280 THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
Which Providence assigns them. One alone— 
The redbreast — sacred to the household gods, 
Wisely regardful of th' embroiling sky, 
In joyless fields and thorny thickets leaves 
His shivVing mates, and pays to trusted Man 
His annual visit. Half afraid, he first 
Against the window beats ; then brisk alights 
On the warm hearth ; then, hopping on the floor, 
Eyes all the family askance. 
And pecks, and starts, and wonders where he is, 
Till, more familiar grown, the table crumbs 
Attract his slender feet. 
Thomson's " Winter.'* 
This sweet " enchanter of the grove" is migratory 
in Germany, but stays with us all the year, and the 
long duration of his harmonious voice ensures him 
a welcome whenever he appears, although his song 
is rather of a melancholy cast, which bears a strange 
contrast to his sprightly motions and plumage, which 
are remarkably lively and gay. But how soothing is 
his note in the twilight of an autumnal evening, 
when all other songsters have retired to roost. Often 
in my lonely walks have I been startled by some 
