THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 281 
little creature hopping before me, but from the deep 
gloom around have been unable to discern what it 
was ; when, suddenly, as if by magic, the sweetest 
strain of music has struck upon my ear, from a 
withered branch of hazel close by, where I have at 
length, after close inspection, discovered this sweet 
performer — this favourite of poets — whose song is 
thus beautifully noticed by the Rev. James Gra- 
hame :• — 
TO A REDBREAST, THAT FLEW IN AT MY 
WINDOW, 
From snowy plains and icy sprays. 
From moonless nights and sunless days, 
Welcome, poor bird ! — I'll cherish thee ; 
I love thee, for thou trustest me. 
Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest. 
Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast. 
How quick thy little heart is beating, 
As if its brother flutterer greeting 1 
Thou needst not dread a captive's doom- 
No : freely flutter round my room ; 
Perch on my lute's remaining string, 
And sweetly of sweet summer sing, 
B B 2 
