7 V ••■>: V ^ -:>'Z )^ 2. [|LIBRARY OF CONGRESS J* ^W^ .^. ., 3^^ ;^">?^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, t '^ 2] > > > > ^>-^ •— ^>^> > :» 5^ y> >:>^ » 3^ y^ _> >:>3 >3 > r^> ^ >:> > 3 > > r> > i\ :> 3 :4c O J)) ~ -> > 2» ~" > :> >> J » -^ ^s> J> k / THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND Per virides passim ramos sua tecta volucres Concelebrant, mulcentque vagis loca sola querelis. Buchanan. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. WITH OTHER POEMS / BY JAMES GRAHAME, Author of * the Sabbath,^ ^c n t i ' f PHILADELPHIA : PUBLISHED BY S. F. BRADFORD, Ko. 4, South Third Street, 1807. PREFACE JlN the first of the following poems, I have endeavoured to delineate the manners and characters of Birds. Their exter- nal appearance I have not attempted to describe, unless some- times by very slight and hasty touches. What I have written is the result of my own observation. When I consulted books, my object was not information so much as correction ; but as in these pages I have not often travelled beyond the limits of my own knowledge, and as my attention, from my early years, lias been insensibly directed to the subject, I may, without arrogance, assert, that when I did consult books, I very seldom found myself either corrected or informed. Considered ^s objects of mere amusement and amenity to man, liow interesting are the birds of the air ! How various their appearances, their manners, and habits ! How constantly do they present themselves to the eye, and to the ear ! While the other wild animals are obliged to seek for safety in conceal- ment, the wings of Birds are to them a strong tower of defence. To that defence are we indebted for' tlie fearlessness with which they sit, displaying their beauteous plumes, and war- bling their melodious notes. And what were the woods, with- out the woodland song, or the field, uncheered by the aerial notes of the lark ! With the descriptions of Birds, I have interspersed deline- ations of the scenes which they frequent ; and, under that head, I have hazarded some observations on the present mode of laying out grounds. Some opinions which I have shortly. PREFACE. and perhaps crudely, advanced, are copiously and feelingly discussed in a book which every landholder ought to peruse — 1 mean, Price's " Essay on the Picturesque." The Birds of Scotland (a title, the promise of which I am sensible is more extensive than the performance) I venture to lay before the Public, not as, by any means, a complete work- I offer it not as a treatise, but an essay. It is defective, I am aware, in the general plan, as well as in the different parts. Neither do I give it as a scientific performance : I have studied not so much to convey knowledge, as to please the imagina- tion, and warm the heart. Some of the months in The Rural Calendar appeared in a newspaper (the Kelso Mail) about nine or ten years ago. I have since made several additions and corrections ; but I lay the poem before the Public, rather as a faithful sketch, than as a full or finished delineation of the progress of the year. CONTENTS. Page The Birds of Scotland, Part I 9 -Part II 35 Part III 41 Notes to the Birds of Scotland, * . . . . 51 The Rural Calendar, 83 To a Readbreast, that flew in at my window, 100 Epitaph on a Blackbird, killed by a Hawk, 101 To England, on the Slave-trade, 101 The Thanksgiving oif Cape Trafalgar, 103 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND PART FIRST. The woodland song, the various vocal quires, That harmonize fair Scotia's streamy vales ; Their habitations, and their little joys j The winged dwellers on the leas, and moors. And mountain cliffs ; the woods, the streams, themselves. The sweetly rural, and the savage scene, — ^T tW -A^^^^'tJ^v Haunts of the plumy tribes, — be these my theme ! Come, Fancy, hover high as eagle's wing : 'S Bend thy keen eye o'er Scotland's hills and dales ^^'^-'">-^-- Float o'er her farthest isles ; glance o'er the main j Or, in this briery dale, flit with the wren. From twig to twig ; or, on the grassy ridge. Low nestle with the lark. Thou, simple bird. Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home The humblest ; yet thy morning song ascends Nearest to heaven> — sweet emblem of his song,* Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side ! With earliest spring, while yet the wheaten blade Scarce shoots above the new-fallen shower of snow. The skylark's note, in short excursion, warbles ; Burns. B \\\ 10 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Yes ! even amid the day-obscuring" fall, I've marked his wing winnow^ing- the feathery flakes, In widely-circling" horizontal flig'ht. But, when the season genial smiles, he towers In loftier poise, with sweeter fuller pipe, Chearing- the ploughman at his furrow end, — The while he clears the share, or, listening, leans Upon his paddle-stafF, and, with raised hand, Shadovv^s his half-shut eyes, striving to scan The songster melting' in the flood of light. On tree, or bush, no Lark was ever seen : The daisied lea he loves, where tufts of grass Luxuriant crown the ridge ; there, with his mate. He founds their lowly house, of withered bents. And coarsest speargrass ; next, the inner work With finer and still finer fibres lays. Rounding it curious with his speckled breast. How strange this untaught art ! it is the gift. The gift innate of Him, without whose will Not even a sparrow falleth to the ground. And now the assiduous dam her red-specked treasure From day to day increases, till complete The wonted number, blythe, beneath her breast, She cherishes from morn to eve, — from eve To morn shields from the dew, that globuled lies Upon her mottled plumes : then with the dawn Upsprings her mate, and wakes her with his song. His song full well she knows, even when the sun. High in his morning course, is hailed at once By all the lofty warblers of the sky : But most his downward- veering song she loves ; Slow the descent at first ; then, by degrees, Qiiick, and more quick, till suddenly the note Ceases ; and, like an arrow-fledge, he darts. And, softly lighting, perches by her side. But now no time for hovering welkin high. Or downward-gliding strain ; the young have chipped. Have burst the brittle cage, and gaping bills THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 11 Claim all the labour of the parent pair. v - Ah, labour vain ! the herd-boy long" has marked His future prize ; the ascent, and glad return. Too oft he viewed ; at last, with prying" eyes. He found tlie spot, and joyful thought he held The full-ripe young already in his hand. Or bore them lightly to his broom-roofed bield : Even now he sits, amid the rushy mead. Half-hid, and warps the skep with willow rind. Or round the lid, still adding* coil to coil, Then joins the osier hinge : the work complete Surveying-, oft he turns, and much admires. Complacent with himself -, then hies away With plundering intent. Ah, little think The harmless family of love, how near The robber treads ! he stoops, and parts the grass, And looks with eager eye upon his prey. Qiiick round and round the parents fluttering wheel, Now high, now low, and utter shrill the plaint "^-^ Of deep distress. — But soon forgot their wo ! ^^^ Not so with man ; year after 3 ear he mourns. Year after year the mother weeps her son. Torn from her struggling arms by ruffian grasp, By robbery legalised. Low in a glen, T^^.^'^j. . Down which a little stream had furrowed deep, ' 'Tween meeting birchen boughs, a shelvy channel, And brawling mingled with the western tide ; Far up that stream, almost beyond the roar Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the rocks With furious dash, a lowly dwelling lurked. Surrounded by a circlet of the stream. Before the wattled door, a greensward plat. With daisies gay, pastured a playful lamb ; A pebbly path, deep-worn, led up the hill. Winding among the trees, by wheel untouched, Save when the winter fuel was brought home, — One of the poor man's yearly festivals. K 12 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. On every side it was a sheltered spot. So hig-h and suddenly the woody steeps Arose. One only way, downward the stream. Just o'er the hollow, 'tween the meeting boughs. The distant wave was seen, with, now and then, The glimpse of passing sail ; but, when the breeze Crested the distant wave, this little nook Was all so calm, that, on the limberest spray, The sweet bird chaunted motionless, the leaves At times scarce fluttering. Here dwelt a pair. Poor, humble, and content : one son alone, Their William, happy lived at home, to bless Their downward years ; he, simple youth. With boyish fondness, fancied he would love A seamen's life, and with the fishers sailed. To try their ways, far 'mong the western isles. Far as Saint-Kilda's rock-walled shore abrupt. O'er which he saw ten thousand pinions wheel Confused, dimming the sky. These dreary shores Gladly he left ; he had a homeward heart : No more his wishes wander to the waves. But still he loves to cast a backward look, And tell of all he saw, of all he learned ; Of pillared StafiTa, lone lona's isle, Where Scotland's kings are laid ; of Lewis, Sky, And of the mainland mountain-circled lochs ^ And he would sing the rowers' timing chaunt. And chorus wild. Once on a summer's eve. When low the sun behind the liighland hills Was almost set, he sung that song, to cheer The aged folks : upon the inverted quern The father sat ; the mother's spindle hung Forgot, and backward twirled the half-spun thread; Listening with partial well-pleased look, she gazed Upon her son, and inly blessed the Lord, That he was safe returned. Sudden a noise Bursts rushing through the trees ; a glance of steel Dazzles the eye, and fierce the savage band THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Glare all around, then single out their prey. In vain the mother clasps her darling boy, In vain the sire offers their little all : William is bound j they follow to the shore. Implore, and weep, and pray ; knee-deep they stand, And view, in mute despair, the boat recede. 13 But let me quit this scene, and bend my way Back to the inland vales, and up the heights (Erst by the plough usurped) where now the heath. Thin scattered up and down, blooming begins To re-appear. Stillness, heart-soothing, reigns. Save, now and then, the partridge's late call^ Featly athwart the ridge she runs, now seen. Now in the furrow hid ; then, screaming, springs, -Joined by her mate, and to the grass-field flies : There, 'neath the blade, rudely she forms Her shallow nest, humble as is the lark's. But thrice more numerous her freckled store. Careful she turns them to her breast, and soft. With lightest pressure, sits, scarce to be moved ; Yes, she will sit, regardless of the scythe. That nearer, and still nearer, sweep by sweep, Levels the swath : bold with a mother's fears, She, faithful to the last, maintains her post. And, with her blood, sprinkles a deeper red Upon the falling blossoms of the field ; — While others, of her kind, content to haunt The upland ferny braes, remote from man. Behold a plenteous brood burst from tlie shell, And run ; but soon, poor helpless things, return. And crowd beneath the fond inviting breast, And wings outstretching, quivering with delight. They grow apace , but still not far they range, Till on their pinions plumes begin to shoot ; Then, by the wary parents led, they dare To skirt the earing crofts : at last, full fledged. They try their timorous wings, bending their flight Home to their natal spot, and pant amid the ferns. b2 1 14 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Oft by the side of sheep-fold, on the ground Bared by the frequent hoof, they love to lie And bask. O, I would never tire to look On such a scene of peacefulness as this ! But, nearer as I draw, with cautious step, Curious to mark their ways, at once alarmed. They spring; the startled lambs, with bickering haste. Flee to their mothers' side, and gaze around: Far o'er yon whins the covey wing their way, And^ wheeling round the broomy knoll, elude My following eye. Fear not, ye harmless race ! In me no longer shall ye find a foe. Even when each pulse beat high with bounding health. Ere yet the stream of life, in sluggish flow, Began to flag, and prematurely stop With ever-boding pause, even then my heart Was never in the sport ^ even then I felt. Pleasure from pain was pleasure much alloyed. Alas, he comes ! yes, yonder comes your foe. With sure determined eye, and in his hand The two-fold tube, formed for a double death. Full soon his spaniel, ranging far and wide. Will lead his footsteps to the very spot, The covert thick, in which, falsely secure, Ye lurking sit, close huddled, wing to wing : Yes, near and nearer still the spaniel draws. Retracing oft, and crossing oft his course. Till, all at once, scent-struck, with pendent tongue, And lifted paw, stiflTened, he panting stands. Forward, encouraged by the sportsman's voice. He hesitating creeps ; when, flush, the game Upsprings, and, from the levelled turning tubes, The glance, once and again, bursts through the smoke. Nor, 'mid the rigours of the wintry day. Does savage man the enfeebled pinion spare ; Then not for sport, but bread, with hawk-like eye. That needs no setter's aid, the fowler gaunt Roams in the snowv fields, and downward looks. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 15 Tracing the triple claw, tliat leads him on. Oft looking forward, to some thawing* spring. Where, 'mid the withered rushes, he discerns His destined prey ; sidelong he stooping steps. Wary, and, with a never-erring aim. Scatters the flock wide -fluttering in the snow ; — The purpled snow records the cruel deed. With earliest spring, while yet in mountain cleughs Linger the frozen wreath, when yeanling lambs. Upon the little heath-encircled patch Of smoothest sward, totter — the gorcock's call Is heard from out the mist, high on IfieTiill ; But not till when the tiny heather bud Appears are struck the spring-time leagues of love. Remote from shepherd's hut, or trampled fold. The new joined pair their lowly mansion pitch. Perhaps beneath the juniper's rough shoots ; Or castled on some plat of tufted heath. Surrounded by a narrow sable moat Of swampy moss. Within the fabric rude. Or e'er the new moon waxes to the full. The assiduous dam eight spotted spheroids sees. And feels beneath her heart, fluttering with joy. Nor long slie sits, |ill, with redoubled joy. Around her she beholds an active brood Run to and fro, or through her covering wings Their downy heads look out^ and much she loves To pluck the heather crops, not for herself. But for their little bills. Thus, by degrees. She teaches them to find the food which God Has spread for them amid the desart wild. And seeming barrenness. Now they essay Their full-plumed wings, and, whirring, spurn the ground^ But soon alight, fast by yon moss-grown cairn. Round which the berries blae (a beauteous tint Of purple, deeper dyed with darkest blue) Lurk 'mid the small round leaves. Enjoy the hour. While yet ye may, ye unoffending flock ! 1 16 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. For not far distant now the bloody morn. When men's protection, selfishly bestowed. Shall be withdrawn, and murder roam at will. Low in the east, the purple tinge of dawn Steals upward o'er the clouds that overhang The welkin's verge. Upon the mountain side. The weakening covey quit their mother's wing, And spread around: lost in the midst. They hear her call, and, quick returning, bless A mother's eye. Meantime, the sportsman keen Comes forth , and, heedless of the winning smile Of infant day, pleading on mercy's side, Anticipates, with eager joy, the sum Of slaughter, that, ere evening hour, he'll boast To have achieved ^ — and many a gory wing. Ere evening hour, exultingly he sees Drop, fluttering, 'mid the heath, — even 'mid the bush. Beneath whose blooms the brooding mother sat. Till round her she beheld her downy young. At last mild twilight veils the insatiate eye. And stops the game of death. The frequent shot Resounds no more ; Silence again resumes Her lonely reign ; save that the mother's call Is heard repeated oft, a plaintive note ! Mournful she gathers in her brood, dispersed By savage sport, and o'er the remnant spreads Fondly her wings ; close nestling 'neath her breast. They cherished cower amid the purple blooms. While thus the heathfowl covey, day by day. Is lessened, till, perhaps, one drooping bird Survives, — the plover safe her airy scream Circling repeats, then to a distance flies. And, querulous, still returns, importunate ; Yet still escapes, unworthy of an aim. Amid the marsh's rushy skirts, her nest Is slightly strewn i four eggs, of olive hue. Spotted with black, she broods upon : her young, Soon as discumbered of the fragile shell, THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 17 Run Hvely round theit dam. She, if or dog Op man intrude upon her bleak domain, Skims, clamouring" loud, close at their feet, with wing" Stooping-, as if impeded by a wound ; Meantime her young, among the rush-roots, lurk Secure. Ill-omened bird ! oft in the times When monarchs owned no sceptre but the sword. Far in the heathy waste, that stretches wide From Avendale to Loudon's high-coned hill. Thou, hovering o'er the panting fugitive. Through dreary moss and moor, hast screaming led The keen pursuer's eye : oft hast thou hung. Like a death-flag, above the assembled throng. Whose lips hymned praise, their right hand at their hilts ; Who, in defence of conscience, freedom, law. Looked stern, with unaverted eyes, on death. In every form of horror. Bird of wo ! Even to the tomb thy victims, by thy wing, Were haunted ; o'er the bier thy direful cry Was heard, while murderous men rushed furious on, Profaned the sacred presence of the dead. And filled the grave with blood. At last, nor friend. Nor father, brother, comrade, dares