276 
THE REDBREAST. 
Motacilla Rubecula. 
Sweet Robin ! I hail thy appearance once more ; 
Come, sing in my garden, or peck at my door ; 
Though an ingrate, for favours so often conferred, 
I still view with pleasure my beautiful bird. 
When the last winter's tempest rushed down from 
the sky, 
Thou stoodstat my window with pityful eye, 
The bread from my table unsparing I cast, 
And thought that one friend may be faithful at last. 
Thy contemplative look 'twas my joy to behold, 
Thy flight long repress'd, and thy plumage of gold, 
And the oft'ner thou cam'st from thy dwelling un- 
known, 
The more welcome thou wast to the crumbs I had 
thrown. 
