University of Virginia Library

BIRDS.

THE SWALLOW.
Swallow, why homeward turn'd thy joyful wing?
—In a far land I heard the voice of Spring;
I found myself that moment on the way;
My wings, my wings, they had not power to stay.

SKYLARKS.
What hand lets fly the skylark from his rest?
—That which detains his mate upon the nest;
Love sends him soaring to the fields above;
She broods below, all bound with cords of love.

THE CUCKOO.
Why art thou always welcome, lonely bird?
—The heart grows young again when I am heard;
Nor in my double note the magic lies,
But in the fields, the woods, the streams, and skies.

THE RED-BREAST.
Familiar warbler, wherefore art thou come?
—To sing to thee, when all beside are dumb;
Pray let thy little children drop a crumb.

THE SPARROW.
Sparrow, the gun is levell'd, quit that wall.
—Without the will of Heaven I cannot fall.

THE RING-DOVE.
Art thou the bird that saw the waters cease?
—Yes, and brought home the olive-leaf of peace;
Henceforth I haunt the woods of thickest green,
Pleased to be often heard, but seldom seen.

THE NIGHTINGALE.
Minstrel, what makes thy song so sad, so sweet?
—Love, love; there, agony and rapture meet:
O 'tis the dream of happiness, to feign
Sorrow in joy, and wring delight from pain!

THE WATER-WAGTAIL.
What art thou made of,—air, or light, or dew?
—I have no time to tell you, if I knew;
My tail,—ask that,—perhaps may solve the matter;
I've miss'd three flies already by this chatter.

THE WREN.
Wren, canst thou squeeze into a hole so small?
—Ay, with nine nestlings too, and room for all;
Go, compass sea and land in search of bliss,
Then tell me if you find a happier home than this.

THE THRUSH.
Thrush, thrush, have mercy on thy little bill.
—“I play to please myself, albeit ill;”
And yet, but how it comes I cannot tell,
My singing pleases all the world as well.

THE BLACKBIRD.
Well done!—they're noble notes, distinct and strong;
Yet more variety might mend the song.
—Is there another bird that chants like me?
My pipe gives all the grove variety.

THE BULLFINCH.
Bully, what fairy warbles in thy throat?
—Oh! for the freedom of my own wild note!
Art has enthrall'd my voice; I strive in vain
To break the “linked sweetness” of my chain;
Love, joy, rage, grief, ring one melodious strain.

THE GOLDFINCH.
Live with me, love me, pretty goldfinch, do!
—Ay, pretty maid, and be a slave to you;
Wear chains, fire squibs, draw water,—nay, not I,
While I've a bill to peck, or wing to fly.

THE STONE-CHAT.
Why art thou ever flitting to and fro?
—Plunge through these whins, their thorns will let thee know.
There are five secrets brooding here in night,
Which my good mate will duly bring to light;
Meanwhile she sees the ants around her throng,
And hears the grasshopper chirp all day long.

THE GREY LINNET.
Linnet, canst thou not change that humble coat?
Linnet, canst thou not mellow that sharp note?
—If rude my song, and mean my garb appear,
Have you, sir, eyes to see, or ears to hear?

THE RED LINNET.
Sweet is thy warble, beautiful thy plume!
—Catch me, and cage me, then behold my doom;
My throat will fail, my colour wane away,
And the red linnet soon become a grey.

THE CHAFFINCH.

THE CANARY.
Dost thou not languish for thy father-land,
Madeira's fragrant woods and billowy strand?
—My cage is father-land enough for me;
Your parlour all the world,—heaven, earth, and sea.

THE TOMTIT.
Least, nimblest, merriest bird of Albion's isle,
I cannot look on thee without a smile.
—I envy thee the sight, for all my glee
Could never yet extort a smile from me;
Think what a tiresome thing my life must be.

THE SWIFT.
Why ever on the wing, or perch'd elate?
—Because I fell not from my first estate;
This is my charter for the boundless skies,
“Stoop not to earth, on pain no more to rise.”

THE KING-FISHER.
Why dost thou hide thy beauty from the sun?
—The eye of man, but not of Heaven, I shun;
Beneath the mossy bank, with alders crown'd,
I build and brood where running waters sound;
There, there the halcyon peace may still be found.

THE WOODLARK.
Thy notes are silenced, and thy plumage mew'd;
Say, drooping minstrel, both shall be renew'd.
—Voice will return,—I cannot choose but sing;
Yet liberty alone can plume my wing;
Oh! give me that!—I will not, cannot fly
Within a cage less ample than the sky;
Then shalt thou hear, as if an angel sung,
Unseen in air, heaven's music from my tongue:
Oh! give me that!—I cannot rest at ease
On meaner perches than the forest trees;
There, in thy walk, while evening shadows roll,
My song shall melt into thine inmost soul;
But, till thou let thy captive bird depart,
The sweetness of my strain shall wring thy heart.

