time or place, and so we find "their blackbird pipers in every tree."

In their compliments to its voice the poets are very liberal, and a score might easily be cited who have expressed their admiration of the strength and richness of its flute-like notes. But, after all, there is no "blackbird" in the poets. There is only one songster more: for, taking the whole of their references at a glance, there is nothing. said that actually individualises the bird, except Phillips's "yellow bill" and Drayton's "golden bill." As a rule, it is merely a rural detail, like leaves on trees or grass in meadows. That the passages in which it is referred to are often very beautiful there is no question about, but this does not alter the fact that the poets do not appear to appreciate the real bird, that its name suggests no more to them than "thrush or "linnet" or any other woodland song-bird's name, and that they miss giving life to it.

In poetry it is only the alter ego of the thrush-for the thrush throws a blackbird shadow-and the notes are in perpetual antiphony, whether as "blackbird and thrush," "mavis and merle," or "ousel and throstle." This blending of identities works to the detriment of the blackbird, for the thrush is accepted by the poets as the better half of the twin bird. This may be because the black bird is black-a colour the poets detest; or because the thrush is 66 russet "—a colour the poets delight in; or it may be because the thrush is more often seen than the blackbird, and therefore credited with being more often heard.

Yet in nature it is a bird of very marked individuality, and, as an ornament of the country the whole year round, specially conspicuous among our feathered folk.

(1)

The blackbird and the speckled thrush
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush.

-Scott: Lady of the Lake.

(2)

(3)

(4)

(5)

The boxbit ouzel and the dappled thrush,

Like hungry rivals meet at their beloved bush.

-Hurdis: Hieroglyph.

The merle, in his noontide bow'r,

Makes woodland echoes ring.-Burns: Queen of Scots.

But ere another hour was past,

The thunder-scowl was round; .

The chilling rain poured cold and fast,

And the old tree creaked in the sudden blast,
With a dull and moaning sound.

But there was the blackbird still in the tree,
With its pæan not yet done;

It carolled away in its earnest glee,

As though it were sure that glory must be

In the shadow as well as the sun.

- Cook: Bird in the Storm.

The blackbird, oracle of spring.—Montgomery: On Burns.

(6)

(7)

The blackbird that whistles through flower-crowned June.
-Cook: Birds.

(8) My blackbird pipers in every tree.-Cook: Song of June.

(9)

(10)

The blackbird pipers in the summer tree.

-Wordsworth: Two April Mornings.

But at a distance, on the leafless tree,
All woebegone, the lonely blackbird sits;
The cold north wind ruffles his glossy feathers;
Full oft he looks, but dare not make approach,
Then turns his yellow beak to peck his side,

(11)

(12)

(13)

(14)

(15)

(16)

(17)

(18)

(19)

And claps his wings close to his shapened breast.
The wandering fowler from behind the hedge
Fastens his eye upon him, points his gun,
And firing wantonly, as at a mark,

Of life bereaves him in a cheerful spot,
That oft had echoed to his summer's song.

-J. Baillie: A Winter's Day.

The sable bird, melodious from the bough,
No longer sits, alert and clamorous,

Short flights and sudden, with transparent wing,
Along the dyke performing, fit by fit.
Shudd'ring he sits, in horrent coat outswoln,
Despair has made him silent, and he falls
From his loved hawthorn, of its berry spoil'd,
A wasted skeleton, shot through and through
By the near-aiming sportsman. Lovely bird!
So ends thy sorrows and so ends thy song.

Hurdis: Favourite Village.

The brake

Loud with the blackbird's bolder note resounds.-Gilbert White.

So loud the blackbird sings,

That far and near the valley rings.-War.on: Summer.

Whistles down the vale. How blithe the lay !-Scott.

The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong.

-Cowper: Retirement.

-Mackay: Mountain Top.

The blackbird trolls his rich notes far away.

The blackbird telling

His love-tale to his mate.-Cook: Not as I used to do.

The woossell neere at hand, that hath a golden bill
As nature him had markt of purpose, t' let us see
That from all other birds his tune should different be.
-Drayton: Polyolbion.
Upon his dulcet pype the merle doth onely play.1
-Drayton: Polyolbion.

1 Of all birds only the blackbird whistleth.-Note by Drayton.

(20)

(21)

The merle's dulcet pipe,-melodious bird!
He, hid behind the milk-white sloe-thorn spray,
Welcomes the time of birds, the infant year.

-Grahame: Sabbath.

Well done! they're noble notes, distinct and strong;
Yet more variety might mend the song.

Is there another bird that sings like me?

My pipe gives all the grove variety.-Montgomery: Birds.

(22)

And prink! prink! prink! they took to wing.

-Clare: Holywell.

(23)

The blackbirds strove with emulation sweet,
And echo answer'd from her close retreat.

-Bloomfield: Spring.

(24)

"The merle's note,

Mellifluous, rich, deep-toned, fills all the vale,
And charms the ravish'd ear.

With busy wing and eye

Mirth-darting all alert, the parent pair
Gather the sustenance which heaven bestows.
But music ceases, save at dewy fall

Of eve, when, nestling o'er her brood, the dam
Has stilled them all to rest; or at the hour
Of doubtful dawning day-then from his wing
His partner turns his yellow bill, and chants
His solitary song of joyous praise.

Ne'er shall they see

The timorous pinions' first essay at flight.

The truant schoolboy's eager, bleeding hand,

Their house, their all, tears from the bending bush ;

A shower of blossoms mourns the ruthless deed.

The piercing anguish'd note, the brushing wing
The spoiler heeds not.

...

The ruin'd, hopeless pair

O'er many a field follow his townward steps,
Then back return, and perching on the bush

Find nought of all they loved, but one small tuft
Of moss and withered roots. Drooping they sit,
Silent.

Meantime, the younger victims, one by one,
Drop off, by cold destroy'd, and frost nipt.

(25)

(26)

Perhaps one, hardier than the rest, survives,
And 'tween the wicker bars, with fading weeds
Entwin'd, hung at some lofty window, hops
From stick to stick, his small unvaried round.
-Grahame: Birds of Scotland.

And understood as much of things

As the ablest blackbird what he sings.-Butler: Plagiaries.

That Latin was no more difficile

Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle.-Butler: Hudibras.

(27) The timid blackbird-she, that seen,

Will bear black poisonous berries to her nest,

Lest man should cage the darlings of her breast.

-Hood: Midsummer Fairies.

(1)

BLACKCAP.

The blackcaps in an orchard met,
Praising the berries while they ate;
The finch that flew her beak to whet
Before she joined them on the tree.

-Jean Ingelow: Scholar and Carpenter.

BLACKCOCK.

It is worth noting how punctually the poets have utilised every one of our game-birds. These, I take it, are (omitting water-fowl) the partridge, pheasant, grouse, blackcock, ptarmigan, quail, snipe, and woodcock; and the completeness of the list inclines me to think that the poets, had they known the other classes of birds as well as they do the birds of sports, might not have neglected them.

Unfortunately for poetry, it is only as "game-birds" that the poets sympathise with them, while the view that they take of sport is certainly not such as to commend itself to the majority. Here and there is a touch that rings robustly, as Byron's