252 THE SONG THRUSH, OR MAVIS. 



The Song Thrush, or Mavis. 



(Merula Musica, or Turclus Musicus.) Linn. 



" In every glen the mavis sang, 



All nature listening seemed the while, 

 Except where greenwood echoes rang, 

 Amang the braes o' Ballochmyle." — Burns. 



Except perhaps the lark, this is the best of all our song birds, 

 and is well named musicus — the song thrush. Like a bonnie 

 Scotch lassie, it is a true native of St Andrews. I say except the 

 lark carefully, for, although his notes are clear and harmoniously 

 mingled with variations, he is more of a feathered orator than 

 a sweet singer, such as the linnet or the lark. His varied 

 notes are more like the introduction to a great song than the 

 song itself. For, as Burns says in " Queen Mary's Lament on 

 the approach of Spring" — 



" Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn 



Aloft on dewy wing, 

 The merle in his noontide bower 



Makes woodland echoes ring ; 

 The mavis wild, wi' mony a note 



Sings drowsy day to rest ; 

 In love and freedom they rejoice, 



WT care nor thrall opprest." 



Tennyson also beautifully says — 



"Hear how the bushes echo ! by my life 

 These birds have joyous thoughts. Think you they sing, 

 Like poets, from the vanity of song ? 

 Or have they any sense of what they sing ?" 



It remains with us all year, enlivening our groves and 

 gardens in spring and summer, taking pot-luck with us in 

 winter, augmented by flocks from the northern countries of 

 Europe at the close of autumn. They come before the fieldfare 

 and redwing, and usually with a north-east wind. After 

 staying a few days, the great majority move further south. 

 Those that remain never go in flocks, but disperse, and are 

 ^indistinguishable from our native birds, and understand each 

 other better than the human beings of the different countries. 

 It breeds early, and sings in February — sometimes in Januar} r , 

 if the season is mild. On my way to the harbour at half-past 

 seven a.m., December 9th, 1889, the dawn of the dead of 

 winter, I heard one sing long and loud on a leafless old elm tree 