to join The train, that frequent winds adown the heights^ By feeble female hands the bier is borne, While on some neighbouring cairn the aged sire Stands bent, his gray locks waving in the blast. But who is she that lingers by the sod. When all are gone i 'Tis one who was beloved By him who lies below. Ill-omened bird ! She never will forget, never forget. Thy dismal soughing wing, and doleful cry. Amid these woodless wilds, a small round lake I've sometimes marked, girt by a spungy sward Of lively green, with here and there a flower Of deep-tinged purple, firmly stalked, of form Pyramidal, — the shores bristling with reeds. That midway over wade, and, as they bend. 18 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Disclose the water lily, dancing light On waves soft-rippled by the July gale ; Hither the long and soft billed snipe resorts, By suction nourished; here her bouse she forms ; Here warms her fourfold offspring into life. Alas, not long her helpless offspring feel Her fostering warmth ! though suddenly she mounts. Her rapid rise, and vacillating flight In vain defend her from the fowler's aim. But let me to the vale once more descend. And mingle with the woodland quire, and join Their various songs, and celebrate with them The woods, the rocks, the streams, the bosky bourne. The thorny dingle, and the open glade ; For 'tis not in their song, nor in their plumes. Nor in their wondrous ways, that all their charm Consists : no, 'tis the grove, their dwelling place, That lends them half their charm, that still is linked. By strong association's half-seen chain. With their sweet song, wherever it is sung. And while this lovely, this congenial theme, I slightly touch, O, may I ne'er forget. Nature, thy laws ! be this my steady aim, To vindicate simplicity ; to drive All affectation from the rural scene. I There are, who having seen some lordly pile Surrounded by a sea of lawn, attempt. Within their narrow bounds, to imitate The noble folly. Down the double row Of venerable elms is hewn. Down crash. Upon the grass, the orchard trees, whose sprays, Enwreathed with blooms, and waved by gentlest gales. Would lightly at the shaded window beat. Breaking the morning's slumber with delight. Vernal delight. The ancient moss-coped wall. Or hedge impenetrable, interspersed With holy evergreen, the domicile Of many a little wing, is swept away ; THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 19 While, at respectful distance, rises up The red brick-wall, with flues, and chimney tops, And many a leafy crucifix adorned. Extends the level lawn with dropping trees New planted, dead at top, each to a post Fast- collared, culprit like. The smooth expanse Well cropt, and daily, as the owner's chin. Not one irregularity presents. Not even one grassy tuft, in wliich a lark Might find a home, and cheer the dull domain : Around the whole, a line vermicular. Of melancholy fir, and leaning larch. And shivering poplar, skirting the way side. Is thinly drawn. But should the tasteful power. Pragmatic, which presides, with pencilling hand. And striding compasses, o'er all this change. Get in his thrall some hapless stream, that lurks Wimpling through hazelly shaw, and broomy glen. Instant the axe resounds through all the dale. And many a pair, unhoused, hovering lament The barbarous devastation : all is smoothed, Save here and there a tree ; the hawthorn, brier. The hazel bush, the bramble, and the broom. The sloe -thorn, Scotia's myrtle, all are gone ; And on the well-sloped bank arise trim clumps. Some round, and some oblong, of shrubs exotic, A wilderness of poisons, precious deemed In due proportion to their ugUness. What though fair Scotland's valleys rarely vaunt The oak majestical, whose aged boughs Darken a roodbreath, yet no where is seen. More beauteously profuse, wild underwood ; No where 'tis seen more beauteously profuse. Than on thy tangling banks, well-wooded Esk, And Borthwick thine, above that fairy nook. Formed by your blending streams. The hawthorn there. With moss and lichen grey, dies of old age ; No steel profane permitted to intrude : 20 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Up to the topmost branches climbs the rose. And mingles with the fading* blooms of May ; While round the brier the honeysuckle wreaths Entwine, and, with their sweet perfume, embalm The dying rose : a never failing blow, From spring to fall, expands , the sloethom white, As if a flaky shower the leafless sprays Had hung ; the hawthorn. May's fair diadem ; The whin's rich dye ; the bonny broom ; the rasp Erect ; the rose, red, white, and faintest pink ; And long extending bramble's flowery shoots. The bank ascend, an open height appears. Between the double streams that wind below : Look round ; behold a prospect wide and fair ;— The Lomond hills, with Fife's town-skirted shore. The intervening sea, Inchkeith's grey rocks. With beacon turret crowned ; Arthur's proud crest. And Salisbury abrupt ^ the Pentland range. Now peaked, and now, with undulating swell, Heaved to the clouds. More near, upon each hand, The sloping woods, bulging into the glade. Receding then with easy artless curve. Behind, a grove of ancient trees surrounds The ruins of a blood-cemented house. Half prostrate laid, as ev^er ought to lie The tyrant's dwelling. There no martin builds Her airy nest ; not even the owl alights On these unhallowed walls : the murderer's head Was sheltered by these walls ; hands blood-imbrued Founded these walls, — Mackenzie's purpled hands!- Perfidious minion of a sceptred priest ! The huge enormity of crime on crime. Accumulating high, but ill conceals The reptile meanness of thy dastard soul ; Whose favourite art was lyiiig with address. Whose hollow promise helped the princely hand To screw confessions from the tortured lips. Base hypocrite ! thy character, portrayed THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 21 By modern history's too lenient touch. Truth loves to blazon, with her real tints. To limn, of new, thy half-forgotten name. Inscribe with infamy thy time-worn tomb. And make the memory hated as the man. But better far truth loves to paint yon house Of humbler wall, half stone, half turf ^ with roof Of mended thatch, the sparrow's warm abode ; The wisp-wound chimney, with its rising wreath ; The sloping garden, filled with useful herbs. Yet not without its rose , the patch of corn Upon the brow ; the blooming vetchy ridge. But most the aged man, now wandering forth^ I love to view ; for 'neath yon homely guise Dwell worth, and simple dignity, and sense. Politeness natural, that puts to shame The world's grimace, and kindness crowning all. Why should the falsely great, the glittering names. Engross the muse's praise ? My humble voice They ne'er engrossed, and never shall: I claim The title of the poor man's bard : 1 dare To celebrate an unambitious name ^ And thine, Kilgour, may yet some few years live. When low thy reverend locks mix with the mould. Even in a bird, the simplest notes have charms For me : I even love the yellow-hammer's song. When earliest buds begin to bulge, his note, • Simple, reiterated oft, is heard On leafless brier, or half-grown hedge-row tree ; Nor does he cease his note till autumn's leaves Fall fluttering round his golden head so bright. Fair plumaged bird ! cursed by the causeless hate Of every schoolboy, still l)y me thy lot Was pitied ! never did I tear thy nest : I loved thee, pretty bird ! for 'twas thy nest Which first, unhelped by older eyes, I found. The very spot I think I now behold ! Forth from my low-roofed home I wandered blythe, C 1 22 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Down to thy side, sweet Cart, where 'cross the streaipfi A range of stones, below a shallow ford. Stood in the place of the now spanning* arch ; Up from that ford a little bank there was. With alder-copse and willow overgrown. Now worn away by mining winter floods ; There, at a bramble root, sunk in the grass. The hidden prize, of withered field-straws formed. Well lined with many a coil of hair and moss. And in it laid five red-veined spheres, I found. The Syracusan's voice did not exclaim The grand Heurekuy with more rapturous joy, Than at that moment fluttered round my heart. How simply unassuming is that strain ! It is the redbreast's song, the friend of man. High is his perch, but humble is his home. And well concealed. Sometimes within the sound Of heartsome mill-clack, where the spacious door White-dusted, tells him, plenty reigns around, — Close at the root of brier-bush, that o'erhangs The narrow stream, with shealings» bedded white,— He fixes his abode, and lives at will. Oft near some single cottage, he prefers To rear his little home ; there, pert and spruce. He shares the refuse of the goodwife's churn^ Which kindly on the wall for him she leaves : Below h«r linted oft he lights, then in He boldly flits, and fluttering loads his bill. And to his young the yellow treasure bears. Not seldom docs he neighbour the low roof Where tiny elves are taught : — a pleasant spot It is, well fenced from winter blast, and screened. By high o'er-spreading boughs, from summer sun. Before the door a sloping green extends No farther than the neighbouring cottage-hedge, Beneath whose boutree shade a little well Is scooped, so limpid, that its guardian trout (The wonder of the lesser stooping wights) THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 23 Is at the bottom seen. — At noontide hour, The imprisoned throng, enlarged, blytlisome rush forth To sport the happy interval away ; While those from distance come, upon the sward. At random seated, loose their little stores : In midst of them poor Redbreast hops unharmed, For they have read, or heard, and wept to hear. The story of the Children in the Wood ; And many a crumb to Robin they will throw. Others there are that love, on shady banks Retired^ to pass the summer days: their song, Among the birchen boughs, with sweetest fall. Is warbled, pausing, then resumed more sweet, More sad^ that, to an ear grown fanciful, The babes, the wood, the man, rise in review, And Robin still repeats the tragic line. But should the note of flute, or human voice, Sound through the grove, the madrigal at once Ceases , the warbler flits from branch to branch, And, stooping, sidelong turns his listening head. Ye lovers of his song, the greenwood path Each morn duly bestrew with a few crumbs : His friendship thus ye '11 gain ; till, by degrees. Alert, even from your hand^ the offered boon He '11 pick, half trustingly. Yes, I have seen Him, and his mate, attend, from tree to tree. My passing step ; and, from my open hand. The morsel pick, timorous, and starting back. Returning still, with confidence increased. What little bird, with frequent shrillest chirp, When honeysuckle flowers succeed the rose, The inmost thicket haunt ? — their tawny breasts. Spotted with black, bespeak the youngling thrush. Though less in size ; it is the redbreast's brood. New flown, helpless, with still the downy tufts Upon their heads. But soon their full-fledged v, ings. Long hesitating, quivering oft, they stretch : At last, encouraged by the parent voice. 24 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. And leading flight, they reach the nearest bush. Or, falUng short, lie panting on the ground ; But, reassured, the destined aim attain. Nor long this helpless state : each day adds strength. Adds wisdom, suited to their little sphere, Adds independence, first of heavenly boons ! Released from all the duties, all the cares, The keen, yet sweet solicitudes, that haunt The parent's breast ^ again the Redbreast's song Trills from the wood, or from the garden bough. Each season in its turn he hails ^ he hails. Perched on the naked tree, spring's earliest buds : At morn, at chilly eve, when the March sun Sinks wuth a wintry tinge, and Hesper sheds A frosty light, he ceases not his strain : And when staid Autumn walks with rustling tread. He mourns the falling leaf. Even when each branch Is leafiess, and the harvest morn hath clothed The fields in white, he, on the hoar-plumed spray. Delights, dear trustful bird ! his future host. But farewel lessening day, in summer smile Arrayed. Dark winter's frown cOmes like a cloud. Whose shadow sweeps a mountain side, and scowls O'er all the land. Now warm stack-yards, and barns, Busy with bouncing flails, are Robin's haunts. Upon the barn's half-door he doubting lights. And inward peeps. But truce, sweet social bird ! So well I love the strain, when thou'rt my theme. That now I almost tread the winter snows. While many a vernal song remains unsung. When snov/drops die, and the green primrose leave© Announce the coming flower, the merle's note, MeUifluous, rich, deep-toned, fills all the vale. And charms the ravished ear. The hawthorn bush. New-budded, is his perch ; there the grey dawn He hails ; and there, with parting light, concludes His melody. There, when the buds begin I'o break, he lays the fibrous roots ; and, see. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 25 His jetty breast embrowned ; the rounded clay His jetty breast has soiled : but now complete. His partner, and his helper in the work, Happy assumes posi^ssion of her home j While he, upoi^j^ neig'hbouring tree, his lay. More richly full,^ melodiously renews. When twice sevfen days have run, the moment snatch, That she has flitted off her charge, to cool Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook. Then silently, on tiptoe raised, look in. Admire : five cupless acorns, darkly specl^ed, Delight the eye, warm to the cautious touch. In seven days more expect the fledgeless young, Five gaping bills. With busy wing, and eye Quick-darting, all alert, the parent pair Gather the sustenance which heaven bestows* But music ceases, save at dewy fall Of eve, when, nestling o'er her brood, the dam Has stilled them all to rest ^ or at the hour Of doubtful dawning grey ^ then from his wing Her partner turns his yellow bill, and chaunts His solitary song of joyous praise. From day to day, as blow the hawthorn flowers. That canopy, this little home of love. The plumage of the younglings shoots and spreads. Filling with joy the fond parental eye. Alas ! not long the parents' partial eye Shall view the fledging wing, ne'er shall they see The timorous pinion's first essay at flight. The truant schoolboy's eager, bleeding hand. Their house, their all, tears from the bending bush j A shower of blossoms mourns the ruthless deed ! The piercing anguished note, the brushing wing. The spoiler heeds not ; triumphing his way, Smihng he wends : the ruined, hopeless pair. O'er many a field follow his tov.T«\**ard steps. Then back return ; and, perching on the bush. Find nought of all they loved, but one smaU tuft c 2 26 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Of moss, and withered roots. Drooping" they sit, Silent : afar at last they fly, o'er hill And lurid moor, to mourn in other groves. And soothe, in gentler grief, their hapless lot. Meantime the younger victims, one by one. Drop off, by care destroyed, and food unfit. Perhaps one, hardier than the rest, survives. And 'tween the wicker bars, with fading weeds Entwined, hung at some lofty window, hops From stick to stick his small unvaried round ; While opposite, but higher still, the lark Stands fluttering, or runs o'er his narrow field, A span-breadth turf, tawny and parched, with wings Qiiivering, as if to fly : his carol gay Lightening the pale mechanic's tedious task. Poor birds, most sad the change ! of daisied fields. Of hawthorn blooming sprays, of boundless air. With melody replete, for clouds of smoke. Through which the daw flies cawing, steeple high ; Or creak of grinding wheels, or skillet tongue. Shrilly reviling, more discordant still 1 But what their wretchedness, parents or young. Compared to that which wrings the human breast. Doomed to lament a loss, than death more dire,— The robbery of a child ! Aye, there is wretchedness ! Snatched playful from the rosy bank, by hands Inured to crimes, the innocent is born Far, far aw^ay. Of all the varying forms Of human wo, this the most dire ! To think He might have been now sporting at your side. But that, neglected, he was left a prey To pirate hands ! To think how he will shudder. To see a hideous haggard face attempt To smile away his tears, caressing him With horrible embrace, the while he calls Aloud, in vain, to you ! Nor does even time, — Assuager of all other woes, — bring balm To this. Each child, to boyish years grown up, THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 27 Reminds you of your boy ! He might have been Like this, fair, blooming, modest, looking down With most engaging bashfulness : but now, Instead of this, perhaps, with sable mask Begrimed, he feebly totters 'neath a load. More fitted to his cruel master's strength. Perhaps, to manhood come, allured to sell His life, his freedom, for some paltry pounds, He now lies 'mong the numbered, nameless crowd. That groan on gory fields, envying the dead ! Or, still more dreadful fate ! dragged, trained, compelled. To vice, to crimes, death-sentenced crimes, perhaps Among those miserable names, which blot The calendar of death, is his inscribed! How much alike in habits, form, and size, The merle and the mavis !* how unlike In plumage, and in song! The thrush's song Is varied as his plumes ^ and as his plumes Blend beauteous, each with each, so run his notee Smoothly, with many a happy rise and fall. How prettily, upon his parded breast. The vividly contrasted tints unite To please the admiring eye ; so, loud and soft. And high and low, all in his notes combine, In alternation sweet, to charm the ear. Full earlier than the blackbird he begins His vernal strain. Regardless of the frown Which winter casts upon the vernal day. Though snowy flakes melt in the primrose cup. He, warbling on, awaits the sunny beam. That mild gleams down, and spreads o'er all the grove. But now his song a partner for him gains j And in the hazel bush, or sloe, is formed The habitation of the wedded pair : Sometimes below the never-fading leaves Thrush. 