Part 23 (1/2)

”The throstle, with his note so true;”

and once again in _The Merchant of Venice_ (Act i. Sc. 2), where Portia, speaking of the French Lord Le Bon, and alluding to his national propensity for a dance on every available opportunity, remarks that--

”If a throstle sing, he falls straight a-capering.”

Many naturalists, who have paid particular attention to the song of the thrush, have insisted upon its taking equal rank as a songster with the more favoured nightingale. Certain it is, that the notes of this bird, although not so varied, nor so liquid, so to say, as those of Philomel, are yet of a clear, rich tone, and have something indescribably sweet about them. ”Listen,” says Macgillivray, ”to the clear, loud notes of that speckled warbler, that in the softened suns.h.i.+ne pours forth his wild melodies on the gladdened ear. What does it resemble?

”Dear, dear, dear Is the rocky glen; Far away, far away, far away The haunts of men.

Here shall we dwell in love, With the lark and the dove, Cuckoo and corn-rail, Feast on the banded snail, Worm and gilded fly: Drink of the crystal rill Winding adown the hill, Never to dry.

With glee, with glee, with glee, Cheer up, cheer up, cheer up, here Nothing to harm us, then sing merrily, Sing to the lov'd ones whose nest is near.

Qui, qui, qui, kweeu, quip, Tiurru, tiurru, chipiwi.

Too-tee, too-tee, chiu choo, Chirri, chirri, chooee, Quiu, qui, qui.”

It must be admitted by all who have paid particular attention to the song of the thrush, that this is a wonderful imitation, so far as words can express notes. The first four lines, lines 7, 13, and 14, and the last five lines in particular, approach remarkably close in sound to the original; and this is rendered the more apparent if we endeavour to p.r.o.nounce the words by whistling.

Intimately a.s.sociated with the thrush is its congener the Blackbird (_t.u.r.dus merula_). Both visitors to our lawns and shrubberies, they remind us of their presence, when we do not see them, by their sweet, clear notes, and when the cold of winter has made them silent, we are still charmed with their sprightly actions, and the beauty of their plumage.

[Sidenote: THE OUZEL.]

The attractive appearance of the blackbird was not overlooked by Shakespeare, who has mentioned him in one of his songs:--

”The ouzel-c.o.c.k, so black of hue, With orange-tawny bill.”

_Midsummer Night's Dream_, Act iii. Sc. 1.

When Justice Shallow inquires of Justice Silence, ”And how doth my cousin?” he is answered--

”Alas, a black ouzel, Cousin Shallow.”

_King Henry IV._ Part II. Act iii. Sc. 2;

an expression which was probably equivalent to the modern phrase, a ”black sheep.”

[Sidenote: THE REDBREAST.]

Amongst the songsters of less note mentioned by Shakespeare, are the Robin-redbreast (_Erythaca rubecula_) and the Wren (_Troglodytes vulgaris_). These two birds have for centuries, from some unexplained cause, been always a.s.sociated together. The country people, in many parts of England, still regard them as the male and female of one species, and support their a.s.sertion with an old couplet--

”The robin-redbreast and the wren Are G.o.d Almighty's c.o.c.k and hen.”

In these days, when so much more attention is paid to ornithology than formerly, it will be hardly necessary to observe that the two birds thus a.s.sociated together are not only of very distinct species, but belong to widely different genera.

An old name for the redbreast is ”ruddock”[75] the meaning of which is ill.u.s.trated in the word ”ruddy;” and the bird is still known by this name in some parts of England.

Shakespeare has thus named it in one of his most beautiful pa.s.sages:--

”With fairest flowers Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath: the _ruddock_ would, With charitable bill,--O, bill, sore-shaming Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie Without a monument!--bring thee all this; Yea, and furr'd moss besides, when flowers are none, To winter-ground thy corse.”[76]

_Cymbeline_, Act iv. Sc. 2.