William Cowper - A Tale. June 1793. lyrics

In Scotland's realm, where trees are few Nor even shrubs abound; But where, however bleak the view Some better things are found; For husband there and wife may boast Their union undefiled, And false ones are as rare almost As hedge-rows in the wild; In Scotland's realm forlorn and bare The history chanced of late,-- This history of a wedded pair, A chaffinch and his mate,. The spring drew near, each felt a breast With genial instinct filled; They paired, and would have built a nest, But found not where to build. The heaths uncovered and the moors Except with snow and sleet, Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores Could yield them no retreat. Long time a breeding-place they sought, Till both grew vexed and tired; At length a ship arriving brought The good so long desired. A ship? -- could such a restless thing Afford them place of rest? Or was the merchant charged to bring The homeless birds a nest? Hush! -- silent hearers profit most,-- This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast, It served them with a tree. But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal, The tree they call a mast, And had a hollow with a wheel Through which the tackle pa**ed. Within that cavity aloft Their roofless home they fixed, Formed with materials neat and soft, Bents, wool, and feathers mixed. Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, With russet specks bedight; The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, And lessens to the sight. The mother-bird is gone to sea, As she had changed her kind; But goes the male? Far wiser he Is doubtless left behind. No;-- soon as from ashore he saw The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by a law Of never-failing love. Then perching at his consort's side, Was briskly borne along, The billows and the blast defied, And cheered her with a song. The seaman with sincere delight His feathered shipmates eyes, Scarce less exulting in the sight Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, And from a chance so new Each some approaching good divines, And may his hope be true! Hail, honoured land! a desert where Not even birds can hide, Yet parent of this loving pair Whom nothing could divide. And ye who, rather than resign Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brine In company with man; For whose lean country much disdain We English often show, Yet from a richer nothing gain But wantonness and woe; Be it your fortune, year by year, The same resource to prove, And may ye, sometimes landing here, Instruct us how to love!