| Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922. | | | | The Lover and Birds | | By William Allingham (1824–1889) |
| | | WITHIN a budding grove | |
| In April’s ear sang every bird his best, | |
| But not a song to pleasure my unrest | |
| Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; | |
| Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest: | 5 |
| To every word | |
| Of every bird | |
| I listen’d, and replied as it behove. | |
| |
| Scream’d Chaffinch, ‘Sweet, sweet, sweet! | |
| Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!’ | 10 |
| ‘Chaffinch,’ quoth I, ‘be dumb awhile, in fear | |
| Thy darling prove no better than a cheat, | |
| And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.’ | |
| Yet from a twig | |
| With voice so big, | 15 |
| The little fowl his utterance did repeat. | |
| |
| Then I, ‘The man forlorn | |
| Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.’ | |
| —‘And what’ll he do? What’ll he do?’ scoff’d | |
| The Blackbird, standing in an ancient thorn, | 20 |
| Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft | |
| With cackling laugh: | |
| Whom I, being half | |
| Enraged, call’d after, giving back his scorn. | |
| |
| Worse mock’d the Thrush, Die! die! | 25 |
| Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay! | |
| Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!’ (went his lay) | |
| ‘Take heed! take heed!’ then, ‘Why? why? why? why? why? | |
| See-ee now! see-ee now!’ (he drawl’d) ‘Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!’ | |
| O Thrush, be still! | 30 |
| Or, at thy will, | |
| Seek some less sad interpreter than I. | |
| |
| ‘Air, air! blue air and white! | |
| Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!’ | |
| (Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea) | 35 |
| ‘Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright, | |
| Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, see!’ | |
| ‘Gay Lark,’ I said, | |
| ‘The song that ’s bred | |
| In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.’ | 40 |
| |
| ‘There ’s something, something sad, | |
| I half remember’—piped a broken strain. | |
| Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again: | |
| ‘Spring’s opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!’ | |
| Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad, | 45 |
| Till now, grown meek, | |
| With wetted cheek, | |
| Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had. | | | | |
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