THE LANGUAGE OF BIRDS. 
289 
with his roguish black eye, searching about the 
snow, or tripping to the open door, to ask for his 
share of the morning meal. It is then I joy to listen 
to his melody, and when he cheers me with his 
Christmas carol, how gladly do I shake the crumbs 
about, and coax him nearer and nearer ; but my poor 
robin, I would not deprive you of your liberty, nor 
can I take any pleasure in hearing this innocent 
warbler singing at night, when placed in captivity. 
How sweetly Miss Twamley writes, when speaking 
of this bird in winter : — 
Cold blew the wintry wind, as if it swept 
O'er frozen worlds, and caught their iciness : — 
The small birds, hopping 'mong the leafless twigs, 
Chirped cheerily, as I around me flung 
Their wonted portion of my morning's meal ; 
And leader of them all, the robin, tame 
And free, came warbling and hopping on, 
Nearer and nearer yet ; his bright black eye 
Looking askance upon the scattered food. 
And his tail frisking, as he skipped about. 
Singing his glad ' good morrow/ 
c c 
