"May I not dream God sends thee there,
Thou mellow angel of the air,
Even to rebuke my earthlier rhymes
With music's soul, all praise and prayer?
Is that thy lesson in the limes?"
I am lingering longer with the mavis than probably I ought, simply
because I want you all to love the bird as I love him. Well, then, I
have tried to depict him to you as he is in his native wilds; but see
him now at some bud-seller's door in town. Look at his drooping wings
and his sadly neglected cage. His eyes seem to plead with each
passer-by.
"Won't _you_ take me out of here?" he seems to say, "nor you, nor you?
Oh! if you would, and were kind to me, I should sing songs to you that
would make the green woods rise up before you like scenery in a
beautiful dream."
The male thrush is the songster, the female remains mute. She listens.
The plumage is less different than in most birds. The male looks more
pert and saucy, if that is any guide.
The mavis is imitative of the songs of other birds. In Scotland they
say he _mocks_ them. I do not think that is the case, but I know that
about a week after the nightingales arrive here my mavis begins to adopt
many of their notes, which he loses again when Philomel becomes mute.
And I shouldn't think that even my mavis would dare to mock the
nightingale.
I have found the nest of the mavis principally in young spruce-trees or
tall furze in Scotland, and in England in thick hedges and close-leaved
bushes; it is built, of moss, grass, and twigs, and clay-lined. Eggs,
four or five, a bluish-green colour with black spots. The
missel-thrush, or Highland magpie, builds far beyond any one's reach,
high up in the fork of a tree; the eggs are very lovely--whitish,
speckled with brown and red. I do not recommend this bird as a pet. He
is too wild.
The merle, or blackbird, frequents the same localities as the mavis
does, and is by no means a shy bird even in the wild state, though I
imagine he is of a quieter and more affectionate disposition. It is my
impression that he does not go so far away from the nest of his pretty
mate as the mavis, but then, perhaps, if he did he would not be heard.
The song is even sweeter to the ear than that of the thrush, although it
has far fewer notes. It is quieter, more rich and full, more mellow and
melodious. The blackbird has been talked of as "fluting in the grove."
The notes are certainly not like those of the flute. They are cut or
"tongued" notes like those of the clarionet.