A Wren's Nest

    In field or forest with nice care，

    Is none that with the little Wren's

    In snugness may compare.

    No door the tenement requires，

    And seldom needs a laboured roof；

    Yet is it to the fiercest sun

    Impervious， and storm-proof.

    So warm， so beautiful withal，

    In perfect fitness for its aim，

    That to the Kind by special grace

    Their instinct surely came.

    And when for their abodes they seek

    An opportune recess，

    The hermit has no finer eye

    For shadowy quietness.

    These find， 'mid ivied abbey-walls，

    A canopy in some still nook；

    Others are pent-housed by a brae

    That overhangs a brook.

    There to the brooding bird her mate

    Warbles by fits his low clear song；

    And by the busy streamlet both

    Are sung to all day long.

    Or in sequestered lanes they build，

    Where， till the flitting bird's return，

    Her eggs within the nest repose，

    Like relics in an urn.

    But still， where general choice is good，

    There is a better and a best；

    And， among fairest objects， some

    Are fairer than the rest；

    This， one of those small builders proved

    In a green covert， where， from out

    The forehead of a pollard oak，

    The leafy antlers sprout；

    For She who planned the mossy lodge，

    Mistrusting her evasive skill，

    Had to a Primrose looked for aid

    Her wishes to fulfill.

    High on the trunk's projecting brow，

    And fixed an infant's span above

    The budding flowers， peeped forth the nest

    The prettiest of the grove！

    The treasure proudly did I show

    To some whose minds without disdain

    Can turn to little things； but once

    Looked up for it in vain：

    'Tis gone——a ruthless spoiler's prey，

    Who heeds not beauty， love， or song，

    'Tis gone！ （so seemed it） and we grieved

    Indignant at the wrong.

    Just three days after， passing by

    In clearer light the moss-built cell

    I saw， espied its shaded mouth；

    And felt that all was well.

    The Primrose for a veil had spread

    The largest of her upright leaves；

    And thus， for purposes benign，

    A simple flower deceives.

    Concealed from friends who might disturb

    Thy quiet with no ill intent，

    Secure from evil eyes and hands

    On barbarous plunder bent，

    Rest， Mother-bird！ and when thy young

    Take flight， and thou art free to roam，

    When withered is the guardian Flower，

    And empty thy late home，

    Think how ye prospered， thou and thine，

    Amid the unviolated grove

    Housed near the growing Primrose-tuft

    In foresight， or in love.