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A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS 
THE LEGEND OF THE CROSSBILL 
On the cross the dying Saviour 
Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, 
Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling 
In his pierced and bleeding palm. 
And by all the world forsaken, 
Sees he how with zealous care 
At the ruthless nail of iron 
A little bird is striving there. 
Stained with blood and never tiring, 
With its beak it doth not cease. 
From the cross ’t would free the Saviour, 
Its Creator’s Son release. 
And the Saviour speaks in mildness : 
“ Blest be thou of all the good; 
Bear, as token of this moment, 
Marks of blood and holy rood ! ” 
So that bird is called the Crossbill; 
Covered all with blood so clear, 
In the groves of pine it singeth 
Songs, like legends, strange to hear. 
— From the German, by H. W . Longfellow 
Redpoll: Acanthis linaria. W. V. 
Redpoll Linnet 
Length: 5.50 inches. 
Male: Head , neck, breast, and rump washed with rich crimson, over 
a ground of gray and brown. Back, wings, and tail dusky; 
dusky white beneath. Tail short and forked; wings long and 
pointed. Bill very sharp, and either yellow, tipped with dusky, 
or black; feet dark. 
Female: Dingy, having the crimson only on the crown. 
Song: A Canary-like call note and a lisping song; sometimes given 
when flocking as well as in the breeding season. 
Season: A winter visitor from the north. 
There is a great surprise in store for you if you have never 
seen a flock of the clear little Redpolls, settling down to feed 
among the weeds after a snow storm, and fairly warming 
the cold landscape by their rosy feathers. 
Thoreau’s soliloquy upon these winter birds, as he stood 
looking over the late November landscape, is too beautiful to 
quote merely in part. He says : “ Standing there, though in 
