The Birds Nest. A Tale.[1]

In Scotlands realms, where trees are few,     Nor even shrubs abound;     But where, however bleak the view,     Some better things are found;     For husband there and wife may boast     There union undefiled,     And false ones are as rare almost     As hedgerows in the wild     In Scotlands realm forlorn and bare     The history chanced of late     The history of a wedded pair,     A chaffinch and his mate.     The spring drew near, each felt a breast     With genial instinct filld;     They paird, and would have built a nest,     But found not where to build.     The heaths uncoverd and the moors     Except with snow and sleet,     Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores     Could yield them no retreat.     Long time a breeding-place they sought,     Till both grew vexd and tired;     At length a ship arriving brought     The good so long desired.     A ship!could such a restless thing     Afford them place of rest?     Or was the merchant charged to bring     The homeless birds a nest?     Hushsilent hearers profit most     This racer of the sea     Proved kinder to them than the coast,     It served them with a tree.     But such a tree! twas shaven deal,     The tree they call a mast,     And had a hollow with a wheel     Through which the tackle passd.     Within that cavity aloft     Their roofless home they fixd,     Formd with materials neat and soft,     Bents, wool, and feathers mixd.     Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor     With russet specks bedight     The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,     And lessens to the sight.     The mother-bird is gone to sea,     As she had changed her kind;     But goes the male? Far wiser, he     Is doubtless left behind.     Nosoon as from ashore he saw     The winged mansion move,     He flew to reach it, by a law     Of never-failing love;     Then, perching at his consorts side,     Was briskly borne along,     The billows and the blast defied,     And cheerd her with a song.     The seaman with sincere delight     His featherd shipmates eyes,     Scarce less exulting in the sight     Than when he tows a prize.     For seamen much believe in signs,     And from a chance so new     Each some approaching good divines,     And may his hopes be true!     Hail, honourd land! a desert where     Not even birds can hide,     Yet parent of this loving pair     Whom nothing could divide.     And ye who, rather than resign     Your matrimonial plan,     Were not afraid to plough the brine     In company with man;     For whose lean country much disdain     We English often show,     Yet from a richer nothing gain     But wantonness and woe     Be it your fortune, year by year     The same resource to prove,     And may ye, sometimes landing here,     Instruct us how to love!