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ON THE NESTLING OF BIRDS.

A THOUSAND bills are busy now; the skies
Are winnow'd by a thousand fluttering wings,
While all the feather'd race their annual rites
Ardent begin, and choose where best to build,
With more than human skill; some cautious seek
Sequester'd spots, while some, more confident,
Scarce ask a covert. Wiser, these elude
The foes that prey upon their several kinds ;
Those to the hedge repair; with velvet down
Of budding sallows beautifully white.
The cavern-loving Wren sequester'd seeks
The verdant shelter of the hollow stump,
And with congenial moss, harmless deceit,
Constructs a safe abode. On topmost boughs
The glossy Raven, and the hoarse-voiced Crow,
Rock'd by the storm, erect their airy nests.
The Ouzel, lone frequenter of the grove
Of fragrant Pines, in solemn depth of shade
Finds rest; or 'mid the holly's shining leaves,
A simple bush the piping Thrush contents,
Though in the woodland concert he aloft
Trills from his spotted throat a powerful strain,
And scorns the humbler choir. The Lark too asks
A lowly dwelling, hid beneath a turf,

Or hollow, trodden by the sinking hoof:
Songster of heaven! who to the Sun such lays
Pours forth, as Earth ne'er owns. Within the hedge
The sparrow lays her sky-stain'd eggs. The barn
With eaves o'er pendant, holds the twittering tribe ;
Secret the Linnet seeks the tangled copse:
The white Owl seeks the antique ruin'd wall,
Fearless of rapine; or in hollow trees,
Which age has cavern'd, safely courts repose:

The thievish Pie, in twofold colours clad,

Roofs o'er her curious nest with firm-wreath'd twigs
And sidelong forms her cautious door; she dreads
The talon'd Kite, or pouncing Hawk; savage
Herself, with craft suspicion ever dwells.

BIDLAKE.

"The construction and selected situations of the nests of Birds are as remarkable as the variety of materials employed in them,-the same forms, places, and articles being rarely, perhaps never, found united by the different species, which we would suppose similar necessities would direct to a uniform provision. Birds that build early in the Spring, seem to require warmth and shelter for their young; and the Blackbird and the Thrush line their nests with a plaster of loam, perfectly excluding the keen icy gales of our opening year. The House-sparrow commonly builds under the eaves of houses, and collects a great mass of straw and hay, and a profusion of feathers. The Wood-pigeon and the Jay construct their nest so slightly, that their eggs may be almost seen through the loosely collected materials; but the Goldfinch forms its cradle of fine mosses and lichens, lined with the down of the thistle, and is a model for beautiful construction. The Golden-crested Wren builds its nest with the utmost attention to warmth, while the Whitethroat and Blackcap do not attend to this particular. The Greenfinch places its rude nest in the hedge, with little regard to concealment; while the Chaffinch, just above it in the elm, hides its neat nest with the most cautious care. One bird must have a hole in the ground; to another, a crevice in a wall, or a chink in a tree is indispensable. The Bullfinch requires fine roots for its nest, the Grey Flycatcher will have cobwebs for the outworks of its shed. All the parus tribe, except the individuals above mentioned, select some hollow in a tree, or cranny in a wall. Endless examples indeed might be found of the dissimilarity of requirements in these constructions among the several associates of our groves, our hedges, and our houses." See the whole of this beautiful passage in the Journal of a Naturalist; and also Thomson's well-known descriptive lines on the nidification of Birds: Spring, lines 628-725.

BREATHINGS OF SPRING.

WHAT Wak'st thou, Spring ?-sweet voices in the woods,
And reed-like echoes, that have long been mute;
Thou bringest back, to fill the solitudes,

The lark's clear pipe, the cuckoo's viewless flute :
Whose tone seems breathing mournfulness or glee,
E'en as our hearts may be.

And when leaves greet thee, Spring!—the joyous leaves,
Whose tremblings gladden many a copse and glade,

Where each young spray a rosy flush receives,

When thy south-wind hath pierc'd the whispering shade,
And happy murmurs, running through the grass,
Tell that thy footsteps pass.

And the bright waters, they too hear thy call,-
Spring the awakener! thou hast burst their sleep;
Amidst the hollows of the rocks their fall
Makes melody, and in the forests deep,
Where sudden sparkles and blue gleams betray
Their windings to the day.

And flowers-the fairy-peopled world of flowers!
Thou from the dust hast set that glory free,
Colouring the cowslip with the sunny hours,
And pencilling the wood-anemone ;

Silent they seen-yet each to thoughtful eye
Glows with mute poesy.

But what awak'st thou in the heart, O Spring?
The human heart, with all its dreams and sighs?
Thou that giv'st back so many a buried thing,
Restorer of forgotten harmonies!

Fresh songs and scents break forth, where'er thou art-
What wak'st thou in the heart?

Too much, oh! there too much!—we know not well
Wherefore it should be thus, yet rous'd by thee,
What fond strange yearnings, from the soul's deep cell,
Gush for the faces we no more shall see!
How are we haunted, in the wind's low tone,
By voices that are gone!

Looks of familiar love, that never more,
Never on earth, our aching eyes shall meet,
Past words of welcome to our household door,
And vanish'd smiles, and sounds of parted feet,-
Spring! 'midst the murmurs of thy flowing trees,
Why, why reviv'st thou these!

Vain longings for the Dead !-why come they back
With thy young birds, and leaves, and living blooms?
-O! is it not, that from thine earthly track,
Hope to thy world may look beyond the tombs ?
Yes! gentle Spring; no sorrow dims thine air,
Breath'd by our lov'd ones there!

MRS. HEMANS.

THE SPRING JOURNEY.

OH! green was the corn as I rode on my way,
And bright were the dews on the blossoms of May,
And dark was the sycamore's shade to behold,
And the oak's tender leaf was of emerald and gold.

The thrush from the holly, the lark from the cloud,
Their chorus of rapture sung jovial and loud;
From the soft vernal sky, to the soft grassy ground,
There was beauty above me, beneath, and around.

The mild southern breeze brought a shower from the hill,
And yet, though it left me all dripping and chill,

I felt a new pleasure, as onward I sped,

To gaze where the rainbow gleam'd broad over head.

Oh! such be life's journey, and such be our skill,
To lose in its blessing the sense of its ill;
Through sunshine and shower, may our progress be even,
And our tears add a charm to the prospects of Heaven!

BP. HEBER.

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HAVE I scar'd thee from thy bough,
Tenant of the lonely wild,

Where, from human face exil'd,
'Tis thine the sky to plough;
Hearing but the wailing breeze,
Or the cataracts sullen roaring,
Where, 'mid clumps of ancient trees,
O'er its rocks the stream is pouring ?-
Up on ready wing thou rushest
To the gloom of woods profound,
And through silent ether brushest
With a whirring sound.
Ring-dove beauteous! is the face
Of man so hateful, that his sight
Startles thee in wild affright,
From beechen resting place?—

Surely pleasant life is thine,
Underneath the shining day;
Thus, from sorrow far away,
'Mid bowering groves to pine-

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