232 LOVE OF RETIREMENT. 



seldom, is soft and inward, something like that of the Bull- 

 finch. 



Mr. Doubleday, who has closely observed the habits of 

 the bird near Epping Forest, states that 



Their principal food appears to be the seed of the hornberry, which 

 is the prevailing species of tree in the forest ; but they also feed on 

 the kernels of the haws, plum-stones, laurel berries, &c., and in sum- 

 mer make great havoc amongst green peas in gardens. About the 

 middle of April they pair, and in a week or two commence nidifica- 

 tion. The young are hatched about the third week in May, and as 

 soon as they are able to provide for themselves they unite with the 

 old birds, in flocks varying in numbers from fifteen or twenty to one 

 or even two hundred individuals. In this manner they remain 

 through the winter, feeding on the hornberry seeds which have fallen 

 to the ground, and only separate at the approach of the breeding 

 season. I believe the male has no song worth notice. In warm days 

 in March I have heard them, when a number have been sitting to- 

 gether in a tree, uttering a few notes in a soft tone, bearing some 

 resemblance to those of the Bullfinch. 



Oh, gentle Finch ! that lovest in retired spots to dwell 



And singest, with an inward voice, thy sweet songs morn and eve 

 Thou'rt like a cloistered eremite, or nun within her cell, 



That never, for the busy world, that solitude would leave 

 Whose life is quiet as a stream, that glideth soft along, 



And murmurs to the leafy boughs that shield it from the sun, 

 And to the lovely flowers, that bloom its verdant banks among, 



Of peace, and praise, and thankfulness, until its race be run. 



The stillness of the leafy wood the silence and the calm 



Prevailing in the solitude, are pleasant unto thee ; 

 Thou cherishest no evil thought, thou dreamest not of harm, 



And therefore is thy bosom from all cares and sorrows free ; 

 The same boughs rustle over thee, the same stream glideth by, 



With silver voice, that to thy song responses uttereth, 

 And where thine eyes first opened, to that patch of azure sky, 



That looketh like an angel-face, thou closest them in death. 



* Man hath a weary pilgrimage/ the poet well hath said, 



He may not lead like thee, sweet bird, a peaceful happy life ; 

 In whatsoever path the Lord may choose, his feet must tread, 



And this, alas ! too oft is one of trouble and of strife ; 

 Yet should he not repine thereat, nor envy thee thy lot, 



Hereafter his reward will come ; thou diest, and for aye, 

 For him there is a future life, where sorrow cometh not, 



If here he strives to walk aright, and do as best he may. 