28 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Of ivy closCi that overtwisting binds, And richly crowns, with clustered fruit of spring", Some riven rock, or nodding castle wall : Sometimes beneath the jutting root of elm. Or oak, among the sprigs, that overhang A pebble-chiding stream, the loam-lined house Is fixed, well hid from ken of hovering ha%k. Or larking beast, or schoolboy's prowling eye ; Securely there the dam sits all day long. While from the adverse bank, on topmost shoot Of odour-breathing birch, her mate's blythe chaunt Cheers her pent hours, and makes the wild woods ring. Grudge not, ye owners of the fruited boughs, That he should pay himself for that sweet music, With which, in blossom time, he cheers your hearts ! Scare, if ye will, his timid wing away. But, oh, let not the leaden viewless shower, VoUied from flashing tube, arrest his flight. And fill his tuneful gasping bill v/ith blood ! These two, all others of the singing quires. In size, surpass. A contrast now behold : The little woodland dwarf, the tiny wren. That from the root-sprigs trills her ditty clear. Of stature most diminutive herself; Not so her wondrous house ; for, strange to tell ! Her^s is the largest scructure that is formed By tuneful bill and breast. 'Neath some old root. From which the sloping soil, by wintry rains. Has been all worn away, she fixes up Her curious dwelling, close, and vaulted o'er, And in the side a little gateway porch, In which (for I have seen) she'll sit and pipe A merry stave of her shrill roundelay. Nor always does a single gate suffice For exit and for entrance to her dome ; For when (as sometimes liaps) within a bush She builds the artful fabric, then each side Has its own portico. But, mark within! THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 29 How skilfully the finest plumes and downs Are softly warped ; how closely all around The outer layers of moss ! each circumstance Most artfully contrived to favour warmth ! Here read the reason of the vaulted roof; Here Providence compensates, ever kind, The enormous disproportion that subsists Between the mother and the numerous brood, Which her small bulk must quicken into life. Fifteen white spherules, small as moorland hare-bell, And prettily bespecked, like fox-glove flower. Complete her number. Twice five days she sits. Fed by her partner, never flitting* off. Save when the morning- sun is high, to drink A dewdrop from the nearest flow'ret cup. But now behold the greatest of this train Of miracles stupendously minute ; The num.erous progeny, clamant for food, Supplied by two small bills, and feeble wings Of narrow range , supplied, aye, duly fed. Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot ! When whinny braes are garlanded with gold. And, blythe, the lamb pui'sues, in merry chase, His twin around the bush ; the linnet, then. Within the prickly fortress builds her bower. And warmly lines it round, with hair and wool Inwove. Sweet minstrel ! may'st thou long delight The whinny knoll, and broomy brae, and bank Of fragrant birch ! May never fowler's snare Tangle thy struggling foot ! Or, if thou'rt doomed Within the narrow cage thy dreary days To pine, may ne'er the glowing wire (oh, crime accursed !) Quencli, with fell agony, thy shrivelling eye ! Deprived of air and freedom, shall the light Of day, thy only pleasure, be denied? But thy own song v/ill still be left : with it. Darkling, thou'lt soothe the lingering hours away j And thou wilt learn to find thy triple perch. 30 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Thy seed-box, and thy beverage saffron -tinged. Nor is thy lot more hard than that wliich they (Poor linnets !) prove in many a storied pile :* They see the light, 'tis true, — they see, and know That light for them is but an implement Of toil. In summer with the sun they rise Tt) toil, and with his setting beam they cease To toil: nor does the shortened winter day Their toil abridge ; for, ere the cock's first crow. Aroused to toil, they lift their heavy eyes, And force their childish limbs to rise and toil; And while the winter night, by cottage fire, Is spent in homebred industry, relieved By harmless glee, or tale of witch, or gliost. So dreadful that the housewife's listening wheel Suspends its hum, their toil protracted lasts : Even when the royal birth, by wondrous grace. Gives one half day to mirth, that shred of time Must not be lost, but thriftily ekes out To-morrow's and to-morrow's lengthened task. No joys, no sports have they : what little time, The fragment of an hour, can be retrenched From labour, is devoted to a show, A boasted boon, of what the public gives,— Instruction. Viewing all around the bliss Of liberty, they feel its loss the more; Freely through boundless air, they wistful see The wild bird's pinion past their prison flit; Free in the air the merry lark they see On high ascend ; free on the swinging spray The woodland bird is perched, and leaves at will Its perch ; the open quivering bill they see. But no sweet note by them is heard, all lost. Extinguished in the noise that ceaseless stuns the ear. * The allusion here is chiefly to cotton-mills. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 31 Here vice collected festers, and corrupts ; The female virtues fade ; and, in their stead. Spring's up a produce rank of noxious weeds. And, if such be the effects of that sad system. Which, in the face of nature's law, would wring Gain from the labouring" hands of playful children; If such the effects, vsrhere worth and sense direct The living, intellectual machines. What must not follow, when the power is lodged With senseless, sordid, heartless avarice ? Where, fancy, hast thou led me ? No, stern truthy 'Tis thou hast led me from tlie pleasant sight Of blossomed furze, and bank of fragrant birch. And now once more I turn me to the woods. With willing step, and list, closing my eyes, The lulling soothing sounds, that pour a balm Into the rankled soul ; the brooklet's murmur, That, louder to the ear, long listening, grows. And louder still, like noise of many waters, Yet not so loud but that the wild bee's buzz Slung past the ear, and grasshopper's shrill chirp. Are heard ; for now the sultry hours unfurl Each insect wing: the aimless butterflies, In airy dance, cross and recross the mead ; The dragon-fly, in horizontal course. Spins over-head, and fast eludes the sight. At such a still and sultry hour as this. When not a strain is heard through all the woods, I've seen the shilfa* light from off his perch. And hop into a shallow of the stream. Then, half afraid, flit to the shore, then in Again alight, and dip his rosy breast And fluttering wings, while dewlike globules coursed The plumage of his brown-empurpled back. The barefoot boy, who, on some slaty stone. Chaffinch. 32 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Almost too hot for toucli, has watching stood. Now thinks the well-drenched prize his own. And rushes forward ; — quick, though wet, the wing Gains the first branches of some neiglibouring tree. And baulks the upward gazing hopeless eye. The r.ifiiip-g plumes are sliook, the pens are trimmed. And t'i;U and clear the sprightly ditty rings. Cheering the brooding dam : she sits concealed Within the nest deep-hollowed, well disguised With lichens grey, and mosses gradual blent, As if it were a knurle in the bough. With equal art externally disguised, But of i:>ternal structure passing far The feathered concaves of the other tribes, The GOLDFINCH wcaves,. with willow down inlaid. And cannach tufts, his v/ondtrful abode. Sometimes, suspended at the limber end Of planetree spray, among the broad-leaved shoots. The tiny hammock swings to every gale ; Sometimes in closest tiiickets 'tis concealed ; Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the brier, The bramble and the plumtree branch Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the flowers Of cUmbing vetch, and honeysuckle wild. All undefaced by art's deforming hand. ^^ But mark the pretty bird himself! how light And quick his every motion, every note ! How beautiful his plumes \ his red-ringed head ; His breast of brown ; and see him stretch his wing, — A fairy fan of golden spokes it seems. Oft on the thistle's tuft he, nibbling, sits. Light as the down; then, 'mid a flight of downs, He wings his way, piping his shrillest call. Proud Thistle ! emblem dear to Scotland's sons ! Begirt with threatening points, strong in defence. Unwilling to assault ! By thee tlie arm Of England was repelled ; the rash attempt, Oft did the wounded arm of England rue . THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 33 But fraud prevailed, where force had tried in rain : Fraud undermined tliy root, and laid thy head. Thy crested head, low sullied in the dust. Belhaven, Fletcher, venerated shades ! Long" shall your glorious names, your words of fire. Spite of beleg-ered Trade's corrupting creed, That estimates a country by its gold. And balances surrendered freedom's self,— The life-blood of a people ! — with a show Of columns crowded full of pounds and pence ; Long shall your names illume the historic page, Inspire the poet's lay, kindle the glow Of noble daring in the patriot's breast ! Deep-toned (a contrast to the goldfinch note) The CUSHAT plains; nor is her changeless plaint Unmusical, wlien with the general quire Of woodland harmony it softly blends. Her sprig-formed nest, upon some hawthorn branch, Is laid so thinly, that tl^e light of day Is through it seen. So rudely is it formed. That oft the simple boy, who counts the hours By blowing off the dandelion downs. Mistakes the witch-knots for the cushat's nest. Sweet constant bird ! the lover's favourite theme ! Protected by the love-inspiring lay Seldom thou mov'st thy home ; year after year, The self same tree beholds thy youngling pair Matured to flight. — There is a hawthorn tree With which the ivy arms have wrestled long ; rris old, yet vigorous : beneath its shade A beauteous herb, so rare, that all the woods, For far and near around, cannot produce Its like, shoots upright j from the stalk Four pointed leaves, luxuriant, smooth, diverge. Crowned with a berry of deep purple hue. Upon this aged thorn, a lovely pair Of cushats wont to build: No schoolboy's hand Would rob their simple nest ; the constant coo, D .;^Tv^. 34 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. That floated down the dell, softened his heart. But, ah ! the pirate of the rock, the hawk. Hovering", discerned the prize : Soft blew the gale Of May, and fidl the greenwood chorus rose. All but the sweet dove's note : In vain the ear Turned listening ; strewn upon the ground. The varying plumes, with drooping violets mixed, Disclosed the death the beauteous bird had died. Where are your haunts, ye helpless birds of song. When winter's cloudy wing begins to shade The emptied fields ; when ripening sloes assume Their deepest jet, and wild plums purple hang Tempting, yet harsh till mellowed by the frost ? Ah, now ye sit crowding upon the thorns. Beside your former homes., all desolate, And filled with withered leaves ; while field fair flocks From distant lands alight, and, chirping, fly From hedge to hedge, fearful of man's approach. Of all the tuneful tribes, the Redbreast sole Confides himself to man ; others sometimes Are driven within our lintel-posts by storms, And, fearfully, the sprinkled crumbs partake : He feels himself at home. When lowers the year, He perches on the village turfy copes, And, with his sweet but interrupted trills, Bespeaks the pity of his future host. But long he braves the season, ere he change The heavens' grand canopy for man's low home ; Oft is he seen, when fleecy showers bespread The house-tops white, on the thawed smiddy roof, Or in its open window he alights. And, fearless of the clang, and furn'ace glare, Looks round, arresting the uplifted arm, While on the anvil cools the glowing bar. But when the season roughens, and the drift Flies upward, mingling with the falling flakes In whirl confused, — then on the cottage floor He lights, and hops, and flits, from place to place, THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 35 Restless at first, till, by degrees, he feels He is in safety: Fearless then he sings The winter day ; and when the long dark night Has drawn the rustic circle round the fire, Waked by the dinsome wheel, he trims his plumes. And, on the distaff perched, chaunts soothingly His summer song ; or, fearlessly, lights down Upon the basking sheep-dog's glossy fur ; Till, chance, the herd-boy, at his supper mess. Attract his eye, then on the milky rim Brisk he alights, and picks his little share. Besides the Redbreast's note, one other strain. One summer strain, on wintry days is heard. Amid the leafless thorn the merry Wren, When icicles hang dripping from the rock, Pipes her perennial lay ; even when the flakes. Broad as her pinions, fall, she lightly flies Athwart the shower, and sings upon the wing. While thus the smallest of the plumy tribes Defies the storm, others there are that fly. Long ere the winter lours, to genial skies j Nor this cold clime revisit, till the blooms Of parting spring blow 'mid the summer buds. PART SECOND. JrloW sweet the first sound of tiifv cuckoo's note !• Whence is the magic pleasure of the sound ? How do we long recal the very tree. Or bush, near which we stood, when on the ear The unexpected note, cuckoo! again, And yet again, came down the budding vale ! It is the voice of spring among the trees ; It tells of lengthening days, of coming blooms ; It is the symphony of many a song. 36 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. But, there, the stranger flies close to the ground. With hawklike pinion, of a leaden blue. Poor wanderer ! from hedge to hedge she fiiet. And trusts her offspring to another's care : The sooty-plumed hedge-sparrow frequent acts The foster-mother, warming into life The youngling destined to supplant her own. Meanwhile, the cuckoo sings her idle song. Monotonous, yet sweet, now here, now there. Herself but rarely seen : nor does she cease Her changeless note, until the broom, full blown. Give warning that her time for flight is come. Thus, ever journeying on, from land to land. She, sole of all the innumerous feathered tribes. Passes a stranger's life, without a home. Home ! word delightful to the heart of man. And bird, and beast ! — small word, yet not the less Significant :— comprising all ! Whatever to affection is most dear. Is all included in that little word, — Wife, children, father, mother, brother, friend. At mention of that word, the seaman, clinging Upon the dipping yard-arm, sees afar The twinkling fire, round which his children cower. And speak of him, counting the months, and weeks, That must pass dreary o'er, ere he return. He sighs to view the sea-bird's rapid wing. Oh, had I but the envied power to chuse My home, no sound of city bell should reach My ear : not even the can-^on's thundering roar. Far in a vale, be there my low abode. Embowered in woods where many a songster chaunts. And let me now indulge the airy dream ! A bow-shot off, in front, a river flows. That, during summer drought, shallow and clear. Chides with its pebbly bed, and, murmuring. Invites forgetfulness ^ half hid it flows. Now l^etwecn rocks, now through a bush-girt glade, THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 37 Now sleeping in a pool, that laves the roots Of overhanging" trees, whose drooping boughs Dip midway over in the darkened stream ; While ever and anon, upon the breeze. The dash of distant waterfall is borne. A range of hills, with craggy summits crowned, And furrowed deep with many a bosky cleugh. Wards off the northern blast: There skims the hawk Forth from her cliff, eyeing the furzy slope That joins the mountain to the smiling vale. Through all the woods the holly evergreen. And laurel's softer leaf, and ivied thorn. Lend winter shelter to the shivering wing. No gravelled paths, pared from the smooth-shaved turf. Wind through these woods ; the simple unmade road. Marked with the frequent hoof of sheep or kine. Or rustic's studded shoe, I love to tread. No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind. Of man-traps, or of law's more dreaded gripe. Pleasant to see the labourer homeward hie Light hearted, as he thinks his hastening steps Will soon be welcomed by his children's smile ! Pleasant to see the milkmaid's blythesome look. As to the trysting thorn she gaily trips. With steps that scarcely feel the elastic ground ! Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights. Curse on the heartless taste that, proud, exclaims, " Erase the hamlet, sweep the cottage oiF^ ** Remove each stone, and only leave behind ** The trees that once-embowered the wretched huts. " What though the inmates old, who hoped to end ** Their days below these trees, must seek a home, ** Far from their natives fields, far from the graves ** In which their fathers lie, — to city lanes, " Darksome and close, exiled ? It must be so ; ** The wide -extending lawn would else be marred, ** By objects so incongruous." Barbarous taste ! D 2 38 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Stupidity intense ! Yon straw-roofed cot. Seen through the elms, it is a lovely sight ! That scattered hamlet, with its burn-side green. On which the thrifty housewife spreads her yarn. Or half-bleached web, while children busy play, And paddle in the stream, — for every heart. Untainted by pedantic rules, hath charms. I love the neighbourhood of man and beast : I would not place my stable out of sight. No ! close behind my dwelling, it should form A fence, on one side, to my garden plat. What beauty equals shelter, in a clime Where wintry blasts with summer breezes blend. Chilling the day ! How pleasant 'tis to hear December's winds, amid surrounding trees. Raging aloud ! how grateful 'tis to wake. While raves the midnight storm, and hear the sound Of busy grinders at the well-filled rack ; Or flapping wing, and crow of chanticleer. Long ere the lingering morn ; or bouncing flails. That tell the dawn is near ! Pleasant the path By sunny garden-wall, when all the fields Are chill and comfortless : or barn -yard snug. Where flocking birds, of various plume, and chirp Discordant, cluster on the leaning stack. From whence the thresher draws the rustling sheaves. Oh, nature ! all thy seasons please the eye Of him who sees a Deity in all. It is His presence that difliises charms Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream. To think that He, who hears the heaveiily quires, Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere. Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; To make His presence in the mighty bow^ That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute Of tiniest flower; to hear His awful voice In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale : I THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 39 To know and feel His care for all that lives , — 'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. Yes ! place me 'mid far-stretching woodless wilds. Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell there Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! There would my gratefully uplifted eye Survey the heavenly vault, by day, — by night, When glows the firmament from pole to pole ; There would my overflowing heart exclaim. The hewvens declare the glory of the Lord; The firmament shews forth his handy viork ! Less loud, but not less clear, His humbler works Proclaim his power : the swallow knows her time. And, on the vernal breezes, wings her way, O'er mountain, plain, and far-extending seas. From Afric's torrid sands to Britain's shore. Before the cuckoo's note, she, twittering, gay. Skims 'long the brook, or o'er the brushwood tops. When dance the midgy clouds in warping maze Confused : 'tis thus, by her^ the air is swept Of insect myriads, that would else infest The greenwood walk, blighting each rural joy : For this, — if pity plead in vain, — oh, spare Her clay-built home ! Her all, her young, she ti'usts. Trusts to the power of man : fearful, herself She never trusts ; free, on the summer morn. She, at his window, hails the rising sun. — Twice seven days she broods ; then on the wing. From morn to dewy eve, unceasing plies, Save when she feeds or cherishes her young \ And oft she's seen, beneath her little porch. Clinging supine, to deal the air-gleaned food. From her the husbandman the coming shower Foretels : Along the mead closely she skiffs. Or o'er the streamlet pool she skims, so near. That, from her dipping wing, the wavy circlets 40 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. P Spread to the shore ^ then fall the single .drops. Prelusive of the shower. The MARTINS, too, The dwellers in the ruined castle wall, When lowers the sky a flight less lofty wheel. Presage ful of the thunder peal, when deep A boding silence broods o'er all the vale. From airy altitudes they stoop, and fly Swiftly, with shrillest scream, round and round The rug-ged battlements ; or fleetly dart Through loopholes, whence the shaft was wont to glance^ Or thrid the window of the lofty bower. Where hapless royalty, with care-closed eyes, Woo'd sleep in vain, foreboding what befel, — The loss of friends, of country, freedom, life ! Long ere the wintry gusts, with chilly sweep. Sigh through the leafless groves, the swallow tribes. Heaven-warned, in airy bevies congregate, Or clustering sit, as if in deep consult What time to launch , but, lingering, they wait. Until the feeble of the latest broods Have gathered strength, the seaward path to brave. At last the farewel twitter spreading sounds. Aloft they fly, and melt ia distant air. Far o'er the British sea, in westering course. O'er the Biscayan mountain-waves they glide : Then o'er Iberian plains, through fields of air. Perfumed by orchard groves, where lowly bends The orange-bough beneath its juicy load. And over Calpe's iron-fenced rock, their course. To Mauritania's sunny plains, the urge. There are who doubt this migratory voyage. But wherefore, from the distance of the flight. Should wonder verge on disbelief, — the bulk So small, so large and strong the buoyant wing? Behold the corn-craik ! She, too, wings her way To other lands : ne'er is she found immersed In lakes, or buried torpid in the sand. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 41 Though weak her wing, contrasted with her bulk. Seldom she rises from the grassy field, And never till compelled ; and, when upraised. With feet suspended, aukwardly she flies ; Her flight a ridgebreadth : suddenly she drops. And, running, still eludes the following foot. Poor bird ! though harsh thy note, I love it well ! It tells of summer eves, mild and serene. When through the grass, waist-deep, I wont to wade la fruitless chace of thee ; now here, now there. Thy desultory call. Oft does thy call The midnight silence break ; oft, ere the dawn, It wakes the slumbering lark ; he upward wings His misty way, and, viewless, sings and soars. PART THIRD. FaRBWEL the greenwood, and the welkin song! Farewel the harmless bill ! — The overfolding beak, Incurvated ; the clutching pounce ; the eye. Ferocious, keen, full-orbed ; the attitude Erect ; the skimming flights ; the hovering poise j The rapid sousing stroke; — these now I sing! How fleet the falcon's pinion in pursuit ! Less fleet the linnet's flight ! — Alas, poor bird ! Weary and weak is now thy flagging wing, While close and closer draws the eager foe. Now up she rises, and, with arrowed pinions. Impetuous souses ; but in vain : With turn Sudden, the linnet shuns the deadly stroke. Throwing her far behind , but quick again She presses on : down drops the feeble victim Into the hawthorn bush, and panting sits. The falcon, skimming round and round, espies Her prey, and darts among the prickly twigs. 42 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Unequal now the chace ! stPug-gUng she strives, Entang-led in the thorny labyrinth. While easily its way the small bird winds, Reg-aining" soon the centre of the grove. But not alone the dwellers of the wood Tremble beneath the falcon's fateful wing : Oft hovering o'er the barn-yard is she seen. In early spring, when round their ruffling dam The feeble younglings pick the pattering hail : And oft she plunges low, and swiftly skims The ground ; as oft the bold and threatening mien Of chanticleer deters her from the prey. Amid the mountain fells, or river cliffs Abrupt, the falcon's e3Ty, perched on liigh, Defies access : broad to the sun 'tis spread. With withered sprigs hung o'er the dizzy brink. What dreadful cliffs o'erhang this little stream ! So loftily they tower, that he who looks Upward, to view their almost meeting summits. Feels sudden giddiness, and instant grasps The nearest fragment of the channel rocks. Resting his aching eye on some green branch. That midway down shoots from the creviced crag. Athwart the narrow chasm fleet flies the rack. Each cloud no sooner visible than gone; While 'tween these natural bulwarks, that deride The art of man, murmurs the hermit brook. And joins, with opened banks, the full-streamed Clyde, How various are thy aspects, noble stream ! Now gliding silently by sloping banks. Now flowing softly, with a silver sound. Now rushing, tumbling, boiling, through the rocks. Even on that bulging verge smooth flows thy stream, Then spreads along a gentle ledge, then sweeps Compressed by an abutting turn, till o'er It pours tremendously ^ again it sweeps Unpausing, till, again, with louder roar, It mines into the boisterous wheeling gulf; i 7^. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. '43 While high the boulted foam, at times, displays An Iris arch, thrown light from rock to rock j And oft the swallow through the misty cloud Flits fearlessly, and drinks upon the wing. Oh, what an amphitheatre surrounds The abyss, in which the downward mass is plunged. Stunning the ear ! High as the falcon's flight. The rocks precipitous ascend, and bound The scene magnificent ; deep, deep below. The snowy surge spreads to a dark expanse. These are the very rocks, on which the eye Of Walt.ace gazed, the music this he loved. Oft has he stood upon the trembling brink, Unstayed by tree or twig, absorbed in thought ; There would he trace, with eager eye, the oak, Uprooted from its bank by ice-fraught floods, And floating o'er the dreadful cataract : There would he moralize upon its fate ; — It re-appears with scarce a broken bough; It re-appears, — Scotland may yet be free ! High rides the moon amid the fleecy clouds. That glisten, as they float athwart her disk ; Sweet is the glimpse that, for a moment, plays Among these mouldering pinnacles: — but, hark! That dismal cry! It is the wailing owl. Night long she mourns, perched in some vacant niche. Or time-rent crevice: Sometimes to the woods She bends her silent slowly moving wing. And on some leafless tree, dead of old age, Sits watching for her prey: But should the foot Of man intrude into her solemn shades. Startled, she hears the fragile breaking branch Crash as she rises : — farther in the gloom. To deeper solitudes she wings her way. Oft in the hurly of the wintry storm. Housed in som.e rocking steeple, «he augments The horror of the night; or when the winds Exliausted pause, she listens to the sound 44 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Of the slow-swinging- pendulum, till loud Again the blast is up, and lightning gleams Shoot 'thwart, and ring a faint and deadly toll. On ancient oak, or elm, whose topmost boughs Begin to fail, the raven's twig-formed house Is built ; and, many a year, the self same tree The aged solitary pair frequent. But distant is their range ; for oft at morn They take their flight, and not till twilight grey Their slow returning cry hoarse meets the ear. Well does the raven love the sound of war. — Amid those plains, where Danube darkly rolls. The theatres, on which the kingly play Of war is oftenest acted, there the peal Of cannon-mouths summons the sable flocks To wait their death-doomed prey ; and they do wait : Yes, when the glittering columns, front to front Drawn out, approach in deep and awful silence. The raven's voice is heard hovering between. Sometimes, upon the far-deserted tents, She boding sits, and sings her fateful song. But in the abandoned field she most delights, When o'er the dead and dying slants the beam Of peaceful mom, and wreaths of reeking mist Rise from the gore-dewed sward : from corpse to corpse She revels, far and wide , then, sated, flies To some shot shivered branch, whereon she cleans Her purpled beak ; and down she lights again. To end her horrid meai : another, keen. Plunges her beak deep in yon horse's side. Till, by the hungry hound displaced, she flits Once more to human prey. Ah, who is he. At whose heart-welling wound she drinks, Glutting her thirst! He was a lovely youth ; Fair Scotia was his home, until his sire To swollen Monopoly resigned, heai-t-wrung, The small demesne which hia forefathers plowed : THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 45 Wide then dispersed the famiJy of love. One son betook him to the all-friendly main : Another, with his aged parents, plied The sickly trade, in city garret pent ; Their youngest born, the drum and martial show, — Deluded half, and half despairing, joined ; And soon he lay the food of bird and beast. Long is his fate unknown; the horrid sum Of dead is named, but sad suspense is left, Enlabyrinthed in doubt, to please itself With dark, misgiving hope. Ah, one there is. Who fosters long the' dying hope, that still He may return : The live-long summer day She at the house end sks ; and oft her wheel Is stopt, while on the road, far- stretched, she bends A melancholy, eye -o'er flowing look ; Or strives to mould the distant traveller Into the form of him who's far away. Hopeless, and broken hearted, still loves To sing, <* When wild war's deadly blast was blawn.* Alas ! War riots with increasing rage. Behold that field bestrown with bleaching bones ; And, mark ! the raven in the horse's ribs. Gathering, encaged, the gleanings of a harvest Almost forgotten now : Rejoice, ye birds of prey ! No longer shall ye glean your scanty meals : Upon that field again long prostrate wreaths, Death-mown, shall lie : I see the gory mound Of dead, and wounded, piled with here and there A living hand, clutching in vain for help. But what the horrors of the field of war, To those, the sequel of the foiled attempt Of fettered vengeance struggling to be free ! — Inhuman sons of Europe ! not content With dooms of death, your victim high ye hung Encaged, to scorch beneath the torrid ray. And feed, alive, the hungry fowls of heaven. Around the bars already, see, they cling ! E 1 46 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. The vulture's head looks through ! she strives in vain To force her way : The lesser birds await Till worn-out nature sinks ; then on they pounce, And tear the quivering" flesh : in agony The victim wakes, and rolls his wretched eyes. And feebly drives the ravening flocks away. Most dreadfully he groans : 'tis thirst, thirst, thirst. Direst of human torments ! — down again He sinks : — again he feels the torturing beak. England, such things have been, and still would be, But that the glorious band, the steadfast friends Of Afric's sons, stand to avenge Tlieir wrongs, and crush the tyrants low. On distant waves, the raven of the sea, The CORMORANT, devours her carrion food. Along the blood-stained coast of Senegal, Prowling, she scents the cassia-perfumed breeze Tainted with death, and, keener, forward flies : The towering sails, th^t waft the house of wo. Afar she views : upon the heavy hulk, Deep-logged with wretchedness, full fast she gains: (Revolting sight ! the flag of freedom waves Above the stern-emblazoned words, that tell The amount of crimes which Britain's boasted laws, Within the narrow wooden walls, permit '.) And now she nighs the carnage-freighted keel, Unscared by rattling fetters, or the shriek Of mothers, o'er their ocean-buried babes. Lured by the scent, unweariedly she flies, And at the foamy dimples of the track Darts sportively, or perches on a corpse. From scenes like these, O Scotland, once again To thee my weary fancy fondly hies. And, with the eagle, mountain-perched, alights. Amid Lochaber's wilds, or dark Glencoe, High up the pillared mountain's steepest side. The eagle, from her eyry on the crag Of over-jutting rock, beholds afar. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. Viewing" the distant flocks, with ranging eye She meditates the prey , but waits the time When seas of mist extend along* the vale. And, rising- gradual, reach her lofty shore : Up then to sunny regions of the air She soars, and looks upon tlie white -wreathed summits Of mountains, seeming* ocean isles ; then down She plunges, stretching through tli€ hazy deep ; Unseen she flies, and, on her playful quarry. Pounces unseen : The shepherd knows his loss. When high o'er-head he hears a passing bleat Faint, and more faintly, dying far away. And now aloft she bends her homeward course. Loaded, yet light -y and soon her youngling pair Joyful descry her buoyant wing emerge And float along the cloud ; fluttering they stoop Upon the dizzy brink, as if they aimed To try the abyss, and meet her coming breast ; But soon her coming breast, and outstretched wings, Glide shadowing down, and close upon their heads. It was upon the eagle's plundered store That Wallace fared, when hunted from his home, A glorious outlaw ! by the lawless power Of freedom's foiled assassin, England's king. Along the mountain cliflTs, that ne'er were clomb By other footstep than his own, 'twas there His eagle -visioned genius, towering, planned The grand emprise of setting Scotland free. He longed to mingle in the storm of war ; And as the eagle dauntlessly a»ends. Revelling amid the elemented strife. His mind sublimed prefigured to itself Each circumstance of future hard-fought fields, — The battle's hubbub loud ; the forceful press. That from his victim hurries him afar ; The impetuous close concentrated assault. That, like a billow broken on tlie rocks, Recedes, but forward heaves with doubled fury. 48 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. When lowers the rack unmoving, high up-piled^ And silence deep foretels the thunder near, The eagle upward penetrates the gloom, And, far above the fire-impregnate wreaths, Soaring surveys the ethereal volcanos ; Till, muttering low at first, begins the peal^ Then she descends, — she loves the thunder's voicQ,— She wheels, and sports amid the rattling clouds, UnJazzled gazes on the sheeted blaze. Darts at the flash, or, hung in hovering poise, Delighted hears the music of the roar. Nor does the wintry blast, the drifting fall. Shrouded in night, and, with a death-hand grasp, Benumbing life, drive her to seek the roof Of cave, or hollow cliff; firm on her perch. Her ancient and accustomed rock, she sits. With wing-.couched head, and, to the morning light. Appears a frost- rent fragment, coped with snow. Yet here, invulnerable as she seems By every change of elemental power, The art of man, the general foe of man. And bird, and beast, subdues ; the leaden bolt. Slung from the mimic lightning's nitrous wing. Brings low her head ; her close and mailed plumage Avails her nought, — for higher than her perch The clambering marksman lies, and takes his aim Instant upon her flight, when every plume Ruffling expands te catch the lifting gale. She has the death ; upward a little space She springs, then plumb-dowit drops : The victor stands, Long listening, ere he hear the fall -, at last. The crashing branches of the unseen wood. Far down below, send echoing up the sound. That faintly rises to his leaning ear. But, \fo to him ! if, with the mortal wound. She still retain strength to revenge the wrong: Her bleeding wing she veers : her maddened eye Discerns the lurking wretdi ; on him she springs : THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 49 One talon clutched, with life's last struggling throes Convulsed, is buried at his heart ; the other Deep in his tortured eyeballs is transfixed : Pleased she expires upon his writhing breast. Of bulk more huge, and borne on broader vans. The EAGLE OF THE SEA. from Atlas soars. Or Teneriffe's hoar peak, and stretches far Above the Atlantic wave, contemning distance. The watchful helmsman from the stern descries. And hails her course, and many an eye is raised. Loftier she flies than hundred times mast-height : Onward she floats, then plunges from her soar Down to the ship, as if she aimed to perch Upon the mainmast pinnacle ^ but Up again She mounts, Alp high, and, with her lowered head Suspended, eyes the bulging sails, disdains Their tardy course, outflies the hurrying rack. And, disappearing, mingles with the clouds. I / NOTES ON THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND " Sweet emblem of his song*. Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side !" P. 9, 1. 16, ir. ** And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, Blythe, waukens by the daisy's side. And mounts, and sings, on fluttering wings, A weaworn ghaist I hameward glide." — Burns. " With earliest spring, &c."-— P. 9, 1. 18. White, in his Natural History of Selborne, though almost invariable correct, has fallen into a mistake as to tlie period of the skylark's song. . He makes it commence in February, and so far he is right ; but when he adds, and on to October y he is, at least, not sufficiently explicit, for though larks do sing in October, their song ceases in the month of July, and only re- commences^ and that too but feebly and seldom, in October. " O'er which he saw ten thousand pinions wheel Confused, dimming the sky."— P. 12, 1. 18, 19. Dr Harvey's description of the Bass is equally applicable, in the circumstance here noticed, to St. Kilda. He says, '* The flocks of birds, in flight, are so prodigious as to darken the air like clouds." *' lona's isle. Where Scotland's kings are laid."— P. 12, 1. 24, 25. " loana, or Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides ; a small but cele- 52 NOTES ON brated island, *row, Vol. ii, 389. To sum up the character of Sir George Mackenzie, the following extract, from the Records of the Privy Council, will suflice. ** Decetnher 4, 1684. " The advocat(^ (/. e. Sir George Mackenzie) representing how ready Judge Jeffries was to join with the Council for support of the Government, it is recommended to him (Sir George) to signify to the Judge, the great resentments (the strong sentiments) tlie Council had of his kindness towards this kingdom, in giving concurrence against such pernicious rogues and villains, 'voho disturb the pu hi ic peace ; and desiring he may cause apprehend the persons of hiding and fugitive Scotsmen, and deliver them securely on the Scots border, to such as shall be appointed to receive them." " By modern history's too lenient touch." — P. 21, 1. 1. The picture which Hume has drawn of the times here al- F 2 62 NOTES ON luded to has a likeness ; but it is a profile portrait of a man who squints: the principle deformity cannot be discerned. Mr. Laing", in treating- of the tyranny which preceded the Revolution, has dismissed that squeamish delicacy, so often at variance with the frank and unaffected dig-nity of historical truth, and has described the royal brothers in terms of suita- ble reprobation. His character of the second Charles is a spirited painting*. I cannot, however, help thinking, that the principal actor in the judicial tortures and murders of that reign deserved a full length portrait as well as his master. «' The Syracusan's voice." P. 22, 1. 11. Archimedes discovered the exact quantity of silver, which an artificer had fraudulently mixed with the g-old in a crown, made for Hiero, king of Syracuse. He had the hint of this disco- very, from perceiving the water rise up the sides of the bath as he went into it, and was filled witli such joy, that he ran naked out of the bath crying, / have found it, I have found it / ^' The moment snatch. That she has flitted off her charge, to cool Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook." P. 25, 1. 7, 8, 9. The persevering constancy of birds in their incubation is a most astonishing phenomenon. ** Neither (says Dr. Paley) ought it, under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in- stinct costs tlie animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for example, gives up, by sitting upon her nest ; how repugnant to her organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal, formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season when every thing invites her abroad: What is m.ore ; an animal delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose motions are so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other times, at r«st, is, for many hours of many days together, fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that situation, but I recognize an invisible hand, detaining the contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for a purpose, as the event proves, the most THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 63 worthy of the sacrifice, the most important, the most benefi- cial." Natural Theology, 346. " They see, and know That light for them is but an implement Of toU." P. 30, I. 4, 5, 6. In this passage I do not allude to any particular manufactory. The practice which I condemn is a general, and, I may say, a national vice. In those particular works which I have had be5t access to know, the evil is mitigated, as much as such an evil can be mitigated, by the superintending intelligence and hu- manity of the owners. . The legislature lately interposed with a statute for the protection of childhood ^ but I am sorry to say that, in Scotland at least, the inferior judges seem to consider this enactment as a dead letter. «' Belhaven, Fletcher." P. 22, 1. 4. Lord Belhaven's speech, in the expiring Parliament of Scot- land, is a most noble monument of unsuccessful eloquence. The following extracts are a fair specimen of the whole. ** But above all, I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like Caesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, looking mournfully around, covering herself with her royal garment, and breath- ing out her last words. And thou too, my son ! while she at- tends the fatal blow from our hands. Patricide is worse than parricide ; to offer violence to our country is worse than to our parents. But shall we, whose predecessors have founded and transmitted our monarchy and its laws entire to us, a free and independent kingdom, shall we be silent when our country is in danger, or betray what our progenitors have so dearly pur- chased ? The English are a great and glorious nation. Their armies are every where victorious ; their navy is the terror of Europe ; their commerce encircles the globe ; and their capi- tal has become the emporium of the whole earth : but we are obscure, poor, and despised, though once a nation of better account \ situate in a remote corner of the world, without al- liances, and without a name. What then can prevent us from burying our animosities, and uniting cordially together, sincQ 62 NOTES ON luded to has a likeness ; but it is a profile portrait of a man who squints: the principle deformity cannot be discerned. Mr. Laing", in treating of the tyranny which preceded the Revokition, has dismissed that squeamish delicacy, so often at variance with the frank and unaffected dig-nity of historical truth, and has described the royal brothers in terms of suita- ble reprobation. His character of the second Charles is a spirited painting-. I cannot, however, help thinking, that the principal actor in the judicial tortures and murders of that reign deserved a full length portrait as well as his master. '' The Syracusan's voice." P. 22, 1. 11. Archimedes discovered the exact quantity of silver, which an artificer had fraudulently mixed with the gold in a crown, made for Hiero, king of Syracuse. He had the hint of this disco- very, from perceiving the water rise up the sides of the bath as he went into it, and was filled with such joy, that he ran naked out of the bath crying, / have found it, I have found it / " The moment snatch. That she has flitted off her charge, to cool Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook." P. 25, 1. r, 8, 9. The persevering constancy of birds in their incubation is a most astonishing phenomenon. ** Neither (says Dr. Paley) oug'ht it, under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in- stinct costs the animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for example, gives up, by sitting upon her nest ; how repugnant to her organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal, formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season when every thing invites her abroad: What is m.ore ; an animal delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose motions are so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other times, at rest, is, for many hours of many days together, fixed to her nest, as close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and wires. For my part, I never see a bird in that situation, but I recognize an invisible hand, detaining the contented prisoner from her fields and groves, for a purpose, as the event proves, the most THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 63 worthy of the sacrifice, the most important, the most benefi- cial." Natural Theology, 346. " They see, and know That light for them is but an implement Of toil." P. 30, 1. 4, 5, 6. In this passage I do not allude to any particular manufactory. The practice which I condemn is a general^ and, I may say, a national vice. In those particular works which I have had best access to know, the evil is mitigated, as much as such an evil can be mitig'ated, by the superintending intelligence and hu- manity of the owners. , The legislature lately interposed with a statute for the protection of childhood ^ but I am sorry to say that, in Scotland at least, the inferior judges seem to consider this enactment as a dead letter. «' Belhaven, Fletcher." P. 23, 1. 4. LordBelhaven's speech, in the expiring Parliament of Scot- land, is a most noble monument of unsuccessful eloquence. The following extracts are a fair specimen of the whole. <* But above all, I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like Caesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, looking mournfully around, covering herself with her royal garment, and breath- ing out her last words. And thou too, my son ! while she at- tends the fatal blow from our bands. Patricide is worse than parricide ; to offer violence to our country is worse than to our parents. But shall we, whose predecessors have founded and transmitted our monarchy and its laws entire to us, a free and independent kingdom, shall we be silent when our country is in danger, or betray what our progenitors have so dearly pur- chased ? The English are a great and glorious nation. Their armies are every where victorious ; their navy is the terror of Europe ; their commerce encircles the globe ; and their capi- tal has become the emporium of the whole earth : but we are obscure, poor, and despised, though once a nation of better account , situate in a remote corner of the world, without al- liances, and without a name. What then can prevent us from burying our animosities, and uniting cordially together, since "Ku:^ 64 NOTES ON our very existence as a nation is at stake ? The enemy is aU ready at our gates ! Hannibal is within our gates ! Hannibal is at the foot of the throne, which he will soon demolish, seize upon these regalia, and dismiss us, never to return to this house again 1 Where are the Douglases, the Grahams, the Campbells, our peers and chieftains, who vindicated by their swords, from the usurpation of the English Edwj^rds, the in- dependence of their country, which their sons are about to forfeit by a single vote ? I see the English constitution remain- ing firm ; the same houses of Parliament ; the same taxes, customs, and excise ; the same trading companies, laws, and judicatures : whilst ours are either subjected to new re^gulati- ons, or annihilated for ever. And for what ? That we may be admitted to the honour of paying their old debts, and presenting a few witnesses to attest the new ones which they are pleased to contract / Good God! is this an entire surrender ? My heart bursts with indignation and grief, at the triumph which the English will obtain to-day, over a fierce and warlike nation, that has struggled to maintain its independence so long ! But if England should offer us our conditions, never will I consent to the surrender of our sovereignty ; without which, unless the contracting parties remain independent, there is no security different from his, who stipulates for the preservation of his property when he becomes a slave." Laing's History of Scotland, Vol. iv, 349—351. The character of Fletcher is ably drawn by the same his- torian. <* Fletcher was apparently the early pupil of Burnet ; but his virtues were confirmed by mature study, foreign travel, persecution, and exile. When he withdrew from the oppres- sive government of the duke of York, he engaged as a volun- teer in the Hungarian wars ; and, rather than desert his friend, embarked in Monmouth's^ unhappy expedition, of which he disapproved. At the Revolution, he returned with the prince of Orange, whose service he declined when that prince was advanced to the tlirone. From the study of the ancients, and the observation of modern governments, he had imbibed the principles of a genuine republican. Disgusted at William's au- THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 6S thority as inordinate, he considered that the prince, as the first and most dangerous magistrate of the state, should be severely restrained, not indulged in the free exercise, or abuse, of power. His mind was firm and independent, sincere and in- flexible in his friendship and resentments, impatient of con- tradiction, obstinate in his resolves, but unconscious of a sor- did motive, or an ungenerous desire. His countenance was stern, and his disposition unaccommodating, however affable to his friends ; but his word was sacred : His probity was never sullied by the breath of suspicion ; and equally tenacious of his dignity, and scrupulous in the observance of every point of honour, his spirit was proverbially brave as the sword he wore.* His schemes were often eccentric and impracticable^ but his genius was actuated by a sublime enthusiasm, and en- riched by an extensive converse with books and men. His elo- quence is characterised by a nervous and concise simplicity, always dignified, often sublime ; and his speeches in Parlia- ment may be classed among the best and purest specimens of oratory which the age produced. His free opinions were con- fined to no sect in religion, nor party in the state. Tlie love of his country was the ruling passion of his breast, and the uniform principle of his whole life. In a corrupt age, and amidst the violence of contending frictions, he appeared a rare example of the most upright and steady integrity, the purest honour, the most disinterested patriotism ; and, while the cha- racters of his venal, but more successful, competitors are con- signed to infamy or oblivion, his memory is revered and che- rished as the last of the Scots." Vol. iv, 296—298. * ** The sanae expression is used, without communication, by Lockhart and Mackay ; but the last is peculiarly happy in his character of Fletcher ; ' He is a gentlemen steady in his principles, of nice honour, — brave as the sword he wears, and bold as a lion, — would lose his life readily to serve his country, and would not do a base thing to save it." 66 NOTES ON '* The CUSHAT plains." P. S3, 1. 15. Scott, in the following fine passage^ uses this word in pre- ference to the English one ; * And now, in Branksome's good green wood. Asunder the aged oak he stood. The Baron's courser pricks his ears. As if a distant noise he hears. The Dwarf waved his long lean arm on high. And signs to the lovers to part and fiyj No tinie was then to vow or sigh. Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove. Flew like the startled cushat-dove : The Dwarf the stirrup held, and rein^ Vaulted the knight on his steed amain. And, pondering deep that morning's scene, Rode eastward through the hawtliorns green.' Lay of the Last Ministrely canto ii, 67, 68. " Is laid so thinly, that the light of day Is through it seen." P. 33, 1. 19, 20. The pigeon lays only two eggs. She is, besides, a large bird, and possesses an uncommon degree of animal heat. How dif. ferently she and the wren constiuict their respective nests ! *< Four pointed leaves luxuriant, &c." — P. 33, 1. 34. The herb Paris, *' Amid the leafless thorn the merry wren." — P. 35, 1. 14. The wren ** braves our severest winters, which it contributes to enliven by its sprightly note. ... It continues its song till late in the evening, and not unfrequently during a fall of now." — Beilby- and Bewick. The prints, in the work here quoted, are the most accurate, and, at the same time, lively represen. tations of birds, that I ever saw. ** And trusts her offspring to another's care." — P. o6^ 1. 4. * The cuckoo visits us early in the spring. Its well-known : .4;. