The Finch, the Sparrow, and the Lark,
The plain-song Cuckoo gray."
And a Burns can invoke the Throstle in lines as musical as the song of the bird itself—"And thou mellow mavis, that hails the night-fa'."
But how shall an Australian bard sing of "The Red-rumped Acanthiza," or of that delightful songster, "The Rufous-breasted Thickhead"? Australian Nature-poetry will be handicapped until our children give names like "Bobolink," and "Chickadee," and "Whip-poor-will," and "Jacky Winter," to our birds.
"Oriel," in the Argus, some time ago, showed how hard it is to write of love's young dream in Australian verse.
"Sweetheart, we watched the evening sky grow pale,
And drowsy sweetness stole away our senses,
While ran adown the swamp the Pectoral Rail,
The shy Hypotaenidia philippinensis.
"How sweet a thing is love! Sweet as the rose,