i3 2 
PICTURES OF BIRD LIFE. 
And Tennyson has not forgotten the Woodpecker’s laugh. Sir Tristram exclaims— 
“ Vows—I am woodman of the woods, 
And hear the garnet-headed Yaffingale 
Mock them! ” 
The Last Tournament. 
If poetry has somewhat neglected the Woodpecker, few birds have obtained 
more celebrity in folk-lore. Picus was the first king of Latium, according to the 
legend, and was turned by the enchantress Circe into a Woodpecker. Ovid has 
beautifully versified this myth in the 14th Book of his “Metamorphoses.” We 
append Garth’s translation, which does not, however, do justice to the original. 
“ Now thrice to east she turns, as oft to West, 
Thrice waved her wand, as oft a charm expressed. 
On the lost youth her magic pow’r she tries ; 
Aloft he springs, and wonders how he flies. 
On painted plumes the woods he seeks, and still 
The monarch oak he pierces with his bill. 
Thus changed, no more o’er Latian lands he reigns; 
Of Picus nothing but the name remains.” 
The bird was highly esteemed in augury; and if any one bears about him a Wood¬ 
pecker’s bill, says Pliny, he may plunder hives with impunity, as the bees will not 
touch him. As Picumnus, together with his brother Pilumnus, this bird was 
believed by the Romans to preside over young children. It is regarded in Indo- 
European tradition as one of the birds which brought fire from heaven to man, 
whereof its red crest is symbolical. In Norway the Great Black Woodpecker is 
called Gertrude’s bird; and a Norse tale, in which, says Kelly, the names alone are 
Christian and the substance of the story purely heathen, makes the bird a trans¬ 
formed baker. A woman called Gertrude, wearing a red mutch, refused our Lord 
and St. Peter once upon a time a piece of dough when they were hungry, and was 
as a punishment turned into a bird, condemned to seek its food between bark and 
bole, and never to drink save when it rained. The transformed Gertrude at this 
sentence flew up the chimney, and may still be seen with her red mutch on her 
head, but with her body all black because of the soot. She still taps and hacks at 
the trees for food, and whistles when rain is coming ; for she is always thirsty, and 
then looks for a drop to cool her tongue. For the relations of these different myths 
the reader may be recommended to Kelly’s “ Indo-European Folk-lore.” This book 
also explains Pliny’s marvellous story of the celebrated herb springwort, which is 
obtained from a Woodpecker by stopping up its nest. 
