ON BIRDS BUILDING THEIR NESTS.
A THOUSAND bills are busy now, the skies
Are winnow'd by a thousand fluttering wings,
While all the feather'd race their annual rites,
Ardent, begin, and choose where best to build,
With more than human skill. Some, cautious, seek
Sequester'd spots; while some, more confident,
Scarce ask a covert. Wiser, these elude
The foes that pray upon their several kinds;
Those to the hedge repair, with velvet down
Of budding sallows beautifully white.
The cavern-loving Wren sequester'd seeks
The verdant shelter of the hollow stump,
And with congenial moss, harmless deceit !
Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs,
The glossy Raven, and the hoarse-voiced Crow,
Rock'd by the storm, erect their airy nests.
The Ouzel, lone frequenter of the grove
Of fragrant pines, in solemn depth of shade Finds rest; or, 'mid the holly's shining leaves A simple bush the piping Thrush contents,Though in the woodland concert he aloft
Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,
And scorns the humbler quire. The Lark, too, asks
A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf,
Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof;—
Songster of heaven! who to the sun such lays
Pours forth as earth ne'er owns. Within the hedge
The Sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs; the barn,
With eaves o'erpendent, holds the chattering tribe.
Secret the Linnet seeks the tangled copse:
And the white Owl some antique, ruin'd wall,
Fearless of rapine, or in hollow trees,
Which age has cavern'd, safely courts repose.
The thievish Pie, in two-fold colours clad, [twigs,
Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreathed
And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads
The talon'd kite or pouncing hawk, savage
Herself: with craft suspicion ever dwells.
IN painted plumes superbly dress'd, A native of the gorgeous East,
By many a billow toss'd;
Poll gains at length the British shore,
Part of the captain's precious store,
A present to his toast.
Belinda's maids are soon preferr'd
To teach him now and then a word,
As Poll can master it;
But 't is her own important charge,
To qualify him more at large,
And make him quite a wit.
"Sweet Poll!" his doating mistress cries, "Sweet Poll!" the mimic bird replies, And calls aloud for sack.
She next instructs him in the kiss ; 'Tis now a little one, like Miss ; And now a hearty smack.
At first he aims at what he hears;
And, listening close with both his ears,
Just catches at the sound;
But soon articulates aloud,
Much to the amazement of the crowd,
And stuns the neighbours round.
A querulous old woman's voice
His humourous talent next employs ;
He scolds, and gives the lie.
And now he sings, and now is sick,
Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick,
Poor Poll is like to die!"
Belinda and her bird! 't is rare
To meet with such a well-match'd pair,
The language and the tone,
Each character in every part
Sustain'd with so much grace and art,
And both in unison.
When children first begin to spell,
And stammer out a syllable,
We think them tedious creatures;
But difficulties soon abate,
When birds are to be taught to prate,
And women are the teachers.
THE lark sings for joy on his own loved land, In the furrow'd fields, by the breezes fann'd ; And so revel we,
In the furrow'd sea,
As joyous and glad as the lark can be.
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