182 BRITISH BIRDS. 



fine days. The reverse is the case, though the atmo- 

 sphere is dry and warm, if, in a melancholy state, he 

 chirps and broods in a bush, or hides in a hedge. In 

 autumn his pipings are grave but sweet ; and in winter a 

 few chirps are all that are to be expected. 



Many a reader w ill sympathize with Dr. Jenner as 

 he said : — 



"Come, sweetest of the feather'd throng ! 

 And soothe me with thy plaintive song: 

 Come to my cot, devoid of fear, 

 No danger shall await thee here ; 

 No prowling cat, with whisker'd face, 

 Approaches this sequester'd place ; 

 No schoolboy, with his willow bow. 

 Shall aim at thee a murderous blow ; 

 No wily limed twig e'er molest 

 Thy olive wing or crimson breast. 

 Thy cup, sweet bird ! I '11 daily fill 

 At yonder cressy, bubbling rill ; 

 Thy board shall plenteously be spread 

 With crumblets of the nicest bread ; 

 And when rude Winter comes, and shows 

 His icicles and shivering snows. 

 Hop o'er my cheering hearth, and be 

 One of my peaceful family ; 

 Then soothe me with thy plaintive song. 

 Thou sweetest of the feather'd throng." 



