Can it be, so cold and early,
In the cheerless April dawn,
There are fledglings in the laurels,
Stooping o'er the grassy lawn?
Else, why should the speckled thrushes
Once so musical and rare,
Hold their song in fearful silence,
Watching, watching, everywhere.
Ah! I'll see. So, softly, gently,
Dropping on the mossy ground,
Underneath the bushy laurels,
In I creep and look around.
Sweet, O sweet! directly sitting
On the branch above my head
Is the troop of baby thrushes,
But the parent bird is fled.
Dears, why do ye cheep and twitter,
With your mouths wide open so?
Darlings, I am not your mother,
I am far too rough, you know.
O you pert and saucy creatures,
Leaders of the summer band!
I must take you, one or other,
Hold and press you with my hand!
Do ye fly me? Little tyrants!
Softly dears, my birdies, stay!
I will take you. Do not tempt me.
See! ye cannot fly away.
There, at last! Nay! do not struggle.
How its tiny heart does beat!
Lovely little speckled creature!
Could I harm a thing so sweet?
Now the mother, sorely troubled,
Flutters in the spreading bough
With a piercing note of sorrow,
Back and forward, to and fro.
Ah! fear not in thy affection,
Soon thy darling I'll restore,
When I've pressed it to my bosom,
I would soothe it, nothing more.
There! and there! are love and kisses
Softer than the breath could speak.
See! it shuts its little eyes up,
Nestling close against my cheek.
Gently now the bonds are loosened,
And the little babe is free;
Lightly! lightly! little stranger,
Hop into the laurel tree.
Learn the lesson of thy parent,
Full, melodious, sweet and strong,
That in summer I may listen
Nightly to thy echoing song.
Cheep! cheep! cheep! Away it flutters,
Gaunt, long-legged, lank and drawn,
Rakishly into the laurels
Spreading out above the lawn.
Title photography by Richard Bradshaw
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