THE COCK.
Who taught thee, chanticleer, to count the clock?
—Nay, who taught man that lesson but the cock?
Long before wheels and bells had learn'd to chime,
I told the steps unseen, unheard, of time.

THE JACK-DAW.
Canst thou remember that unlucky day,
When all thy peacock-plumes were pluck'd away?
—Remember it?—believe me, that I can,
With right good cause, for I was then a man!
And for my folly, by a wise old law,
Stript, whipt, tarr'd, feather'd, turn'd into a daw:
—Pray, how d'ye like my answer? Caw, caw, caw!

THE BAT.
What shall I call thee,—bird, or beast, or neither?
—Just what you will; I'm rather both than either;
Much like the season when I whirl my flight,
The dusk of evening,—neither day nor night.

THE OWL.

ROOKS.
What means that riot in your citadel?
Be honest, peaceable, like brethren dwell.
—How, while we live so near to man, can life
Be any thing but knavery, noise, and strife?

THE JAY.
Thou hast a crested poll, a scutcheon'd wing,
Fit for a herald of the eagle king,
But such a voice! I would that thou couldst sing!
—My bill has tougher work,—to scream for fright,
And then, when screaming will not do, to bite.

THE PEACOCK.
Peacock! of idle beauty why so vain?
—And art thou humble, who hast no proud train?
It is not vanity, but Nature's part,
To show, by me, the cunning of her art.

THE SWAN.
Sing me, fair swan, that song which poets dream.
—Stand thou an hundred years beside this stream,
Then may'st thou hear, perchance, my latest breath
“Create a soul beneath the ribs of death.”

THE PHEASANT.
Pheasant, forsake the country, come to town;
I'll warrant thee a place beneath the crown.
—No; not to roost upon the throne, would I
Renounce the woods, the mountains, and the sky.

THE RAVEN.
Thin is thy plumage, death is in thy croak;
Raven, come down from that majestic oak.
—When I was hatch'd, my father set this tree,
An acorn; and its fall I hope to see,
A century after thou hast ceased to be.

THE PARROT.
Camest thou from India, popinjay,—and why?
—To make thy children open ear and eye,
Gaze on my feathers, wonder at my talk,
And think 'tis almost time for Poll to walk.

THE MAGPIE.
Magpie, thou too hast learn'd by rote to speak
Words without meaning, through thy uncouth beak.
—Words have I learn'd? and without meaning too?
No wonder, sir, for I was taught by you.

THE CORN-CRAKE.
Art thou a sound, and nothing but a sound?
—Go round the field, and round the field, and round,
You'll find my voice for ever changing ground;
And while your ear pursues my creaking cry,
You look as if you heard it with your eye.

THE STORK.
Stork, why were human virtues given to thee?
—That human beings might resemble me;
Kind to my offspring, to my partner true,
And duteous to my parents,—what are you?

THE WOODPECKER.
Rap, rap, rap, rap, I hear thy knocking bill,
Then thy strange outcry, when the woods are still.
—Thus am I ever labouring for my bread,
And thus give thanks to find my table spread.

THE HAWK.

VULTURES.
Abominable harpies! spare the dead.
—We only clear the field which man has spread;
On which should Heaven its hottest vengeance rain?
You slay the living, we but strip the slain.

THE HUMMING-BIRD.
Art thou a bird, or bee, or butterfly?
—Each and all three.—A bird in shape am I,
A bee collecting sweets from bloom to bloom,
A butterfly in brilliancy of plume.

THE EAGLE.
Art thou the king of birds, proud eagle, say?
—I am; my talons and my beak bear sway;
A greater king than I if thou wouldst be,
Govern thy tongue, but let thy thoughts be free.

THE PELICAN.
Bird of the wilderness, what is thy name?
—The pelican!—go, take the trump of fame,
And if thou give the honour due to me,
The world may talk a little more of thee.

THE HERON.
Stock-still upon that stone, from day to day,
I see thee watch the river for thy prey.
—Yes, I'm the tyrant here; but when I rise,
The well-train'd falcon braves me in the skies:
Then comes the tug of war, of strength and skill;
He dies, impaled on my updarted bill,
Or, powerless in his grasp, my doom I meet,
Dropt as a trophy at his master's feet.

THE BIRD OF PARADISE.

THE OSTRICH.
Hast thou expell'd the mother from thy breast,
And to the desert's mercies left thy nest?
—Ah! no; the mother in me knows her part:
Yon glorious sun is warmer than my heart;
And when to light he brings my hungry brood,
He spreads for them the wilderness with food.