THE HOUSE-SPARROW. 173 
Pecks at your window; sits upon your spade, 
And often thanks you in a serenade. 
But what is it that brings about you 
That pert, conceited good-for-nothing Sparrow, 
Which seems to say—‘‘I’d do as well without 
you,” 
Yet, never for a second, 
Night or day 
Will be away, 
Though hooted, shot at, nor once coaxed or 
beckoned ? 
In town or country—in the densest alley 
Of monstrous London—in the loneliest valley— 
On palace-roof—on cottage-thatch, 
On church or chapel—farm or shop, 
The Sparrow’s still “the bird on the house-top.”’ 
I think ’twas Solomon who said so, 
And in the bible having read so, 
You find that his ubiquity 
Extends itself far up into antiquity. 
Yes, through all countries and all ages 
While other birds have sung in woods or cages, 
This noisy, impudent and shameless varlet 
Though neither noble, rich, nor clad in scarlet, 
Qa 3 
