich colours together run,
You wouldn't be able to see in the sun,
Unless you'd an Ugly over your eyes,
He would dazzle you so with his gaudy dyes.
45
THE GREEN WOODPECKER.
If you want a workman, come and seeHow I make my hole in a large old tree.
No shipwright's auger can be found
To bore it more true, and clean, and round.
You couldn't count the bobs of my head,
When I make the hole where my young are bred.
I hold by my claws, and I peck away,
And do a good deal in the course of a day;
For I tell you I'm not to be caught by a knot,
But when I come to one look for another spot.
When hungry, I go where insects throng,
And just put out my long sticky tongue,
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I draw it in quick, they cry, “Oh dear!”
And, “Bless me, how soon we are all here!”
They may wriggle and twist, it's no use at all,
Nor they can't be heard if for help they call.
If by my house you happen to roam,
And would like to know if I'm at home,
Just poke your finger into my nest,
I'm always up and ready drest;
And if you shouldn't happen to squeak,
You'll know I'm somewhere else with my beak.
Before my young ones can fly, you may see
Them chase one another all up a high tree;
Up and up, and down and down,
Without a slip or a crack of the crown.
They cry out, “Mother, here we go!”
Then they set off all in a row.
Their claws are sharp as those of a cat,
So they don't fall, they're too sharp for that.
With my head out of my hole I sit,
And sometimes laugh myself into a fit.
But if a martin or hawk they see,
Oh, don't they come scuttling home to me!
It's pretty to see them run here and there,
Then scamper off in terrible fear;
Although perhaps there was nothing at all,
Except a dried leaf that happened to fall.
But oh! I am happy when under each wing
For warmth I feel them close to me cling;
And sometimes hear one say to another,
“Don't talk so loud or you'll waken mother,”—
Just as a sister would to a brother.
47
THE NIGHTINGALE.
To hear the Nightingale's sweet lay,
Go listen in the moonlight hours,
When 'neath the overhanging spray
You cannot see the folded flowers;
For it is then a pleasant time
To hear that ancient minstrel's rhyme.
Go listen in the moonlight hours,
When 'neath the overhanging spray
You cannot see the folded flowers;
For it is then a pleasant time
To hear that ancient minstrel's rhyme.
Oh, how it cheers the woodland gloom,
And gives a voice unto the night!
The fragrance from the hidden bloom
Comes on us like a new delight;
And the calm clouds upon the sky
Like flocks at rest appear to lie.
And gives a voice unto the night!
The fragrance from the hidden bloom
Comes on us like a new delight;
And the calm clouds upon the sky
Like flocks at rest appear to lie.
The Guider of the morning star
Drives quicker up the opening east,
And leaning from his golden car,
His ear with melody doth feast;
Before the rosy gates of day
Swing wide, and scareth thee away.
Drives quicker up the opening east,
And leaning from his golden car,
His ear with melody doth feast;
Before the rosy gates of day
Swing wide, and scareth thee away.
And that sweet song was heard on earth
When long-haired Eve in Eden dwelt;
Ere Sin to Death had given birth;
When Cain in innocence still knelt,
With folded hands each morn to pray,
By Abel's side at dawn of day.
When long-haired Eve in Eden dwelt;
Ere Sin to Death had given birth;
When Cain in innocence still knelt,
With folded hands each morn to pray,
By Abel's side at dawn of day.
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Spring treads upon the skirt of June;
When Summer comes in darker green,
Then we no longer hear that tune,
The Nightingale is nowhere seen;
For she doth make but little stay—
A few sweet songs, and then away.
When Summer comes in darker green,
Then we no longer hear that tune,
The Nightingale is nowhere seen;
For she doth make but little stay—
A few sweet songs, and then away.
49
THE SKYLARK.
Beautiful bird! thou soarest merrily
On wings which time thy music's silver flow,
Which rolls across the flowery-sprinkled lea,
And echoes o'er the hill's wood-waving brow,
Along the river, that reflects the sky,
And thee, thou warbling speck, deep mirrored from on high.
On wings which time thy music's silver flow,
Which rolls across the flowery-sprinkled lea,
And echoes o'er the hill's wood-waving brow,
Along the river, that reflects the sky,
And thee, thou warbling speck, deep mirrored from on high.
The broad unbounded sky is all thine own,
The silvery-sheeted heaven thy wide domain;
No landmark there, no hand to pull thee down,
Sole monarch of the blue expanding plain.
To thee is airy space far stretching given,
The vast unmeasured floor of the wide wind-swept heaven.
The silvery-sheeted heaven thy wide domain;
No landmark there, no hand to pull thee down,
Sole monarch of the blue expanding plain.
To thee is airy space far stretching given,
The vast unmeasured floor of the wide wind-swept heaven.
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Thou lovest to sing alone above the dews,
Leaving the nightingale to cheer the night,
When rides the moon, chasing the shadowy hues
From the dark trees; thou lovest best the light,
To quit the daisies and be with the sun,
Looking on hill and dale, where rippling rivers run.
Leaving the nightingale to cheer the night,
When rides the moon, chasing the shadowy hues
From the dark trees; thou lovest best the light,
To quit the daisies and be with the sun,
Looking on hill and dale, where rippling rivers run.
Now thou hast vanished, singing from my sight;
So must this earth be lost to eyes of thine.
Around thee is illimitable light;
Thou gazest down, and all appears to shine
Bright as above. Thine is a glorious way,
Pavilioned all around with golden-spreading day.
So must this earth be lost to eyes of thine.
Around thee is illimitable light;
Thou gazest down, and all appears to shine
Bright as above. Thine is a glorious way,
Pavilioned all around with golden-spreading day.
And thou hast gone, perchance, to catch the sound
Of angel voices, heard far up the sky;
And to thy mate, low nestling on the ground,
Wilt teach the songs which thou brought'st from on high;
Then both ascend and carol o'er the bowers,
Where the wild roses wave, and the bees sip the flowers.
Of angel voices, heard far up the sky;
And to thy mate, low nestling on the ground,
Wilt teach the songs which thou brought'st from on high;
Then both ascend and carol o'er the bowers,
Where the wild roses wave, and the bees sip the flowers.
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