on the Blue Robin.



87



“ A wistful note from out the sky,


‘ Pure, pure, pure,’ in plaintive tone,


As if the wand’rer were alone,


And hardly knew to sing or cry.


But now a flash of eager wing,


Flitting, twinkling by the wall,


And pleadings sweet and am’rous call, —


Ah! now I know his heart doth sing!


O blue bird, welcome back again,


Thy azure coat and ruddy vest

Are hues that April lovetli best, —


Warm skies above the furrowed plain.


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And thy blue wing’s a joyous sight

Among the brown and leafless trees.”


He also mentions the fact that the early settlers of New

England gave it the name of Blue Robin, and that “ it is the first

bit of colour that cheers our Northern landscape.”


‘ Wistful,’ I think, exactly expresses the Blue Bird’s note,

but though, according to Rongfellow :


“ Aloud,


From cottage roof the warbling blue bird sings.”


and he speaks of


“ The Blue Bird, balanced on some topmost spray,


Flooding with melody the neighbourhood.”


I have never heard them utter more than three notes —

always the same—which I can only describe by the words:

“ Tee-ee-wee! ” Sometimes they warbled, softly and sweetly,

but they never sang a full song when with me, perhaps they

were in a strange land.


Now that the exportation of the Blue Bird from his native

land is prohibited — and as a Wild Birds’ Protectionist I rejoice

at the law, for a Blue Robin in a dealer’s shop was a sight that

tugged at the heart-strings!—his companionship remains only a

sweet memory. In years gone by I kept many pairs of them,

and they were very intelligent and interesting.


I had several pairs in an aviary on the lawn, where they

lived together in harmony, but never nested. This I did not

regret, as an aviary-bred bird at best is not equal to a wild one.