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 67 cry is generally heard about the middle of April, and ceases the latter end of June ; its stay is short, the old cuckoos being said to quit this country early in July. Cuckoos never pair ; they build no nest , and, what is more extraordinary, the female deposits her solitary egg" in that of another bird, by whom it is hatched. The nest she chuses for this purpose is generally selected from the following, viz. the hedge-sparrow, the water-wagtail, the titlark, the yellow-hammer, the green linnet, or the whinchat. Of these it has been observed, that she shews a much greater partiality to the hedge-sparrow than to any of the rest. * We owe the following account of the economy of this singular bird, in the disposal of its egg, to the accurate observa- tions of Mr. Edward Jenner, communicated to the Royal So- ciety, and published in the 78th volume of their Transactions, part ii. He observes that, during the time the hedge-sparrow is laying her eggs, which generally takes up four or five days, the cuckoo contrives to deposit her egg among the rest, leaving the future care of it entirely to the hedge-sparrow. This intrusion often occasions some discomposure^ for the old hedge-sparrow, at intervals, whilst she is sitting, not only throws out some of her own eggs, but sometimes injures them in such a way, that they become addled; so that it frequently liappens that not more than two or three of the parent-bird's eggs are hatched with that of the cuckoo ^ and, w^hat is very remarkable, it has never been observed that the hedge-sparrow has either thrown out or injured the egg of the cuckoo. When the hedge-sparrow has sat her usual time, and has disengaged the young cuckoo and some of her own offspring from the shell, her own young ones, and any of her eggs that remain un- hatched, are soon turned out ; the young cuckoo then remains in full possession of the nest, and is the sole object of the future care of the foster parent. The young birds are not previously killed, nor the eggs demolished, but all are left to perish toge- ther, either entangled in the bush vvhich contains the nest, or lying on the ground under it. Mr. Jenner next proceeds to account for this seemingly unnatural circumstance ; and, as what he has advanced is the result of his own repeated obser- 68 NOTES ON vations, we shall give it nearly in his own words. On the 18th June, 1787, Mr. J. examined the nest of a hedge-spar- row, which then contained a cuckoo's and three hedge-spar- row's eggs. On inspecting it the day following, the bird had hatched, but the nest then contained only a young cuckoo and one young hedge-sparrow. The nest was placed so near the extremity of a hedge, that he could distinctly see what was going forward in it, and, to his great astonishment, he saw the young cuckoo, though so lately hatched, in the act of turning out the young hedge-sparrow. The mode of accomplishing this was curious : The little animal, with the assistance of its rump and wings, contrived to get the bird upon its back, and, making a lodgment for its burden, by elevating its elbows, clambered backwards with it up the side of the nest till it reach- ed the top, where, resting for a moment, it threw off its load with a jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest: after remaining a short time in this situation, and feeling about with the extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced that the busi- ness was properly executed, it dropped into the nest again. Mr. J. made several experiments in different nests, by repeat- edly putting in an egg to th^ young cuckoo, which he always found to be disposed of in the same manner." — Beilby a?id Bewick, Vol. i, 105—107. " No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind." P. 37, 1. 18. * For the honour of humanity, there are minds, which re- quire no other motive than what passes within. And here J cannot resist paying a tribute to the memory of a beloved uncle, and recording a benevolence towards all the inhabitants around him, that struck me from my earliest remembrance ; and it is an impression I wish always to cherish. It seemed as if he had made his extensive walks as much for them as for himself; they used them as freely, and their enjoyment was his. The vil- lage bore as strong marks of his and of his brother's attentions (for in that respect they appeared to have but one mind) to the comforts and pleasures of its inhabitants. Such attentive kind- nesses are amply repaid by affectionate regard and reverence j THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 69 and were they general throughout the kingdom, they would do much more towards guarding us against democratical opinions, ' Than twenty thousand soldiers armed in proof.' * The cheerfulness of the scene I have mentioned, and all the-interesting circumstances attending it (so different from those of solitary grandeur), have convinced me, that he who destroys dwellings, gardens, and inclosures, for the sake of mere extent, and parade of property, not only extends the bounds of monotony, and of dreary? selfish pride, but contracts those of variety, amusement, and humanity. ' I own it does surprise me that, in an age and in a country where the arts are so highly cultivated, one single plan (and that but moderate) should have been so adopted ; and that even the love of peculiarity s*hould not sometimes have checked this method of levelling all distinctions, of making all places alike, all equally tame and insipid. * Few persons have been so lucky as never to have seen or heard the true firoser, smiling, and distinctly uttering his flow- ing common-place nothings, with the same placid countenance, the same even-toned voice : he is the very emblem of serpen- tine walks, belts, and rivers, and all Mr. Brown's works. Like him, they are smooth, flowing, even, and distinct ; and, like him, they wear one's soul out.' — Price's Essay , Vol. i, 379—382. " Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights." P. 37, 1. 26, 27. * In all that relates to cottages, hamlets, and villages,. to the grouping of them, and their mixture with tress and climb- ing plants, tbe best instruction may be gained from the works of the Dutch and Flemish masters ; which perhaps afford a greater variety of useful hints to the generality of improvers, and such as might more easily be carried into practice, than those grander scenes w^hicli are exhibited in the lighter schools of painting. All the splendid effects of architecture, and of assemblages of magnificent buildings, whether in cities, or G 70 NOTES ON amidst rural scenery, can only be displayed by princes, and men of princely revenues: but it is in the power of men of moderate fortunes, by means of slig-lit additions and alterations, to pro- duce a very essential change in the appearance of farm build- ing's, cottages, &c. and in the grouping* of them in villages ; and such effects, though less splendid than those of regular architecture, are not less interesting. There is, indeed, no scene where such a variety of forms and embellishments may be introduced at so small an expense, and without any thing fantastic or unnatural, as that of a village ; none where the lover of painting, and the lover of humanity, may find so many sources of amusement and interest.' ' I could wish to turn the minds of improvers, from too much attachment to soUtary parade, towards objects more connected with general habitation and embellishment. Where a mansion-house, and a place upon a large scale, happen to be situated ars close to a village, as some of the naost magnificent seats in the kingdom are to small towns, both styles of embel- lishment might be adopted. Far from interfering, they would add to each other's effect^ and it may be truly said, that tliere is no way in which wealth can produce such natural unafiecte Vol. i, 378, 379. <* Pleasant the path By sunny garden wall." P. 38, 1. 21, 22. * It has been justly observed, that the love of seclusion and safety is not less natural to man, than that of liberty : and our ancestors have left strong proofs of the truth of that obser- servation. In many old places, there are almost as many walled compartments without, as apartments within doors ; and though there is no defending the beauty of biick-waUs, yet still that appearance of seclusion and safety, when it can be so contrived as not to interfere with general beauty, is a point well worth obtaining ^ and no man is more ready than myself to allow, that the comfortable is a principle which * * Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that when he and Wilson, the landscape painter, were looking at the view from Rich- mond terrace, Wilson was pointing out some particular part, and in order to direct his eye to it, * There,' said he, * near those houses , there, where the figures are.' * Though a paint- er,' said Sir Joshua, * I was puzzled. I though the meant statues, and was looking upon the tops of the Iiouses , for I did not at first conceive that the men and women we plainly saw walking about, were, by him, only thought of as figures in the landscape.' 72 NOTES ON should never be neglected. 0;i that account, all walled gar- dens and compartments near a hon!<^^ all warm, sheltered, sunny walks, under walls planted with fruit-tress, are greatly to be wished for ; and should be preserved, if possible, when once established.' IbitJ. Vol. ii, 145, 146. •' There are who doubt this migratory voyage." P. 40, 1. 32. " The migration of the swallow tribe has been noticed by almost every writer on the natural history of birds ; and vari- ous opinions have been formed respecting their disappearance, and the state in which they subsist during that interval. Some naturalists suppose that they do not leave this island at the end of autumn, but that they lie in a torpid state, till the be- ginning of sunrjmer, in the banks of rivers, in the hollows of decayed trees, in holes and crevices of old buildings, in sand banks, and the like. Some Imve even asserted that swallows pass the winter immersed in the waters of lakes and rivers, where they have been found in clusters, mouth to mouth, wing to wing, foot to foot, and that they retire to these places in autumn, and creep down the reeds to their subaqueous re- treats. In support of this opinion, Mr. K!ein very gravely as* serts, on the credit of some countrymen, that swallows some- times assemble in numbers, cling'ing to a reed till it breaks, and sinks with tliem to the bottom , that their immersion is preceded by a song dr dirge, which lasts more than a quarter of an hour ; that sometimes they lay hold on a straw with their bills, and plunge down in society ; and that others form a large mass, by clinging together by the feet, and in this man., ner commit themselves to the deep. It requires no great depth of reasoning to refute Such palpaple absurdities, or to shew the physical impossibility of a body, specifically lighter than water, employing another body lighter than itself for the purpose of immersion : But, admitting the possibility of this curious mode of immersion, it is by no means probable that swallows, or any other animal in a torpid state, can exist for any length of time in an element to which they have never THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 73 been accustomed, and are besides totally unprovided by na- ture with organs suited to such a mode of subsistance, * The celebrated Mr. John Hunter informs us, ' That he had dissected many swallows, but found nothing in them different from other birds as to the organs of respiration j' and therefore concludes that it is highly absurd to suppose, that terrestrial animals can remain any long time under water without being drowned. It must not, however, be denied, that swallows have been sorhetimes found in a torpid state during the winter months ; but such instances are by no means common, and will not support the inference that, if any of them can survive the winter in tliat state, the whole species is preserved in the same manner.* That other birds * ' There are various instances on record, which bear the strongest marks of veracity, of swallows having been taken out of water, and of tlieir baring been so far recovered by warmth as to exhibit evident signs of life, so as even to fly about for a short space of time. But, whilst we admit the fact, we are not inclined to allow the conclusion generally drawn from it, viz. that swallows, at the time of their disap- pearance, frequently immerse themselves in seas, lakes, and rivers, and, at the proper season, emerge and re assume the ordinary functions of life and animation ; for^ it should be ob- served that, in those instances which have been the best authenticated, [See F'orster's Translation of Kalm's Tra- *oels into North America, 149, note.] it appears, that the swallows so taken up were generally found entangled amongst reeds and rushes, *by the sides, or in the shallowest parts, of the lakes or rivers where they happened to be discovered, and that, having been brought to life so far as to fly about, they all of them died in a few hours after. From the facts thus stated, we v/ould infer, tliat at the time of the disappearance of swallows, the reedy grounds by the sides or rivers and standing waters are generally dry, and that these birds, espe- cially the latter hatchings, which frequent such places for the sake of food, retire to tliem at the proper season, and lodge G 3 74 NOTES ON have been found in a torpid state, may be inferred from the following" curious fi\ct, whicli was communicated to us by a gentleman who saw the bird, and had the account from the person who found it. A few years ago, a young cuckoo was found in the tliickest part of a close furze bush ; when taken up, it presently discovered signs of life, but was quite destitute of feathers ; being kept warm, and carefully fed, it grew, and recovered its coat of feathers. In the spring following it made its escape, and in flying across the river Tyne it gave its usual call. We have observed a single swallow, so late as the latter end of October. Mr. White, in his Natural History of Selborne, mentions having seen a house martin flying about in November, long after the general migration had taken place. Many more instances might be given of such late appearances, which, added to tlie well-authenticated accounts of swallows having been actually found in a torpid state, leave us no room to deubt that such young birds as have been late hatched, and consequently not strong enough to undertake a long voyage to the coast of Africa, are left behind, and remain concealed in hiding places till the return of spring. On the other hand, tliat actual migrations of the swallow tribe do take place, has been well proved from a variety of well-attested facts, most of which have been taken from the observations of navigators, who were eye-witnesses of their flights, and whose ships have sometimes afforded a resting place to the weary travellers." — Beilby a?i(J Bbwick. Introduction, xv — xvii. themselves among the roots, or in the thickest parts of the rank grass w^hich grows there ; that, during their state of torpidity, they are liable to ])e covered with water, from the yains which follow, and are sometimes washed into the deeper parts of the lake or river, where they have been accidentally taken up; and that, probably, the transient signs of life, which they have discovered on such occasions, have given rise to a variety of vague and improbable accounts of their immersion, THE BIRDS CTF SCOTLAND. 75 '' Behold the corn-craik: ^ she, too, wings her way To other lands, &c." P. 40, 1. Sq'.SY. * It makes its appearance about the same time as the quail, and frequents the same places, whence it is called, in some countries, ' the king of the quails.' Its well known cry is first heard as soon as the grass becomes long enough to shelter it, and continues till the grass is cut ^ but the bird is seldom seen, for it constantly skulks among the thickest part of the herbage, and runs so nimbly through it, winding and doubling in every direction, that it is difficult to come near it : when hard pushed by the dog, it sometimes stops short, and squats down, by' which means its too eager pursuer overshoots the spot, and loses the trace. It seldom springs, but when driven to extre- mity, and generally flies with its legs hanging down, but never to a great distance : As soon as it alights, it runs off, and, before the fowler has reached the spot, the bird is at a considerable distance. The corn-craik leaves this island in winter, and repairs to other countries in search of food, which consists of worms, slugs, and insects ; it likewise feeds on seeds of various kinds : it is very com.mpn in Ireland, and is seen in great numbers in the island of Anglesea, in its passage to that country. On its first arrival in England it is so lean as to weigh less than six ounces, from whence one would con- clude that it must have come from distant parts : before its departure, however, it has been known to exceed eight ounces, and is then very delicious eating. The female lays ten or twelve eggs, on a nest made of a little moss or dry grass care- lessly put together , they are of a pale ash colour, marked with rust-coloured spots. The young craiks run as soon as they have burst the shell, folhnving the mother; they are covered with a black down, and soon find the use of their legs.' Ibid. 312, 313. " Struggling she strives, Entangled in the thorny labyrinth. While easily its way the small bird winds." P. 42, 1. 1, 2, 3. - The uses of prickles on shrubs are thus enumerated by Ray, — * To secure them from the browsing of beasts, as also to 76 NOTES ON shelter others that grow under them. Moreover, they are hereby rendered very useful to man, as if designed by nature to make both quick and dead hedges and fences," The uses which Pliny enumerates are, ** Ne se depascat avida quad- rupes, ne procaces manus rapiant, ne neglecta vestigia obte* rant, lie insidens ales infi'ingat :" lest the greedy quadruped should browse upon them, the hand wantonly seize them, the cai'eless footstep tread upon them, or the perching bird * break them. I think both these great naturalists have omitted one of the uses of thorny shrubs; — the protection of the small birds against the attacks of their stronger neighbours. *' What dreadful cliffs o'erhang this little stream !" • P. 42, 1. 