54 
BY THE WAYSIDE 
COCK SPARROW 
By N. Hobbins 
Iley-day! Thou mirthful, merry little 
thing! 
Forever on the hop or wing. 
Thou wee bit, twittering, chirping, 
restless sprite 
That wakes me as the first faint streak 
of light 
Doth rend the shadowy curtains of the 
night. 
Who to my vine-wreathed lattice 
wingst thy way 
As Chanticleer proclaims the dawn of 
day; 
A play-ground making of my window- 
sill, 
A battle-field, love-bower or what you 
will, 
Where thou dost fight, make love, and 
coo and bill. 
Till all the peaceful morning hour rings 
With clamorous little tongues and flut¬ 
tering wings. 
For as the Sun-god wins his upward 
way 
Turning to fields of blue the fields ol 
gray, 
Vanquished with glittering beam and 
jewelled ray. 
Do’ through the balmy heaven’s track¬ 
less space, 
A flock of thy wee kin in eager chase 
Alighting on my warm and sunny shelf 
Which thou hast chosen for thy mate 
and self, 
The weesome, winsome morsel of an 
elf: 
And here Avhere morns are chill and 
winds are bleak, 
This sunny, sheltered nook of mine do 
seek: 
Where, perched in rows and nestled 
close together, 
They plume each downy breast and 
delicate; 
And sun themselves and chatter of the 
weather. 
Their toilets made, with infinite pains 
and care 
Each feathered swain doth choose! 
some mateling fair; 
And there upon my erst-while, peace- , 
ful sill, tj 
Do fight, make loA r e and Avar, hot AA r ar, 
and fill i 
The air with clamorous twitterings 
loud and shrill. 
But should some Cox-comb braggart, 
Avoe betide! 
With Avily flattery approach thy bride; 
Lo’ in thy anger nothing art thou loth 
To strike him headlong from the top¬ 
most roof. 
Though small, a giant art thou in thy 
wrath: 
A right good fighter, yea, a Avarrior 
bold! 
Art thou, Cock Sparrow, as the 
knights of old; 
And rising should he flutter round thy 
9 
nest, 
A world of fierce passions fire thy lit¬ 
tle breast; 
7 ! 
Love, hatred, jealousy! as one pos¬ 
sessed. 
Lo ! and behold! With sharpened beak 
and claAV, 
Dost rend, tear, slay, in fast and furi- 
our war, 
AVliile she thou lov'st on top-most twig 
doth sway, 
Watching, Avell-satisficd, the glorious 
fray. 
Waiting to hail the Victor of the day. 
