■lUi: W lIKATKAli. 16o 



margins of tho extensive heaths. Tlic robin and the wren are, indeed, bel'ore it ; but 

 when they depart from tlic cottages, they are in the wikl woods ; the thrush is in 

 the grove, and the sky-hirk is hovering over the fields below ; so that the stonechat 

 alone supports the vernal song in those places which it is peculiarly healthy and pleasant 

 to visit at the opening of the spring. It sings, too, till you are almost close to it, and 

 then dropping perpendicularly, glides magically through the bushes, and rises from 

 another part, hovering, and singing again. 



THE A\HEATEAK. 



The wheatear, or fallowchat, as it is sometimes called, is a migrative species, generally 

 making its appearance from the southward about the latter end of March, being 

 abundant in most parts of Europe, and especially of Holland. In this country they frequent 

 downs, commons, and pasture lands ; and also being abundant in warrens, where the bird 

 selects deserted rabbit-burrows, in which to form its nest of dried roots, feathers, rabbits' 

 down, and other light substances, and where it deposits its six pale-blue eggs. On the 

 do^vns of Sussex these birds arc murdered in immense numbers, being caught by the 

 shepherds in snares of horse-hair, fixed on a stick, and placed under two turfs set on 

 edge. Nearly two thousand dozens, it is said, are thus annually taken in one district 

 only. The wheatear is esteemed n delicate morsel by the epicure, and has received the 

 name of the English ortolan. 



*o' 



Froii! that dLup sheltered solitude, 

 ^\'here in some quarry wild and rude 

 Your feathcr'd mother rear'd her brood, 



"Why, pilgrim, did you brave 

 The upland winds so bleak and keen, 

 'i'o seek these hills, whose slopes between 

 M'ide stretched in gray expanse is seen 



The ocean's toiling wave ? 



] )id instinct bid you linger here. 

 That broad and restless ocean near. 

 And wait, till with the waning year 



TTiese northern gales arise ? 

 AVhich, from the tall clifis' rugged side, 

 Shall give your soft light plumes to glide 

 Across the channel's refluent tide 



To seek more favouring skies ? 



Alas ! and has not instinct said. 

 That luxury's toils for you are laid, 

 A nd that by groundless fears betrayed. 



You ne'er perhaps may know 

 Those regions where the embowering vine 

 Loves round the luscious fig to twine. 

 And mild the suns of winter shine. 



And flowers perennial blow ? 



To take you, shepherd-boys prepare 

 The hollow turf, the wiry snare, 

 Of these weak terrors well aware, 



That bid you vainly dread 

 The shadows floating o'er the downs, 

 Or murmurmg gale, that round the stones 

 Of some old beacon, as it moans, 



Scarce moves the thistle's head. 