17. The « water of Mouss' runs for about half a mile between Cartlane craigs. These lofty precipices are so abrupt, and take their rise so close to the stream, that the very channel is the only place from which they can be properly seen. The caves of Cartlane craigs are famous as the lurkhig places of William Wallace. ' While that Wallace into the wood was past. Then Cartlane craig per sued they full fast.' Blind Harry. ^* Even on that bulging verge, &c." P. 42, 1. 33. I have here attempted a description of the Cora Li?m. I think it the finest of the falls of Clyde : though the fall of Stone- byres is, I believe, more generally admired. ** And, many a year, the self same tree The aged solitary pair frequent." P. 44, 1. 6, T. ' In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, though shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excres- cence about the middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens * Mas properly signifies, a large bird. THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 77 had fixed their residence for such a series of years, that the oak was distinguished by the title of, " The Raven tree.'* Natit- ral History of Selborne, 6. *« Amid those plains wliere Danube darkly rolls, — The theatres, on which the kingly play Of war is oftenest acted." P. 44, 1. 12, 13, 14. * Milder yet thy snowy breezes Pjour on yonder tented shores. Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, Or the dark brown Danube roars. O, winds of winter, list ye there. To many a deep and dying groan ! Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ! Alas ! even your unhalk)wed breath May spare the victim, fallen low ; But man will ask no truce to death, No bounds to human wo." Campbell's Ode to Winter. <* On distant waves, the raven of the sea, The CORMORANT, devours lier carrion food. Along the blood-stained coast of Senegal," &c. P. 46, 1. 14, 15, 16. The Cormorant is an inhabitant of Scotland, and is accord- ingly ranked by Pennant, and other ornithologists, among British birds. Her sphere of action I have placed at a distance from Scotland ; and this I thought a very allowable liberty. The synonymous word, in some of the northern languages, is straiid raven, " Above the stern-emblazoned words, that tell The amount of crimes which Britain's boasted laivg Within the narrow wooden walls permit." P. 46, 1. 23, 24, 25. By act of Parliament, there must be painted on the stern of every slave ship, in large characters, such as are to be seen on so NOTES ON tiae suspensa. Hunc finem vitae habuit vir sui temporis long^e prsestautissimus ; in sascipiendis periculis animi magriitudine, in rebus gerendis fortitudine et consilio, clarissimis veterum ducibus facile comparandus; caritate in patriamneminisecun- dus: qui servientibus cseteris solus liber, neque praemiis ad- duci, neque metu cogi potuit, ut causam publicam semel sus- ceptam desereret : Cujus mors eo miserabilior est visa, quod kb hoste invictus, a quibus minime debuit, fuit proditus." Ibid. " The EAGLE OF THE SExV froHi x\tlas soars, Op TenerifFe's hoar peak." P. 49, 1. 6, 7. This bird, though I have placed her at a distance, is an in- habitant of Scotland. * This species is found in Ireland, and several parts of Great Britain; the specimen we took our description from was shot in the county of Galway. Mr. Willouc^hby tells us, there was an eyry of them in Whinfield park, Westmoreland; and the eagle soaring in the air with a cat in its talons, which Carlow drew^ from the very fiict which he saw in Scotland, is of this kind. The cat's resistance brought both animals to the ground; when Barlow took them up, and afterwards caused the event to be engraved in the thirty-sixth plate of his collec- tion of prints. Turner says that, in his days, it was too well known in England; for it made horrible destruction among the fish : ha adds that fishermen were fond of anointing their baits with the fat of this bird, imagining that it had a peculiar allur- ing quality: they were superstitious enough to believe that, whenever the sea eagle hovered over a piece of water, the fish. (as if charmed) would rise to the surface with their bellies up- waids, and in that manner present themselves to him. No writer since Clusius has described the sea eagle. Though no uncommon species, it seems at present to be but little known ; being generally confounded with the golden eagle., to which it bears some resemblance. The colours of the head, neck, and body, are the same wilh the latter, but much hght- er; the tawny part in this predominating : In size it is far supe- rior ; the bill is larger, moje hooked, and more arched ; un- derneath grow several short but strong hairs or bristles, form- THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 81 ing a sort of beard. This gave occasion to some writers to suppose it to be the aquila barbata, or bearded eagle of Pliny. The interior sides, and the tips of the feathers of the tail, are of a deep brown ; the exterior sides of some are ferruginous, in others blotched with white. The legs are yellow, strong, and thick, and feathered but little below the knees j which is an invariable specific difference between this and our first species. This nakedness of the legs is beside no small con- venience to a bird, who preys among the waters. The claws are of a deep and shining black, exceeding large and strong, and hooked into a perfect semicircle. * All writers agree that this eagle feeds principally on fish ; which it takes as they are swimming near the surface, by dart- ing itself down on them ; not by diving or swimming, as seve- ral authors have invented, who, furnish it for that purpose with one webbed foot to swim with, and another divided foot to take its prey. Pliny, with his usual elegance, describes tlie manner of its fishing: * Superest hali^etos, clarissima oculorum acie, librans ex alto sese, visoque in mari pispe, pr?eceps in eo ruens, et discussis pectore atjuis rapiens." Pennant, Vol. ii, X26— 128. «.5S« THE RURAL CALENDAR. JANUARY. Long ere the snow-veiled dawn, the bird of morn His wings quick claps, and sounds his cheering call : The cottage hinds the glimmering lantern trim, And to the barn wade, sinking, in the drift : The alternate flails bounce from the loosened sheaf. Pleasant these sounds ! they sleep to slumber change ; Pleasant to him, whom no laborious task Whispers, arise / — whom neither love of gain. Nor love of power, nor hopes, nor fears, disturb. Late daylight comes at last, and the strained eye Shrinks from the dazzling brightness of the scene, — One wide expanse of whiteness uniform. As yet no wandering footstep has defaced The spotless plain, save where some wounded hare, Wrenched from the springe, has left a blood-stained track. How smooth are all the fields ! sunk every fence ^ The furrow, here and there, heaped to a ridge. O'er which the sidelong plough-shaft scarcely peers. Cold blows the north-wind o'er the dreary waste. — O ye that shiver by your blazing fires, Think of the inmates of yon hut, half sunk Beneath the drift : from it no smoke ascends , The broken straw-filled pane excludes the light. 84 THE RURAL CALENDAR. But ill excludes the blast. The Redbreast there For shelter seeks, but short, ah ! very short His stay ; no crumbs, strewn careless on the floor, Attract his sidelong" glance ; to warmer roofs He flies ; a welcome — -soon a fearless, guest. He cheers the winter day with summer songs. Short is the reign of day, tedious the night. The city's distant lights arrest my view. And magic fancy whirls me to the scene. There vice and folly run their giddy rounds ; There eager crowds are hurrying to the sight Of feigned distress, yet have not time to hear The shivering orphan's prayer. The flaring lamps Of gilded chariots, like the meteor eyes Of mighty g'iants, famed in legends old. Illume the snowy s^treet ; the silent wheels On heedless passenger steal unperceived. Bearing the splendid fair to flutter round. Amid the flowery labyrinths of the dance. But, hark ! the merry catch. Good social souls. Sing on, and drown dull care in bumpers deep ; The bell, snow-muflled, warns not of the hour ; For scarce the sentenced felon's watchful ear Can catch the softened knell, by which he sums The hours he has to live. Poor hopeless wretch ! His thoughts are horror, and his dreams despair: And ever as he, on his strawy couch. Turns heavily, his chains and fetters, grating;. Awake the inmates of some neighbouring cell. Who bless their lot, that debt is all their crime. #.. THE RURAL CALENDAR. 25 FEBRUARY. X HE treacherous fowler, in the drifted "wreath. The snare conceals, and strews the husky lure. Tempting" the famished fowls of heaven to light : They light ^ the captive strives in vain to fly. Scattering around, with fluttering wing, the snow. Amid the untrod snows, oft let me roam Far up the lonely glen, and mark its change ; The frozen rill's hoarse murmur scarce is heard ; The rocky cleft, the fairy bourne smoothed up, Repeat no more my solitary voice. Now to the icy plain the, city swarms. In giddy circles, whirling variously. The skater fleetly thrids the mazy throng, While smaller wights the sliding pastime ply. Unhappy he, of poverty the child ! Who, barefoot, standing, eyes his merry mates. And, shivering, weeps, not for the biting cold. But that he cannot join the slippery sport. Trust not incautiously the smooth expanse ; For oft a treacherous thaw, ere yet perceived. Saps by degress the solid-seeming mass : At last the long-piled mountain snows dissolve, Bursting the roaring river's brittle 1)onds j The shattered fragments down the cataract shoot. And, sinking in the boiling deep below. At distance re-appear, then sweep along. Marking their height upon the half sunk trees. No more the ploughman hurls the sounding quoit ; The loosened glebe demands the rusted share, And slow the toiling team plods o'er the field. But oft, ere half the winding task be done. Returning frost again usurps the year, ' H 2 I 86 THE RURAL CALENDAR. Fixing the ploughshare in the unfinished fur ; And still, at times, the flaky shower decends. Whitening the plain, save where the wheaten blade, Peering, uplifts its green and hardy head. As if just springing from a soil of snow. While yet the night is long, and drear, and chill, Soon as the slanting sun has sunk from view. The sounding anvil cheerily invites The weary hind to leave his twinkling fire, And bask himself before the furnace glare ; Where, blest with unbought mirth, the rustic ring. Their faces tinted by the yellow blaze. Beguile the hours, nor e^vy rooms of state. MARCH 1 HE ravaged fields, waste, colourless, and bleak. Retreating Winter leaves, with angry frown, And lingering on the distant snow-streaked hills. Displays the motley remnants of his reign. With shouldered spade, the labourer to the field Hies, joyful that the softened glebe gives leave To toil ; no more his children cry for bread. Or, shivering, crowd around the scanty fire ; No more he's doomed, reluctant, to receive The pittance, which the rich man proudly ^ves. Who, when he gives, thinks heaven itself obliged. Vain man ! think not there's merit in the boon. If, quitting not one comfort, not one joy. The sparkling wine still circles round thy board. Thy hearth still blazes, and the sounding strings, Blent with the voice symphonious, charm thine ear. THE RURAL CALENDAR. 87 The redbreast now> at morn, resumes his song, J| And larks, high-soaring, wing their spiral flight. While the light hearted plough-boy singing, blythe, *' The broom, the bonny broom of Cowdenknows,'' FiUs with delight the wandering townsman's ear y May be, though carolled rude in artless guise. Sad Floddenfield, of Scotia's lays most sweet. Most mournful, dims, with starting tear, his eye._ Nor silent are the upland leas ; cheerily The patridge now her tuneless call repeats. Or, bursting unexpected from the brake. Startles the milkmaid singing o'er the ridge. Nor silent are the chilly leafless woods ; The thrush's note is heard amid the grove, Soon as the primrose, from the withered leaves. Smiling, looks out. Rash floweret ! oft betrayed. By summer-seeming days, to venture fortli Thy tender form, — the killing northern blast Wm wrap thee lifeless in a hoar-frost shroud. APRIL Descend, sw^eet April, from yon watery bow. And, liberal, strew the ground with budding flowers. With leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet, ifluricula, with powdered cup, primrose That loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade. At thy approach health re-illumes the eye : Even pale Consumption, from thy balmy breath, Inhales delusive hope , and, dreaming still Of length of days, basks in some sunny plat, And decks her half-foreboding breast with flowers, — &8 THE RURAL CALENDAR. With flowers, which else would have survived the hand By which they 're pulled. But they will bloom again : The daisy, spreading on the greensward grave. Fades, dies, and seems to perish, yet revives. Shall man for ever sleep ? Cruel the tongue. That, with sophistic art, snatches from pain. Disease, and grief, and want, that antidote. Which makes the wretched smile, the hopeless hope. Light now the western gale sweeps o'er the plain -, Gently it waves the rivulet's cascade ; Gently it parts the lock on beauty's brow. And lifts the tresses from the snowy neck. And bends the flowers, and makes the lily stoop, As if to kiss its image in the wave -, Or curls, vv^ith softest breath, the glossy pool. Aiding the treachery of the mimic fly : While, warily, behind the half-leaved bush. The angler screen'd, with keenest eye intent. Awaits the sudden rising of the trout : Down dips the feathery lure ; the quivering rod Bends low ; in vain the cheated captive strives To break the yielding line ? exhausted soon. Ashore he's drawn, and, on the mossy bank. Weltering, he dyes the primrose with his blood. MAY Ok blythe May morning, when the lark's first note Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist. The village maids then hie them to the woods To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim ; Wandering in misty glades they lose their way. THE RURAL CALENDAR. 89 And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms. Like joining" dew-drops on the blushing* rose. ; Sweet month ! thy locks with bursting" buds bedecked. With opening" hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms. Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine eye ^ The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun Looks out with watery beam ; looks out and smiles. Now from the wild flower bank the little bird Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies ; And oft returns, and oft the work renews. Till all the curious fabric hangs complete : Alas, but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye. Who, heedless of the warbler's saddest plaint. Tears from the bush the toil of many^n hour ; Then, thoughtless wretch ! pursues the devious bee. Buzzing from flower to flower : she wings her flight. Far from his following eye, to walled parterres, ^ Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds Of full-blown lilies, doomed to die unculled. Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!) The bosom's rival brightness half betrays. While chusing 'raong the gently bending stalks^ The snowy hand a sister blossom seems. More sweet to me the lily's meekened grace. Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds Around the sinking sun : to me more sweet Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace^ When deepening shades ol^cure the dusky woods ; Then comes the silence of the dewy hour. With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in fancy's ear. While from yon elm, with water- kissing boughs Along the moveless winding of the brook. The smooth expanse is calmness, stillness all, Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge, Arousing meditation's downward look, Rufile, with many a gently circling wave On wave, the glassy surface undulating far. 90 THE RURAL CALENDAR. JUNE. OHORT is the reign of night, and almost blends The evening twilight with the morning dawn. Mild hour of dawn ! thy wide-spread solitude. And placid stillness, soothe even misery's sigh : Deep the distress that cannot feel thy charm !— As yet the thrush roots on the bloomy spray. With head beneath his dew-besprinkled wing, When, roused by my lone tread, he lightly shakes His ruffling plumes, and chaunts the untaught note. Soon followed by the woodland choir, warbling Melodiously the oft-repeated song. Till noontide pour the torpor-shedding ray. Then is the hour to seek the sylvan bank Of lonely stream, remote from human haunt ; To mark the wild bee voyaging, deep-toned. Low weighing down each floweret's tender stalk ; To list the grasshopper's hoarse creaking chirp j And then to let excursive fancy fly To scenes, where roaring cannon drown the straining voice. And fierce gesticulation takes the place Of useless words. May be some Aloine brook. That sers'ed to part two neighbouring shepherd's flocks, Is now the limit of two hostile camps. Weak limit ! to be filled, ere evening star. With heaps of slain. Far down thy rocky course. The midnight wolf, lapping the blood-stained flood, Gluts his keen thirst, and oft and oft returns, Unsated, to the purple, tepid stream. But let me fly such scenes, which, even when feigned, Distress. To Scotia's peaceful glens I turn. And rest my eyes upon her waving fields. Where now the scythe lays low the mingled flowers. THE RURAL CALENDAR. 