THE THRUSH. 



Clare's description of this well-known bird is very 

 happy: — 



"Within a thick and spreading hawthorn bush, 



That overhung a mole-hill large and round, 

 I heard, from morn to morn, a merry thrush 



Sing hymns to sunshine, while I drank the sound 

 With joy : and often, an intruding guest, 



I watched her secret toils, from day to day, 

 How true she warp'd the moss to form her nest. 



And modell'd it within with wood and clay. 

 And by and by, like heath-bells gilt with dew, 



There lay her shining eggs, as bright as flowers 

 Ink-spotted over, shells of green and blue ; 



And there I witness'd, in the summer hours, 

 A brood of Nature's minstrels chirp and fly. 



Glad as the sunshine, and the laughing sky." 



The thrush remains in England the whole year, but 

 is supposed to quit the more northern parts in winter. 

 It is not, however, gregarious with us at any time, 

 though it has been observed to pass through Livonia, 

 Courland, and Prussia, together with the missel and 

 fieldfares, in great numbers about Michaelmas, on their 

 way to the Alps. 



