THE GOLDFINCH AND LINNET.
A gaudy goldfinch, pert and gay,
Hopping blythe from spray to spray,
Full of frolic, full of spring,
With head well plumed and burnished wing,
Spied a sober linnet-hen,
Sitting all alone,
And bowed and chirped, and bowed again;
And with familiar tone
He thus the dame addressed
As to her side he closely pressed:—
“I hope, my dear, I don’t intrude,
By breaking on your solitude?
But it has always been my passion
To forward pleasant conversation;
And I should be a stupid bird
To pass the fair without a word;
I, who have been for ever noted
To be the sex’s most devoted.
Besides, a damsel unattended,
Left unnoticed and unfriended,
Appears (excuse me) so forlorn,
That I can scarce suppose,
To any she that e’er was born,
‘Twould be the thing she chose.
How happy, then, I’m now at leisure
To wait upon a lady’s pleasure;
And all this morn have nought to do
But pay my duty, love, to you.
“What, silent!—Ah, those looks demure,
And eyes of langour, make me sure
That in my random idle chatter
I quite mistook the matter!
It is not spleen or contemplation
That draws you to the cover;
But ‘tis some tender assignation;
Well!—who’s the favoured lover?
I met hard by, in quaker suit,
A youth sedately grave and mute;
And from the maxim, like to like,
Perhaps the sober youth might strike:
Yes, yes, ‘tis he, I’ll lay my life,
Who hopes to get you for his wife.
“But come, my dear, I know you’re wise,
Compare and judge, and use your eyes;
No female yet could e’er behold
The lustre of my red and gold,
My ivory bill and jetty crest,
But all was done, and I was blest.
Come, brighten up and act with spirit,
And take the fortune that you merit.”
He ceased—Linnetta thus replied,
With cool contempt and decent pride:—
“’Tis pity, sir, a youth so sweet,
In form and manners so complete,
Should do an humble maid the honour
To waste his precious time upon her.
A poor forsaken she, you know,
Can do no credit to a beau;
And worse would be the case
If meeting one whose faith was plighted,
He should incur the sad disgrace
Of being slighted.
“Now, sir, the sober-suited youth.
Whom you were pleased to mention,
To those small merits, sense and truth,
And generous love, has some pretension;
And then, to give him all his due,
He sings, sir, full as well as you,
And sometimes can be silent too.
In short, my taste is so perverse,
And such my wayward fate,
That it would be my greatest curse
To have a coxcomb to my mate.”
This said, away she scuds,
And leaves Beau Goldfinch in the suds.
The Wanderer’s Return, p. [304].
EVENING XXV.