91 Alb spare, thou pitying 9wain ! a ridge-breadth round The partridge nest : so shall no new-come lord. To ope a vista to some distant spire. Thy cottage raze ; but, when the toilsome day Is done, still shall the turf-laid seat invite Thy weary limbs ; there peace and health shall bless Thy frugal fare, served by the unhired hand. That seeks no wage*, save a parent's smile. Thus glides the eve, while round the strawy roof Is heard the bat's wing in the deep-hushed air, And from the little field the corncraik's harsh. Yet not unpleasing, note, the stillness breaks. All the night long, till day-spring wake the lark» JULY. Slow move the sultry hours. O, for the shield Of darkening boughs, or hollow rock grotesque ! The pool transparent to its pebbly bed. With here and there a slowly-gliding trout. Invites the throbbingj^alf reluctant, breast To plunge ; the dash re-echoes from the rocks ; Smoothly, in a sinuous course, the swimmer winds^ Now, with extended arms, rowing his way. And now, with sunward face, he floating lies ; Till, blinded by the dazzling beam, he turns ; Then to the bottom dives, emerging soon With stone, as trophy, in his waving hand : Blythe days of jocund youth, now almost flown ! Meantime, far up the windings of the stream, Where o'er the narrowed course the hazels meet. The sportive shriek, shrill, mingled with the laugh> I 92 THE RURAL CALENDAR. The l)ushes hung with beaiit/s white attire. Tempt, yet forbid, the intrusive eye's approach. Unhappy he, who in this season pent Within the darksome gloom of city lane. Pines for the flowery path, and woody shades. From which the love of lucre, or of power, Enticed his youthful steps. In vain he turns The rich descriptive page of Thomson's muse. And strives to fancy that the lovely scenes Are present. So the hand of childhood tries To grasp the pictured bunch of fruit, or flowers. But, disappointed, feels the canvas smooth : So the naked lark^ upon a withering turf. Flutters from side to side, with quivering wings. As if in act of mounting to the skies. At noontide hour, from scliool, the little throng Rush gaily, sporting o'er the enamelled mead. Some strive to catch the bloom-perched butterfly. And, if they miss his mealy wnngs, the flower From which he flies the disappointment soothes. Others, so pale in look, in tattered garb. Motley with half-spun threads and cotton flakes, Trudge, drooping, to the many-storied pile. Where thousand spindles whirling stun the ear. Confused. There, prisoned close, they wretched moil. ^5 Sweet ag-e, perverted from its proper end ! When childhood toils, the field shoiUi^De the scene, — To tend the sheep, or drive the herd a-field, Or, from the corn fields, scare the pilfering rooks, Or to the mowers bear the milky pail. But, Commerce, Manufactures, still Weary the ear ; health, morals, all must yield* To pamper the monopolising few : — 'Twill make a wealthy but a wretched state. Blest be the generous band, that would restore To honour due the long-neglected plough ! From it expect peace, plenty, virtue, health: Compare with it, Bj'itannia, all thine isles THE RURAL CALENDAR. 93 Beyond the Atlantic wave ! tliy trade ! thy ships Deep-fraught with blood ! But let me quit such themes ! and, peaceful, roam The winding glen, where now the wild-roee pale. And garish broom, strew, with their fading flowers. The narrow greenwood path. To me more sweet The greenwood path, half hid 'neath brake and brier. Than pebbled walk so trim ; more dear to me The daisied plat, before the cottage door. Than waveless sea of widely spreading lawn, 'Mid which some insulated mansion towers. Spurning the humble dwellings from its proud domain. AUGUST. r ARE WE L, sweet summer, and thy fading flowers ? Farewel, sweet summer, and thy woodland songs ! No woodland note is heard, save where the hawk. High from her eyry, skims in circling flight. With all her clamorous young, first venturing forth On untried wing. At distance far, the sound Alarms the barn-door flock ; the fearful dam Calls in her brood beneath her ruffling plumes ; With crowding feet they stand, and frequent peep Through the half-opened wing. The partridge quakes Among the rustling corn. Ye gentle tribes. Think not your deadliest foe is now at hand. To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe ; *Tis he who wages universal war. Soon as his murderous law gives leave to <^^ound The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild, The sportsman, anxious, watching for the dawn. Lies turning, while his dog, in happy dreams, I 94 THE RURAL CALENDAR. With feeble bark anticipates the day. Some, ere the dawn steals o'ei* the deep blue lake. The hill ascend : vain is their eager ha-ste, — The dog's quick breath is heard panting around. But neither dog, nor springing game, is seen Amid the floating mist ; short interval Of respite to the trembling dewy wing. Ah, many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour. Shall vainly flap the purple binding heath. — Fatigued, at noon, the spoiler seeks the shade Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream. The hunter's rest, in days of other years, When sad the voice of Cona, in the gale, Lamentingly the song of Selma sung. How changeful, Caledonia, is thy clime ! Where is the sun-beam that but now so bright Played on the dimpling brook ? Dark o'ier the heath A deepening gloom is hung^ from clouds high piled On clouds, thc^ sudden flash glances ; the thunder Rolls far, reverberated 'mong the cliflTs ; Nor pause ; but ere the echo of one peal Has ceased, another, louder still, the ear appals. The sporting lamb hastes to its mother's side ; The shepherd stoops into the mountain-cave, At every momentary flash illumed Back to its iimermost recess, where gleams The vaulted spar , the eagle, sudden smote. Falls to the ground lifeless ; beneath the wave The sea-fowl plunges , fast the rain descends ; The whitened streams, from every mountain side. Hush to the valley, tinging far the lake. THE RURAL CALENDAR. ^5 SEPTEMBER VTRADUAL the woods their varied tints assume ; The hawthorn reddens, and the rowan-tree Displays its ruby clusters, seeming sweet, Y^t harsh, disfig-uring* the fairest face. Ai sultry hour of noon, the reaper band Rest from their toil, and in the lusty stack Their sickles hang*. Around their simple fare, Upon the stubble spread, blythesome they form A circling" group, while humbly waits behind The wistful dog, and with expressive look, And pawing foot, implores his little share. The short repast, seasoned with simple mirth, Aod not without the song, gives place to sleep. With sheaf beneath his head, the rustic youth Enjoys sweet slumbers, while the maid he loves Steals to his side, and screens him from the sun. But not by day alone the reapers toil : Oft in the moon's pale ray the sickle gleams. And heaps the dewy sheaf, — thy changeful sky, Poor Scotland, warns to seize the hour serene. The gleaners, wandering with the morning ray. Spread o'er the new-reaped field. Tottering old age. And lisping infancy, are there, and she Who better days has seen. — No shelter now The covey finds ^ but, hark ! the murderous tube. Exultingly the deep-mouthed spaniel bears The fluttering victim to his master's foot : Perhaps another, wounded, flying far Eludes the eager following eye, and drops Among the lonely furze, to pine and die. 96 THE RURAL CALENDAR. OCTOBER. W ITH hound and horn, o'er moor, and hill, and dale, The chace sweeps on ; no obstacle they heed, Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor wood, nor river wide. The clamorous pack rush rapid down the vale. Whilst o'er 3^on brushwood tops, at times, are seen The moving branches of the victim stag : Soon fur beyond he stretches o'er the plain. O, may he safe elude the savage rout. And may the woods be left to peace again ! Hushed are the faded woods ; no bird is hea»d, Save where the redbreast mourns the falling leaf. At close of shortened day, the reaper, tired. With sickle on his shoulder, homeward hies : Night comes with threatening storm, first whispering low. Sighing amid the boughs ; then, by degrees. With violence redoubled at each pause. Furious it rages, scaring startled sleep. The river roars. Long-wished, at last, the dawn, Doubtful, peeps forth , the winds are hushed, and sleep Lights on the eyes unsullied with a tear ; Nor flies, but at the plough-boy's whistle blythe. Or hunter's horn, or sound of hedger's bill. Placid the sun shoots through the half-stript grove j The grove's sere leaves float down the dusky flood. The happy schoolboy, whom the swollen streams, Perilous to wight so small, give holiday. Forth roaming, now wild berries pulls, now paints. Artless, his rosy cheek with purple hue j Now wonders that tlie nest, hung in the leafless thorn. So full in view, escaped erewhile his search ; On tiptoe raised, — ah, disappointment dire ! His eager hand finds nought but withered leaves. F RURAL CALENDAR. 97 Night comes again ; the cloudless canopy Is one bright arch, — myriads, myriads of stars. To him who wanders 'mo/ig the silent woods, Tlie twinkling orbs beam through the leafless boughs. Which erst excluded the meridian ray. NOVEMBER. i^ ANGUID the morning beam slants o'er the lea; The hoary grass, crisp, crackles 'neath the tread. On the haw-clustered thorns, a motly flock Of birds, of various plume, and various note. Discordant chirp ; the linnet and the thrush, With speckled breast, the blackbird yellow-beaked, The goldfinch, fieldfare, with the sparrow, pert And clamorous above his shivering mates. While, on the house-top, faint the redbreast plains. Where do ye lurk, ye houseless commoners, When bleak November's sun is overcast , When sweeps the blast fierce through the deepest groves, Driving the fallen leaves in whirling wreaths ; When scarce the raven keeps her bending perch, When dashing cataracts are backward blown ? A deluge pours ; loud comes the river down : The margin trees now insulated seem. As if they in the midway current grew. Oft let me stand upon the giddy brink. And chase, vnth following gaze, the whirling foam. Or woodland wreck : ah me ! that broken branch. Sweeping along, may tempt some heedless boy, Sent by his needy parents to the woods. For brushwood gleaning for their evening fire. To stretch too far his little arm ; he falls, I 2 98 THE RURAL CALENDAR. He sinks. Long is he looked for, oft he's called ; His homeward whistle oft is fancied near: His playmates find him on the oozy bank. And, in his stiffened grasp, the fatal branch. Short is the day ; dreary the boisterous night : At intervals the moon gleams through the clouds, And, now and then, a star is dimly seen. When day-light breaks, the woodman leaves his hut, And oft the axe's echoing stroke is heard ; At last the yielding oak's loud crash resounds, Crushing the humble hawthorn in its fall. The husbandman slow plods from ridge to ridge, Disheartened, and rebuilds his prostrate sheaves. DECEMBER. VV HERE late the wild flower bloomed, the brown leaf lies ; Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain : The famished birds forsake each leafless spray, And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store. Season of social mirth ! of fireside joys ! I love thy shortened day, when, at its close, I'he blazing tapers, on the jovial board. Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face Their cheering light, and round the bottle glides. Now far be banished, from our social ring, The party wrangle fierce, the argument T>eep, learned, metaphysical, and dull. Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless : Rather I'd bear stories twice ten times told. Or vapid joke, filched fi-om Joe Miller's page, Or tale of ghost, hobgobhn dire, or witch j Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown, THE RURAL CALENDAR. 99 Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun : absurd Though 't be, far-fetched, and hard to be discerned, It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides. Now let the circling wine inspire the song. The catch, the glee j or list the melting lays Of Scotia's pastoral vales — they ever please. Loud blows the blast ; while, sheltered from its rage, The social circle feel their joys enhanced. Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship. Amid the uproar of the winds and waves. The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare. Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress. The trembling crew each moment think they feel The shock of sunken rock, — at last they strike : Borne on the blast their dying voices reach. Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet , help is vain : The morning light discloses to the view The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks Or heaves the surge. The early village maid Turns pale, like clouds when o'er the moon they glide ; She thinks of her true love, far, far at sea ^ Mournful, the live long day she turns her wheel, And ever and anon her head she bends. While with the flax she dries the trickling tear. 100 POEMS. TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW IN AT MY WINDOW. Jb ROM snowy plains, and icy sprays. From moonless nig'hts, and sunless days. Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee ; I love thee, for thou trustest me. Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest ! Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast : — How quick thy little heart is beating ! As if its brother flutterer greeting. Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom ; No ! freely flutter round my room ^ Perch on my lute's remaining string. And sweetly of sweet summer sing. That note, tliat summer note, I know ; It wakes, at once, and soothes my woe, — 1 see those woods, I see that stream, I see,— ah J still prolong the dream ! Still, with thy song, those scenes renew. Though through my tears they reach my view. No more now, at my lonely meal. While thou art by, alone I'll feel ; For soon, devoid of all distrust, Thou'lt, nibbling, share my bumble crust j Or on my finger, pert and spruce, Thou'k learn to sip the sparkling juice ; And when (our short collation o'er) Some favourite volume I explore. Be *t work of poet or of sage, Safe thou shalt hop across the page. Unchecked, shalt flit o'er Virgil's cloves, POEMS. 101 Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves. Thus, heedless of the raving* blast, Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past-. And when the primrose tells 'tis spring", And when the thrush begins to sing". Soon as I hear the woodland song-, I'll set thee free to join the throng-. EPITAPH ON A BLACKBIRD, KI1.LED BY A HAWK. W INTER was o'er, and spring-flowers decked the glade, The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung : Ah, short-lived note ! the songster n&w is laid Beneath the bush, on which so sweet he sung. Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent. Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay; A primrosed turf is all thy monument. And, for thy dirge, the Redbreast lends his lay. TO ENGLAND, ON THE SLAVE-TRADE. yj F all thy foreign crimes from pole to pole, None moves such indignation in my soul. Such hate, such deep abhorrence, as thy trade In human beings .' 102 POEMS. Thy ignorance thou dar'st to plead no more ; The proofs have thundered from the Afric shore. Behold, behold, yon rows ranged over rows. Of dead with dying* linked in death's last throes. Behold a single victim of despair. Dragged upon deck to gasp the ocean air ^ Devoid of fear, he hears the tempest rise — The ship descending 'tween the waves, he eyes With eager hope ; he thinks his woes shall end : Sunk in despair he sees her still ascend. What barbarous race are authors of his woes ? With freights of fetters, who the vessel stows ? Who manufactures thumb-screws ? who the scourge ? Whose navies shield the pirates o'er the surg-e ? Who, from the mother's arms, the clinging child Tears ? It is England — merciful and mild ! Most impious race ! who brave the watery realm In blood-fraught barks, with Murder at the helm ! Who trade in tortures, profit draw from pain. And even whose mercy is but love of gain ! Whose human cargoes carefully are packt By rule and square, accordvig- to the Act / And is that gore-drenched flag by you unfurled. Champions of right, knights-errant of the v/orld ? ** Yes, yes," your Commons said, " Let such things be. *' -5^ OTHERS rob and murder j why not we ? In the smoothed speech, and in the upraised hand, I heaf the lash, I hear the fierce command j Each guilty nay ten thousand crimes decreed. And English mercy said. Let millions bleed ! POEMS. 103 THE THANKSGIVING, OFF CAPE TRAFALGAR. U PON the high, yet gently rolling wave. The floating tomb now heaves above the brave ; Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared. Whelming the wretched remnant of the sword. And now the cannon's peaceful summons calls The victor bands, to mount their wooden walls. And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell. The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell : Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread. And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped : The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends, Hushed is each voice, attention leaning bends ; Then from each prow the grand hos annas rise. Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies. Heaven fills each heart ^ yet Home will oft intrude. And tears of love celestial joys exclude. The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain. Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain ; While parting spirits, mingled with the lay, On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way. FINIS. ^, <<~ 4r ^ c-cc ccc< cc <: c . Q. t - . < c<:: c < ~ 1 C c c - ^i... ^ ^" c^ML ■ •^^l _. c V ^ ^ -^ ^ :■ 1 ^ c c. <-<<; <:< c C c c . c ( C c ^C3 r ( <, C c ^< :^ cLC c C <^ iCC c c. <^^ ^-*> ' >- ( c C C «L< c. c C <«<.<: =::^^8e^