THE YELLOW BUNTING. 251 



on our hedges, and whose note, somewhat liarsh as 

 it is, is a familiar sound to all used to the country. 

 Yet one whose ear was well attuned to all the 

 melodies of nature, could find pleasure in listening 

 to its song, and find in it a music too. Thus 

 Graham speaks of it — 



" I even love the Yellow Hammer's song. 

 When earliest buds begin to bulge, his note 

 Simple, reiterated oft, is heard 

 On leafless brier, or half-grown hedgerow tree ; 

 Nor does he cease his note till autumn's leaves 

 Fall fluttering round his golden head so bright. 

 Fair plumaged bird ! cursed by the causeless hate 

 Of every schoolboy, still by me thy lot 

 Was pitied ! Never did I tear thy nest : 

 I loved thee, pretty bird ! for 'twas thy nest 

 Which first, unheli)'d by older eyes, I found. 

 The verj' spot I think I now behold ! 

 Forth from my low-roofd home I wander'd blythe, 

 Down to thy side, sweet Cart, where 'cross the stream 

 A range of stones, below a shallow ford, 

 Stood in the place of iron-spanning arch ; 

 Up from that ford a little bank there was, 

 With alder-copse and willow overgi'own, 

 Nor worn away by mining winter floods ; 

 There at a bramble root, sunk in the grass. 

 The hidden prize, of wither'd field straws form'd, 

 Well lined with many a coil of hair and moss. 

 And in it laid five red-vein'd spheres I found; 

 The Syracusan's voice did not exclaim 

 The grand Eureka with more rapturous joy, 

 Thau at that moment flutter'd round my heart" 



