The rook, _corvus frugilegus_, is a bird of considerable
intelligence, and is, besides, extremely useful in destroying
large quantities of worms and larvæ of destructive insects. It
will, it is true, if not watched, pick out, after they are
dibbled, both pease and beans from the holes with a precision
truly astonishing: a very moderate degree of care is, however,
sufficient to prevent this evil, which is greatly overbalanced by
the positive good which it effects in the destruction of insects.
It is a remarkable fact, and not, perhaps, generally known, that
this bird rarely roosts at the rookery, except for a few months
during the period of incubation, and rearing its young. In the
winter season it more commonly takes flights of no ordinary
length, to roost on the trees of some remote and sequestered wood.
The _Elm_ is its favorite, on which it usually builds; but
such is its attachment to locality that since the incident alluded
to in the following Poem took place the Rooks have, many of them,
built in _fir_ trees at a little distance from their former
habitation. The habits of the Rook are well worthy the attention
of all who delight in the study of Natural History.
My zong is o' tha ROOKERY,
Not jitch as I a zeed
On stunted trees wi' leaves a veo,
A very veo indeed,
In thic girt place thâ _Lunnun_ câll;--
Tha Tower an tha Pork
Hâ booäth a got a Rookery,
Althaw thâ han't a Lork.
I zeng not o' jitch Rookeries,
Jitch plazen, pump or banners;
Bit town-berd Rooks, vor âll that, hâ,
I warnt ye, curious _manners_.
My zong is o' a Rookery
My Father's cot bezide,
Avaur, years âter, I war born
'Twar long tha porish pride.
Tha elms look'd up like giants tâll
Ther branchy yarms aspread;
An green plumes wavin wi' tha wine,
Made gâ each lofty head.
Ta drâ tha pectur out--ther war
At distance, zid between
Tha trees, a thatch'd Form-house, an geese
A cacklin on tha green.
A river, too, clooäse by tha trees,
Its stickle coose on slid,
Whaur yells an trout an wither fish
Mid ôtentimes be zid.
Tha rooks voun this a pleasant place--
A whim ther young ta rear;
An I a ôten pleas'd a bin
Ta wâtch 'em droo tha year.
'Tis on tha dâ o' Valentine
Or there or thereabout,
Tha rooks da vast begin ta build,
An cawin, make a rout.
Bit aw! when May's a come, ta zee
Ther young tha gunner's shut
Vor SPOORT, an bin, as zum da zâ,
(Naw readship in't I put)
_That nif thâ did'n shut tha, rooks
Thâ'd zoon desert tha trees!_
Wise vawk! Thic reason vor ther SPOORT
Gee thâ mid nif thâ please!
Still zeng I o' tha Rookery,
Vor years it war tha pride
Of all thâ place, bit 'twor ta I
A zumthin moor bezide.
A hired tha Rooks avaur I upp'd;
I hired 'em droo tha dâ;
I hired ther young while gittin flush
An ginnin jist ta câ.
I hired 'em when my mother gid
Er lessins kind ta I,
In jitch a wâ when I war young,
That I war fit ta cry.
I hired 'em at tha cottage door,
When mornin, in tha spreng,
Wâk'd vooäth in youth an beauty too,
An birds beginn'd ta zeng.
I hired 'em in tha winter-time
When, roustin vur awâ,
Thâ visited tha Rookery
A whiverin by dâ.
My childhood, youth, and manood too,
My Father's cot recâll
Thic Rookery. Bit I mist now
Tell what it did bevâll.
'Twar Mâ-time--heavy vi' tha nests
War laden âll tha trees;
An to an fraw, wi' creekin loud,
Thâ sway'd ta iv'ry breeze.
One night tha wine--a thundrin wine,
Jitch as war hired o' nivor,
Blaw'd two o' thic girt giant trees
Flat down into tha river.
Nests, aggs, an young uns, âll awâ
War zweept into tha wâter
An zaw war spwiled tha Rookery
Vor iver and iver âter.
I visited my Father's cot:
Tha Rooks war âll a gwon;
Whaur stood tha trees in lofty pride
I zid there norra one.
My Father's cot war desolate;
An âll look'd wild, vorlorn;
Tha Ash war stunted that war zet
Tha dâ that I war born.
My Father, Mother, Rooks, âll gwon!
My Charlotte an my Lizzy!--
Tha gorden wi' tha tutties too!--
Jitch thawts why be za bizzy!--
Behawld tha wâ o' human thengs!
Rooks, lofty trees, an Friends--
A kill'd, taur up, like leaves drap off!--
Zaw feaver'd bein ends.